*l 






/<*'{** / ! v/.^ 


THE 


POETICAL WORKS 


WILLIAM COWPER 


EDITED BY 


THE REV. H. F. CARY, A.M. 


WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOR. 






LONDON: 
WILLIAM SMITH, 113, FLEET STREET. 

MDCCCXXXIX. 


LONDON : 
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTKRS, WHITKFRr AR:- 


The reader will find here collected all the poems known to be Cowper's, 
except a few which, not having been printed till some years after his decease, 
still remain under copyright. On the other hand, I have added, from the 
book published by Hayley in 1810, entitled " Cowper's Milton," a few 
others not yet admitted, as far as I can discover, into any collection of his 
works. From the same source Mr. Southey in his valuable edition derived 
the "Adam," a drama translated from the Italian jointly by Cowper and 
Hayley, which is here also republished. 

I have preferred printing his translation of Homer from the first 
edition; as that translation is now generally allowed to have been much 
injured by the many alterations he afterwards made in it, in deference to 
the opinions of incompetent critics, and against his own better judgment. 

H. F. C. 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE 


WILLIAM CO WPE R 


BY THE EDITOR. 


William Cowper was born, on the fifteenth of November 1731, in the rectory 
house at Great Berkhampstead, Hertfordshire. His father, John, rector of that 
place and one of the chaplains to George the Second, was the son of Spencer Cowper, 
chief justice of Chester, and judge in the Court of Common Pleas ; and nephew to 
Earl Cowper, Lord Chancellor of England. His mother, Anne, daughter of Roger 
Donne, Esquire, of Ludham Hall, in Norfolk, was sprung from a family not less 
respectable, but most distinguished for having produced the witty and eloquent 
divine and poet of that name. Of seven children, William and John alone survived 
their parents. The mother died, at the age of thirty-four, in November 1737- The 
impression made by this bereavement on the spirits of her son was never effaced ; 
at the distance of fifty years he assured a friend that scarcely a week passed in which 
he did not think of her; and the sight of her picture called forth such a strain of 
lamentation as the liveliest sense of his loss only could have awakened. On her 
death he was. placed under the care of Dr. Pitman, of Market Street, a few miles 
distant from his home. Here he remained for two years, till a complaint in his 
eyes, that threatened him with blindness, made it necessary that he should be removed 
to the house **of a female oculist in London. From hence, at the end of two years, 
he was put to school at Westminster, under Doctor Nichols, where, at the age of 
fourteen, the small-pox seized him, and had the effect of removing the imperfection 
in his sight, though his eyes always continued to be subject to inflammation. From 
this age, when he translated an elegy of Tibullus, he dated his first beginning to 
" dabble in rhyme." The Reverend Walter Bagot, who was one of his school- 
fellows, and who, on a renewal of their intimacy in after life, became one of the 
steadiest and most zealous of his friends, told me that in those early days he prognos- 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 


ticated to Cowper his future excellence as a poet. One night, when they were at the 
playhouse together, Cowper pointed out to him a lady on whom he had fixed his 
affections, and whom he called his cousin. This was, no doubt, Theodora Cowper, 
to whom he addressed the love-verses that have been published since his death, and 
to whom her father forbade his being united on account of their being so nearly 
related in blood. Mr. Bagot was of opinion that the malady he afterwards laboured 
under, arose from disappointment in this affair ; but such was his strong constitutional 
tendency to the disorder, that it would be difficult to determine what cause at first 
excited it. 

On leaving school, he was articled for three years to Mr. Chapman, a solicitor ; and 
in 1752, took chambers in the Temple, but made little progress in his legal studies. 
In 1756 he lost his father, who had married again, but left no family by his second wife. 

In the same year he contributed some papers to the " Connoisseur," a periodical 
work conducted by Colman and Thornton, his schoolfellows at Westminster. 

In one of his letters, he speaks of having, while in the Temple, " produced several 
half-penny ballads, two or three of which had the honour to be popular." It is to 
be regretted that any such production by the author of John Gilpin should have 
perished. A more laborious, but less valuable work, in which he engaged, was a 
version of Voltaire's Henriade. Of this he translated four books for his brother, who 
had undertaken the task for the editor of the " Grand Magazine." On perusing the 
whole as it appears in that miscellany for the years 1 759-60, I have not been able 
to discover any part that I could ascribe to Cowper, or that is equal to the few lines 
he wrote on the death of his favourite young friend, Sir William Russell. 

At his father's death he found his means of support but scanty, and wanted reso- 
lution to attempt increasing them by professional exertions. Some powerful friends 
at this juncture obtained for him a nomination to the offices of reading-clerk and 
clerk of private committees to the House of Lords. He was now perplexed between 
his wish to accept these employments and his fear of being unequal to the duties of 
them, when another office of much less value, that of clerk of the journals to the 
same house, happened to fall vacant, and, in the hope of being more competent 
to fill it, he willingly exchanged for it the other two. Still his anxiety, though 
somewhat lessened, was far from being removed ; a public exhibition of himself 
under any circumstances, to use his own words, was like mortal poison to him ; 
and when a dispute about his appointment rendered it necessary that he should 
appear before the lords in order to prove his competence, the dread came on 
him with such force that he lost his reason, and, if his own recollections of the 
case are to be trusted, made repeated attempts at self-destruction. It was now no 
longer safe to leave him in his own keeping; and accordingly, in December 1763, he 
was consigned to the care of Doctor Cotton, of St. Alban's, author of the " Visions 
in Verse," a physician, whose humanity and intellectual endowments well fitted him 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 


for the management of those afflicted like Cowper. His own account of what he 
suffered, and of the sins by which he had provoked so terrible a visitation, is full of 
all the horrors that a disordered imagination could impart to it. 

In about a year and a half he had recovered sufficiently to remove to Huntingdon, 
a place recommended as a desirable abode for him by its nearness to Cambridge, 
where his brother resided on a fellowship of Bene't College. At Huntingdon he soon 
contracted an intimacy with the family of the Reverend Mr. Unwin. The son of this 
gentleman, then a student at Cambridge, was so much interested by his appearance 
on seeing him at church, that one morning when the service was over he accosted him, 
and finding that his conversation answered to the expectations he had raised, gladly 
introduced him to the acquaintance of his parents. The father was a man of learning, 
good sense, and remarkable simplicity; the mother, though of station no higher 
than the daughter of a tradesman at Ely, was endowed with a well cultivated under- 
standing, and, as Cowper termed it, the politeness of a duchess. From a frequent 
visitor, it was not long before he became their constant inmate : a change in his 
mode of life recommended not less by convenience than inclination ; for in his lodgings 
he had already contrived to spend, in less than three months, a year's income. With 
what satisfaction to himself his days were now passed may be seen from the following 
passages in his letters: " March 11th, 1766. The lady in whose house I live is so 
excellent a person, and regards me with a friendship so truly Christian, that I could 
almost fancy my mother restored to life again, to compensate to me for all the friends 
I have lost and all my connexions broken." " October 20th, 1766. "We breakfast 
commonly between eight and nine ; till eleven we read either the scripture, or the 
sermons of some faithful teacher of those holy mysteries ; at eleven we attend divine 
service, which is performed here twice every day, and from twelve to three we 
separate and amuse ourselves as we please. During that interval I either read in my 
own apartment, or walk or ride, or work in the garden. We seldom sit an hour 
after dinner, but, if the weather permits, adjourn to the garden, where, with Mrs. 
Unwin and her son, I have generally the pleasure of religious conversation till tea- 
time. If it rains, or is too windy for walking, we either converse within doors or 
sing some hymns of Martin's collection, and by the help of Mrs. Unwin's harpsichord, 
make up a tolerable concert, in which our hearts, I hope, are the best and most musical 
performers. After tea, we sally forth in good earnest ; Mrs. Unwin is a good walker, 
and we have generally travelled about four miles before we see home again. When 
the days are short, we generally make this exercise in the former part of the day, 
between church-time and dinner. At night we read and converse as before till supper, 
and commonly finish the evening either with hymns or a sermon, and last of all the 
family are called to prayers. I need not tell you that such a life as this is consistent 
with the utmost cheerfulness, and accordingly we are all happy." He adds, that he 
had had serious thoughts about taking orders ; but observes, that every new convert is 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 


apt to think himself called upon for that purpose, and that it had pleased God, by 
means which there was no need to particularise, to give him full satisfaction as to the 
propriety of declining it. 

When the death of the elder Unwin, by a fall from his horse, determined the widow 
to leave Huntingdon, Cowper resolved on accompanying her ; and in the autumn of 
] 767, they fixed themselves at Olney, in Buckinghamshire, whither they were drawn 
chiefly by their esteem for Mr. Newton, curate of that place, and the author of many 
devotional works. In such society the fervour of Cowper's piety was not likely to be 
moderated. He joined, with more zeal than was consistent with the tranquillity so 
desirable for one of his temperament, in ministering to the spiritual and temporal 
wants of his poorer neighbours, by great numbers of whom he was unfortunately 
surrounded. 

In March, 1770, he lost his brother, whom, during his last moments, he congratulated 
himself with having made a convert to his own views of religion. 

But his mind was now strained beyond its due pitch. In about three years he was 
again attacked by insanity, which at last settled into the form of religious despair, 
made only more gloomy by the too lively and confident hopes that had preceded it. 
From this time to the end of his life there prevailed in his mind, with a few short 
intermissions, a dreadful persuasion that he was for ever ejected and shut out from the 
presence of his Maker. It was in vain that his friends endeavoured to reason him 
out of so fatal an error. No argument availed to shake him in the belief of his utter 
and irreversible reprobation. It was, indeed, present to his thoughts at different 
times with different degrees of intensity. Occasionally he could forget himself in the 
ordinary occupations or amusements of a secluded life, could divert himself with 
gardening, carpentering, or landscape-drawing, and enjoy his book or the company 
of his acquaintance and friends. But though, like Orestes pursued by the Furies, he 
was sometimes allowed a short respite, it was never, like him, in the temple ; for 
not the least of his misery was, that he thought himself forbidden to enter a church or 
to pray. Yet during all this time he appears to have been rendered only the more 
gentle, beneficent, and strict in his conduct by the sufferings he underwent. He 
charges himself with no fault. He assigns no cause, and could have assigned none, 
for his rejection. All he had to say was, that " there was a mystery in his destruction, 
and that in time it would be explained." If we should seek for an instance to show 
the probability of a future life, from the unhappiness to which good men are exposed 
in the present, it would be difficult to fix on one more convincing than that of Cowper. 

In 17^0, Newton exchanged Olney for another benefice, and, on quitting it, recom- 
mended him to the regard of Mr. Bull, a dissenting minister at Newport Pagnel, a 
man of humane and cheerful spirit, who was thenceforward his frequent visitor, and 
at whose suggestion lie amused himself with translating the mystical poetry of 
Madame Cuyon. With almost all his earlier friends, his intercourse had been broken 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 


off by illness or absence. From Mr. Bagot I heard that he was for many years 
ignorant what had become of his old schoolfellow ; and others, no doubt, remained in 
the same uncertainty as to his fate, His kinsman, Joseph Hill, the faithful and 
generous manager of his pecuniary concerns, was the only one of his youthful asso- 
ciates with whom he maintained a correspondence uninterrupted, except during the 
paroxysms of his disorder. Yet even to him he did not intimate his design of 
becoming an author, when the first volume of his poems, with a preface by Mr. 
Newton, was committed to the press in the summer of 1781. It was thus not till 
his fiftieth year that one of the most popular of English poets made his first appear- 
ance before the world. 

He sent a copy of his book, with a letter, to Colman, and another to Thurlow, who 
had been his fellow-clerk with Chapman, the solicitor, and with whom he had lived 
on terms of great intimacy. Cowper predicted to him that he would one day be 
Lord Chancellor, and the prediction was now fulfilled. As to Colman, he had become 
a patentee of one of the playhouses, and was perhaps equally possessed with an opinion 
of his own importance. Neither of them noticed the gift or the letter ; a neglect too 
galling to be endured patiently even by Cowper, who revenged himself in some verses 
bitterly satirical, lately published, for the first time, by Mr. Southey. Both made 
some reparation by subsequent kindness, but not, I fear, till the celebrity of the 
" Task" had made it an honour to be known to the writer. 

In the same year he published anonymously Anti-Thelyphthora, a short poem in 
ridicule of a book called Thelyphthora by his cousin the Reverend Martin Madan, in 
which the lawfulness of polygamy had been gravely proposed for consideration. The 
poem has lately been discovered by the diligence of Mr. Southey, who has spared no 
pains to investigate every particular relating to Cowper. 

His first volume had been composed principally during the preceding winter by 
the encouragement of Mrs. Unwin, who was well pleased to see him employed in any 
occupation that prevented his mind from preying upon itself. For the next, published 
in 1785, and which included the "Task," we are indebted to another female adviser, 
with whom accident brought him acquainted. This lady, the widow of Sir Robert 
Austen, being seen by him to enter with her sister, then living near Olney, into a shop 
opposite his window, engaged his attention so forcibly that he desired Mrs. Unwin to 
invite them to join their party at tea. The wish had no sooner been complied with 
than his natural diffidence made him repent having expressed it ; but he soon found 
himself quite at ease with his new guest, whose manners and conversation proved to 
be no less attractive than her appearance. The familiarity, thus begun, speedily grew 
into so close an intimacy that Lady Austen became the tenant of the next house, and 
the inseparable companion of her new neighbours. For her voice, with which she 
accompanied her performance on the harpsichord, he wrote several of his songs ; from 
her story of John Gilpin's adventure, he composed his admirable ballad ; her playful 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 


repartee recommended to him the sofa they were sitting on as a subject for his pen, 
and thus gave birth to the " Task ;' and at her suggestion he engaged in a blank-verse 
translation of Homer. At last, the two ladies, either from jealousy or some other 
cause, could no longer live in harmony together ; and the removal of Lady Austen was 
the consequence. The void, thus made, was soon filled by his cousin, the widow of 
Sir Thomas Hesketh and sister of Theodora Cowper. She had shared the gaiety of 
his youth ; and now, after the death of her husband, returned to cheer the sadness and 
adversity of his declining life. There appears to have been in the conversation of 
Cowper as in that of Swift, a fascination not easy for the female heart to resist. In 
both it was exerted involuntarily ; but of one the influence was disastrous, of the 
other gentle and serene. Lady Hesketh was first his guest, and then took a house, 
that she might be near him, at Olney. The two other ladies had prompted his muse 
to some of her happiest flights. To Lady Hesketh is due the praise of having been 
one of those who most succeeded in calling forth the epistolary talent, in which he so 
much excelled. The easy and unaffected style of his letters, the gratitude and tender- 
ness they discover for his friends, the exquisite sallies of humour always regulated by 
a nice sense of decorum, the graceful and unexpected turns given to the most trivial 
things, his just manner of thinking on all subjects of a more serious kind, excepting 
that in which his delusion is concerned, and even the interest excited by that strange 
delusion itself, all contribute to make these writings, never intended to be read by any 
but those to whom they were addressed, the most delightful in their way of any that 
the English language has produced. 

In November 1786 3 he removed with Mrs. Unwin to a more commodious habitation 
in the adjacent village of "Weston. Some of the sprightliest and most pleasing of his 
shorter poems are addressed to the Throckmortons, a Roman Catholic family, who 
were now his near neighbours, and for whom he felt the utmost cordiality ; so little 
did his religious sentiments abate his kindness for those of a different persuasion. 

About this time, Mr. Rose, a gentleman on his way from the University of Glasgow 
to London, called on him, partly as he supposed out of curiosity, but with the osten- 
sible motive of returning him the thanks of the Scotch Professors for his two volumes. 
A repetition of the visit led to a correspondence productive of mutual esteem. 

In 1787 he had a violent attack of his constitutional malady, that lasted about eight 
months, during which time any face, except Mrs. Unwin s, was an insupportable 
grievance to him. By an illusion in the sense of hearing, incidental to his disorder, 
he imagined that he heard words addressed to him from without, which were indeed 
the shaping of his own organs, or rather (for they usually came to him at first waking 
out of sleep) the relic of his dreams. These sounds he was naturally inclined to inter- 
pret in accordance with his predominant fancy, how little relation soever they might 
have borne to it in the perception of an indifferent hearer. For his better assurance, 
he communicated them to a schoolmaster at Olney, named Teedon, who seems to have 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 


been as incapable of judging as himself; and by the construction put on them by this 
man, he was partly determined as to their real import. 

On recovering, his hours were again given to Homer ; and when so employed, went 
on, as he tells us in the Preface, with a smooth and easy flight. 

The translation having been completed and published by subscription in 1791, his 
next engagement was an edition of Milton, to be embellished with the designs of Fuseli, 
already known to him as a scholar and critic, by some brief but excellent remarks on 
his Homer. For the edition of Milton he undertook to select notes from preceding 
commentators, to add some of his own, to translate the Latin and Italian poems, and 
to give a correct text. This brought him acquainted with Hayley, who, happening at 
the same time to have entered on a similar undertaking, proposed to him a junction of 
their labours, in which he readily concurred. There were some points in which the 
character of Hayley bore a resemblance to that of Cowper ; a lively sympathy, a 
devotional turn, an extreme fondness for literary retirement, and a high tone of gentle- 
manly good-breeding. On his first visit, when Mrs. Unwin was seized with a paralytic 
attack, he won the affections of his host by his anxiety for her recovery, and the 
means he suggested for effecting it. In the following summer, they were both pre- 
vailed on to leave their quiet home for the first and only time when they were able to 
exercise a will of their own, on a long expedition to Eartham in Sussex, the beautiful 
residence of Hayley. But the journey was reluctantly undertaken, and performed 
with difficulty. Cowper, who had never seen a mountain, thought himself on moun- 
tains among the hills of Sussex, and longed again for the flats of Olney and the Ouse. 
Here, in pursuance of their work on Milton, the two poets joined in translating the 
Adamo of Andreini, an Italian drama, from which it was first suggested by Voltaire 
that the original conception of Paradise Lost might have been derived. Two years 
after this, when I visited Hayley at Eartham, he was full of Cowper and Milton ; he 
led me to an eminence crowned with laburnums, where his friend delighted to walk, 
and showed me the characteristic portrait of him painted by Romney. In twenty-five 
years more, when I found him in old age and solitude at Felpham, the same picture 
was before him, and he pointed to it and said, " There is our idol." 

In 1794, after much solicitation from his friends, a pension of three hundred pounds 
was obtained for Cowper from government, through the intervention of Lord Spencer. 
But it came too late ; Mrs. Unwin had now fallen into a state of insensibility, and he 
cared not for good fortune in which she could not participate. Much of her little 
property had been already consumed; although their slender means of subsistence 
were helped out by the contributions of friends, and by the profits derived from his 
works. 

For the remainder of his life, he was either sunk in despondency, or haunted by 
imaginary terrors. In the same year it was thought advisable by Dr. Willis, that he 
should be removed from Weston. His young kinsman, John Johnson, who had been 


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 


his frequent guest, his amanuensis, and his favourite companion, undertook to convey 
him and Mrs. Unwin into Norfolk, where many of his maternal relations were settled, 
and henceforth tended him with the care of an affectionate son. Sometimes he beguiled 
him of his sorrows by putting in his way the translation of Homer, which he had 
before begun to revise and alter, and on which he now continued to occupy himself; 
at other times, by reading to him his own poems, or some lighter works of fiction, the 
only books he could listen to. The translation, when he had corrected or rather 
re- written it, lost much of its original vigour. He was, till within a short time of his 
end, master of himself enough to translate many Greeks epigrams, and to compose 
some Latin verses and a few short pieces in English not inferior to those he had 
formerly produced, but deeply marked with the melancholy that oppressed him. 

Mrs. Unwin died at Dereham in Norfolk, in December 1796. He went to take 
a last view of her corpse, started away with a vehement expression of sorrow, and 
never after spoke of her. No object now was able to give him pleasure. Fear and 
regret assailed him by turns. He would fain have recalled days which, while they 
were passing, appeared to be loaded with misery ; and was filled with apprehensions 
lest he should either be deserted or carried off suddenly, he knew not by whom or 
whither. 

After trying a residence at different places in Norfolk, he was, in December 1 799, 
fixed at Dereham. The beginning of the next year, symptoms of dropsy appeared 
in his feet and ancles. Soon after, he became so feeble as not to bear motion in a 
carriage, and by the end of March was confined to his bedroom. As his sufferings 
through life had been alleviated by female tenderness, the same care followed him to 
the last. On the night of April the twenty- fourth, Miss Perowne, a lady who assisted 
Johnson in watching over him, offered him a cordial which he declined, saying, " What 
can it signify V After this, he spoke no more. The next day he was released by a 
quiet expiration. He was buried at Dereham, in the same church with Mrs. Unwin, 
where each has a monument, and an epitaph by Hayley. 

Cowper was of a middle height, with limbs strongly framed ; hair of light brown, 
eyes of a bluish grey, and ruddy complexion. It is impossible to regard without 
wonder the mixture of imbecility and power exhibited in his mind. With the weak- 
ness of an infant, scared at shadows and agonised by dreams ; when the pen was in 
his hand, he became another being, who could give a charm to the homeliest features of 
nature, or the commonest objects of domestic life ; could raise sport out of trifles, and 
in his graver moods exert a force like that of the prophet sent to awaken mankind out 
of delusions more serious than his own. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE vii 

MR. NEWTON'S PREFACE 1 

TABLE TALK . . 2 

THE PROGRESS OF ERROR . . ... . . . • • • • • • ■ 8 

TRUTH 12 

EXPOSTULATION 17 

HOPE 22 

CHARITY 28 

CONVERSATION 33 

RETIREMENT 39 

MISCELLANIES— 

THE DOVES 45 

A FABLE lb. 

COMPARISON 46 

ANOTHER, ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY lb. 

VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK ib. 

ON THE PROMOTION OF LORD THURLOW 47 

ODE TO PEACE ib. 

HUMAN FRAILTY ib. 

THE MODERN PATRIOT . . . ib. 

ON SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA . . . > ib. 

REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS . . 48 

ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY ib. 

ON THE SAME s . ib. 

THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED . . . . , . . . . . ib. 

THE LILY AND THE ROSE . 49 

IDEM LATINE REDDITUM . . . ib. 

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM ib. 

VOTUM ib. 

ON A GOLDFINCH STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE 50 


xvi CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANIES— page 

THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE . . . 50 

HORACE. BOOK II. ODE X. ib. 

A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODE ib. 

TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE — 

1. THE GLOW-WORM ib. 

2. THE JACKDAW . . . . 51 

3. THE CRICKET ib. 

4. THE PARROT ib. 

THE SHRUBBERY 52 

THE WINTER NOSEGAY ib. 

MUTUAL FORBEARANCE NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE . . ib. 

TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY 53 

TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA ib. 

BOADICEA. AN ODE ib. 

HEROISM 54 

THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND THE SENSITIVE PLANT ib. 

TO THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN . , 55 

THE TASK 56 

AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ 94 

TIROCINIUM 95 

JOHN GILPIN 102 

ANTI-THELYPHTHORA 105 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— 

VERSES ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE 107 

OF HIMSELF. TO MISS THEODORA JANE COWPER ....... ib. 

WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING NEW BURNS . . . ib. 

ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM RUSSELL 108 

AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ. . . . . . . . . . ib. 

AN ODE ON READING SIR CHARLES GRANDISON ........ ib. 

TO MRS. GREVILLE ON READING THE PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE 109 

FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE . . . . . . . .110 

NINTH SATIRE . . . . e Ill 

THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS 113 

A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT ib. 

TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE 114 

LOVE ABUSED ib. 

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN .......... ib. 

TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON 115 

THE COLUBRIAD ib. 

ON FRIENDSHIP 116 

THE YEARLY DISTRESS 117 

TO AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE 118 

TO DR. DARWIN .............. ib. 

OH MBS. Montagu's feather hangings ib. 

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH 119 

THE ROSE !!>• 


CONTENTS. xvii 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— page 

ODE TO APOLLO, ON AN INKSTAND ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN 119 

THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT 120 

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED ib. 

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY ib. 

TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT ON WHICH I DINED . . . .121 

GRATITUDE . . ib. 

LINES COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ 122 

SONG ON PEACE ib. 

SONG WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN ... . ib. 

EPITAPH ON JOHNSON ib. 

TO MISS C , ON HER BIRTHDAY ib. 

THE FLATTING-MILL » . ib. 

EPITAPH ON A HARE 123 

EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM ib. 

ACCOUNT OF THE TREATMENT OF HIS HARES . ib. 

OLNEY HYMNS— 

1. WALKING WITH GOD 125 

2. JEHOVAH-JIREH. THE LORD WILL PROVIDE ib. 

3. JEHOVAH-ROPHI. I AM THE LORD THAT HEALETH THEE ib. 

4. JEHOVAH-NISSI. THE LORD MY BANNER 126 

5. JEHOVAH-SHALOM. THE LORD SEND PEACE ib. 

6. WISDOM ib. 

7. VANITY OF THE WORLD - ib. 

8. O LORD, I WILL PRAISE THEE 127 

9. THE CONTRITE HEART ib. 

10. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE CHURCH ib. 

11. JEHOVAH OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS ib. 

12. EPHRAIM REPENTING ib. 

13. THE COVENANT 128 

14. JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH . ib. 

15. PRAISE FOR THE FOUNTAIN OPENED ib. 

16. THE SOWER ib. 

17. THE HOUSE OF PRAYER 129 

1 8. LOVEST THOU ME ? . . ib. 

19. CONTENTMENT ib. 

20. OLD TESTAMENT GOSPEL ib. 

21. SARDIS 130 

22. PRAYER FOR A BLESSING ON THE YOUNG . ib. 

23. PLEADING FOR AND WITH YOUTH . . . . . . . . . . ib. 

24. PRAYER FOR CHILDREN ib. 

25. JEHOVAH JESUS ib. 

26. ON OPENING A PLACE FOR SOCIAL PRAYER 131 

27. WELCOME TO THE TABLE ib. 

28. JESUS HASTING TO SUFFER ........... ib. 

29. EXHORTATION TO PRAYER ib. 

30. THE LIGHT AND GLORY OF THE WORD . . . . . . . ib. 

31. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER 132 

32. THE SHINING LIGHT ib. 

33. THE WAITING SOUL ib„ 

b 


xviii CONTENTS. 


OLNEY HYMNS— page 

I 34. SEEKING THE BELOVED 132 

35. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS ib. 

36. WELCOME CROSS 133 

37. AFFLICTIONS SANCTIFIED BY THE WORD ib. 

38. TEMPTATION « ib. 

39. LOOKING UPWARDS IN A STORM ib. 

40. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH 134 

41. PEACE AFTER A STORM ib. 

42. MOURNING AND LONGING ib. 

43. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE ib. 

44. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE . . . ib. 

45. SUBMISSION 135 

46. THE HAPPY CHANGE . . . ib. 

47. RETIREMENT ib. 

48. THE HIDDEN LIFE ib. 

49. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING 136 

50. TRUE PLEASURES ib. 

51. THE CHRISTIAN ib. 

52. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAR ib. 

53. FOR THE POOR 137 

54. MY SOUL THIRSTETH FOR GOD ib. 

55. LOVE CONSTRAINING TO OBEDIENCE ......... ib. 

56. THE HEART HEALED AND CHANGED BY MERCY ib. 

57. HATRED OF SIN ib. 

58. THE NEW CONVERT 138 

59. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS ib. 

60. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH ib. 

61. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL ib. 

62. THE NARROW WAY ib. 

63. DEPENDENCE 139 

64. NOT OF WORKS ib. 

65. PRAISE FOR FAITH ib. 

66. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE ib. 

67. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES ib. 

68. FRAGMENT OF A HYMN 140 

SONNETS— 

TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ ib. 

TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ ib. 

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. ib. 

TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ ib. 

TO MRS. UiNWIN ' ib. 

TO JOHN JOHNSON 141 

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. ib. 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— 

ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE ib. 

IN SUIJMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEORGIUS REGALE NOMEN INDITUM . . . . ib. 

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT 142 

PITT FOR POOR AFRICANS ib. 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— page 

THE MORNING DREAM . . 142 

PART OF A POEM ENTITLED " THE VALEDICTION " 143 

ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON lb. 

ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789 144 

THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND • 145 

ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING . . . . ib. 

TO MRS. THROGMORTON, ON HER TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE ib. 

INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS, AT CHIL- 

LINGTON .- 146 

ANOTHER, ON A SIMILAR OCCASION ib. 

HYMN, FOR THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY ........ ib. 

STANZAS ON THE LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE REMAINS OF MILTON . . . . ib. 

TO MRS. KING, ON HER PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCH-WORK COUNTERPANE . . ib. 

IN MEMORY OF GEORGE THOENTON, ESQ 147 

TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. . . ib. 

THE FOUR AGES; A FRAGMENT ib. 

THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS ........... ib. 

THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. A TALE 148 

THE FAITHFUL BIRD ............. ib. 

THE NEEDLESS ALARM. A TALE 149 

INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON 150 

EPITAPH ON MRS. M. HIGGINS, OF WESTON ib. 

THE RETIRED CAT . . . . . . . . . . . . ib. 

YARDLEY OAK . ^ . . . .151 

ON THE REFUSAL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD TO SUBSCRIBE TO HIS TRANSLATION 

OF HOMER 152 

TO THE NIGHTINGALE WHOM THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW YEAR'S DAY . . ib. 

LINES, FOR INSERTION IN A COLLECTION OF HAND-WRITINGS MADE BY MISS PATTY MORE ib. 

EPITAPH ON A REDBREAST ib. 

MARY AND JOHN • . ib. 

EPIGRAM 153 

TO DR- AUSTIN ............. ib. 

TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS ib. 

ON THE AUTHOR OF LETTERS ON LITERATURE . . . . . . . . ib. 

TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL ib. 

CATHARINA. TO MISS STAPLETON, AFTERWARDS MRS. COURTENAY . . . .154 

THE SECOND PART ib. 

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 155 

THE POPLAR FIELD 156 

ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL ib. 

AN EPITAPH ib. 

EPITAPH ON FOP ib. 

ON RECEIVING HAYLEY's PICTURE ib. 

EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELY . . . ib. 

ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S-BOWER . . 157 

TO MY COUSIN, ANN BODHAM, ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE . . ib. 

INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN ib. 

TO A YOUNG FRIEND, ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN 

THERE ib. 


xx CONTENTS. 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— PAGE 

tale 157 

on a spaniel, called beau, killing a young bird 158 

beau's REFLY . ib. 

ANSWER TO STANZAS ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH, BY MISS CATHARINE FANSHAWE . ib. 

TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVIORA, ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG 

INTO ITALIAN ib. 

ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE . . . 159 

ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL FROM MR. HAYLEY ib. 

TO MARY . . ib. 

ON THE ICE ISLANDS, SEEN FLOATING IN THE GERMAN OCEAN ib. 

MONTES GLACIALES, IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES 160 

THE SALAD. BY VIRGIL ib. 

THE CAST-AWAY 161 

IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM, CORRUPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI NUPER 

EXORTAM 162 

TRANSLATION a ib. 

MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION TO WILLIAM NORTHCOT ib. 

TRANSLATION ib. 

A RIDDLE . . ib. 

ANSWER. FROM THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE ib. 

EPIGRAM ON HIS MISTAKE IN TRANSLATING HOMER « ib. 

STANZAS SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE PARISH OF ALL- 
SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON, 1787 163 

1788 ib. 

1789 ib. 

1790 164 

1792 ib. 

1793 ib. 

TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE— 

ON THE PICTURE OF A SLEEPING CHILD . . . . . . . . .165 

THE THRACIAN ib. 

RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE ib. 

A MANUAL, MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING, AND NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY 

CATALOGUE 166 

AN ENIGMA ; . ib. 

SPARROWS SELF -DOMESTICATED IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE . . . . ib. 

FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS 167 

INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST ib. 

STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE " ib. 

ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER 

BIRTHDAY, 1728 ib. 

THE CAUSE WON 168 

THE SILK-WORM ib. 

THE INNOCENT THIEF ib. 

DENNER'S OLD WOMAN ib. 

THE TEARS OF A PAINTER ib. 

THE MAZE 1G9 

NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER . . . . - . . . . ib. 


CONTENTS. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE— page 

THE SNAIL 169 

THE CANTAB . . . . . . . ib. 

COMPLIMENTARY POEMS TO MILTON, TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN 
AND ITALIAN- 
JOHN BAPTIST MANSO, MARQUIS OF VILLA, TO JOHN MILTON . . . . .170 

AN EPIGRAM TO JOHN MILTON, BY JOHN SALSILLI, OF ROME ib. 

TO JOHN MILTON, BY SELVAGGI 


ib. 

AN ODE TO MR. JOHN MILTON, BY SIGNOR ANTONIO FRANCINI, OF FLORENCE . . ib. 

TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON. 
ELEGIES— 

1. TO CHARLES DEODATI 171 

2. ON THE DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT CAMBRIDGE 172 

3. ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER ...... ib. 

4. TO HIS TUTOR, THOMAS YOUNG, CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT HAMBURGH ib. 

5. ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING 173 

6. TO CHARLES DEODATI , 174 

7. COMPOSED IN THE AUTHOR'S NINETEENTH YEAR 175 

EPIGRAMS— 

ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS 176 

TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME . . . . ib. 

TO THE SAME ib. 

THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD. A FABLE ib. 

TO CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WITH CROMWELL'S PICTURE . . . . .177 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— 

ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR, A PHYSICIAN ib. 

ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF ELY ib. 

NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME 178 

ON THE PLATONIC IDEA, AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLE ib. 

TO HIS FATHER 179 

TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, MUCH INDISPOSED . . . . . . . . 180 

TO GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, MARQUIS OF VILLA ib. 

ON THE DEATH OF DAMON 181 

AN ODE ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE, LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD . 183 

SONNET 184 

SONNET * c ib. 

CANZONE 185 

SONNET. TO CHARLES DEODATI ib. 

SONNET ib. 

SONNET ib. 

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN CLASSICS— 

VIRGIL. ^NEID, BOOK VIII. LINE 18 $ . . . ib. 

OVID. TRIST. LIB. V. ELEG. XII 188 

HOR. LIB. I. ODE IX. 189 


xxii CONTENTS. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN CLASSICS— 

PAGE 



. . 189 


ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME ODE 

. ib. 


HOR. LIB. II. ODE XVI 

. . ib. 


EPIGRAMS, TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN— 



ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT 

. 190 


PRUDENT SIMPLICITY 



TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS 

. ib. 


RETALIATION 

. . ib. 


" WHEN LITTLE MORE THAN BOY IN AGE" 

. ib. 





IN BREVITATEM VIT.E SPATII HOMINIBUS CONCESSI. BY DR. 

JORTIN ib. 


TRANSLATION 

. ib. 


VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD. BY DR. VINCENT 

. . ib. 


THE SAME IN ENGLISH 

. ib. 


TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES— 



FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS 



ON THE SAME BY PALLADAS 

. ib. 





BY CALLIMACHUS 

. ib. 


ON MILTIADES 

. . ib. 


ON AN INFANT ............ 

. ib. 


BY HERACLIDES 



ON THE REED 

. 192 


TO HEALTH 

. . ib. 


ON THE ASTROLOGERS 

. ib. 


ON AN OLD WOMAN 

. . ib. 


ON INVALIDS 

. ib. 


ON FLATTERERS . 

. . ib. 



. ib. 


ON THE SWALLOW 

. . ib. 


ON LATE-ACQUIRED WEALTH 

. ib. 


ON A BATH, BY PLATO 

. . ib. 


ON A FOWLER, BY ISIODORUS 

. ib. 


ON NIOBE 

. . 193 


ON A GOOD MAN 

. ib. 


ON A MISER 

. . ib. 


ANOTHER 

. ib. 


ANOTHER . . 

. . ib. 


ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY 

. ib. 


ON THE GRASSHOPPER 

. . ib. 


ON HERMOCRATIA . . 

. ib. 


FROM MENANDER 



ON PALLAS BATHING, FROM A HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS .... 

. 194 


TO DEMOSTHENES . 




CONTENTS. 


TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES— page 

ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER 194 

ON AN UGLY FELLOW lb. 

ON A BATTERED BEAUTY lb. 

THIEF i°' 

ON PEDIGREE. FROM EPICHARMUS . . . 1D - 

ENVY .........••-••► 1D ' 

BY PHTLEMON i°- 

BY MOSCHUS • 19^ 

TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM OF HOMER U>- 

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES OF GAY— 

LEPUS MULTIS AMICUS . ib. 

AVARUS ET PLUTUS 196 

PAPILIO ET LIMAX . . . . . ib. 

TRANSLATION OF A SIMILE IN PARADISE LOST . . . ' . . ib. 
TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON MILTON ib. 

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA MOTTE- 
GUYON— 

THE NATIVITY 197 

GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY THE WORLD 198 

THE SWALLOW 199 

THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED ib. 

A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION OF THE PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE, IN BRINGING A SOUL 

TO THE POINT OF SELF-RENUNCIATION AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE . . . ib. 

A CHILD OF GOD LONGING TO SEE HIM BELOVED • . 200 

ASPIRATIONS OF THE SOUL AFTER GOD ib, 

GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO GOD ib. 

HAPPY SOLITUDE — UNHAPPY MEN .... 201 

LIVING WATER ib. 

TRUTH AND DIVINE LOVE REJECTED BV THE WORLD ib. 

DIVINE JUSTICE AMIABLE ib. 

THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS HIM EVERY WHERE ib. 

THE TESTIMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION 202 

DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL ib. 

SELF-DIFFIDENCE ib. 

THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE 203 

REPOSE IN GOD ib. 

GLORY TO GOD ALONE » ib. 

SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE ib. 

THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFE 204 

LOVE FAITHFUL IN THE ABSENCE OF THE BELOVED . . . . . . . ib. 

LOVE PURE AND FERVENT .... ........ ib. 

THE ENTIRE SURRENDER ib. 

THE PERFECT SACRIFICE . ib. 

GOD HIDES HIS PEOPLE ... ib. 

THE SECRETS OF DIVINE LOVE ARE TO BE KEPT 205 

THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IN THE CHRISTIAN LIFE 206 


xxiv CONTENTS. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA MOTTE- 

GUYON— page 

WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT SEASON 207 

ON THE SAME ib. 

ON THE SAME 208 

THE JOY OF THE CROSS • . . ib. 

JOY IN MARTYRDOM 209 

SIMPLE TRUST ib. 

THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT ib. 

LOVE INCREASF.D BY SUFFERING 210 

SCENES FAVOURABLE TO MEDITATION ib. 

ADAM : A SACRED DRAMA. TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIO. 

BATTISTA ANDREINI 211 

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THE TRANSLATION OF HOMER . 249 
PREPARED FOR A SECOND EDITION . . . . . .252 

THE ILIAD . 255 

ODYSSEY 401 

BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE 513 


THE 


OF 


WILLIAM COWPEE 


Sicut aquae tremulum labris ubi lumen ahenis 
Sole repercussum, aut radiantis imagine lunas, 
Omnia pervolitat late loea ; jamque sub auras 
Erigitur, summique ferit laquearia tecti. 

■ VlRG. JEn. 

So water, trembling in a polish'd vase, 
Reflects the beam that plays upon its face ; 
The sportive light, uncertain where it falls, 
Now strikes the roof, now flashes on the walls. 


PREFACE, 

BY THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

When an author, by appearing in print, requests 
an audience of the public, and is upon the point 
of speaking for himself, whoever presumes to step 
before him with a Preface, and to say, " Nay, but 
hear me first!" should have something worthy of 
attention to offer, or he will be justly deemed offi- 
cious and impertinent. The judicious reader has, 
probably, upon other occasions, been beforehand 
with me in this reflection: and I am not very 
willing it should now be applied to me, however 
I may seem to expose myself to the danger of it. 
But the thought of having my own name perpe- 
tuated in connexion with the name in the title- 
page, is so pleasing and flattering to the feelings of 
. my heart, that I am content to risk something for 
the gratification. 

This Preface is not designed to commend the 
Poems to which it is prefixed. My testimony 
would be insufficient for those who are not quali- 
fied to judge properly for themselves, and un- 
necessary to those who are. Besides, the reasons 
which render it improper and unseemly for a man 
to celebrate his own performances, or those of his 
nearest relatives, will have some influence in sup- 
pressing much of what he might otherwise wish 
to say in favour of a friend, when that friend is 
indeed an alter idem, and excites almost the same 
emotions of sensibility and affection, as he feels 
for himself. 

It is very probable these Poems may come into 
the hands of some persons, in whom the sight of 
the Author's name will awaken a recollection of 
incidents and scenes, which through length of time 
they had almost forgotten. They will be reminded 


of one, who was once the companion of their 
chosen hours, and who set out with them in early 
life in the paths which lead to literary honours, to 
influence and affluence, with equal prospects of 
success. But he was suddenly and powerfully 
withdrawn from those pursuits, and he left them 
without regret ; yet not till he had sufficient op- 
portunity of counting the cost, and of knowing the 
value of what he gave up. If happiness could 
have been found in classical attainments, in an 
elegant taste, in the exertions of wit, fancy, and 
genius, and in the esteem and converse of such 
persons, as in these respects were most congenial 
with himself, he would have been happy. But he 
was not. — He wondered (as thousands in a similar 
situation still do) that he should continue dissatis- 
fied, with all the means apparently conducive to 
satisfaction within his reach. — But in due time the 
cause of his disappointment was discovered to 
him : — He had lived without God in the world. In 
a memorable hour, the wisdom which is from above 
visited his heart. Then he felt himself a wan- 
derer, and then he found a guide. Upon this 
change of views, a change of plan and conduct 
followed of course. When he saw the busy and 
the gay world in its true light, he left it with as 
little reluctance as a prisoner, when called to 
liberty, leaves his dungeon. Not that he became 
a cynic or an ascetic ; — a heart filled with love to 
God will assuredly breathe benevolence to men. 
But the turn of his temper inclining him to rural 
life, he indulged it, and the providence of God 
evidently preparing his way and marking out his 
retreat, he retired into the country. By these 
steps the good hand of God, unknown to me, was 
providing for me one of the principal blessings of 
my life ; a friend and a counsellor, in whose com- 
pany for almost seven years, though we were 
seldom seven successive waking hours separated, 
I always found new pleasure ; a friend who was 
not only a comfort to myself, but a blessing to the 
affectionate poor people, among whom I then lived. 
Some time after inclination had thus removed 
him from the hurry and bustle of life, he was still 
more secluded by a long indisposition, and my 
pleasure was succeeded by a proportionable de- 
gree of anxiety and concern. But a hope, that 
the God whom he served would support him under 


TABLE TALK. 


his affliction, and at length vouchsafe him a happy 
deliverance, never forsook me. The desirable 
crisis, I trust, is now nearly approaching. The 
dawn, the presage of returning day, is already 
arrived. He is again enabled to resume his pen, 
and some of the first fruits of his recovery are 
here presented to the public. In his principal 
subjects, the same acumen, which distinguished 
him in the early period of life, is happily employed 
in illustrating and enforcing the truths, of which 
he received such deep and unalterable impressions 
in his maturer years. His satire, if it may be 
called so, is benevolent, (like the operations of the 
skilful and humane surgeon, who wounds only to 
heal,) dictated by a just regard for the honour of 
God, and indignant grief excited by the profligacy of 
the age, and a tender compassion for the souls of men. 
His favourite topics are least insisted on in the 
piece entitled " Table Talk ;" which, therefore, 
with some regard to the prevailing taste, and that 
those who are governed by it may not be discou- 
raged at the very threshold from proceeding far- 
ther, is placed first. In most of the large Poems 
which follow, his leading design is more explicitly 
avowed and pursued. He aims to communicate 
his own perceptions of the truth, beauty, and in- 
fluence of the religion of the Bible, — a religion, 
which, however discredited by the misconduct of 
many, who have not renounced the Christian name, 
proves itself, when rightly understood, and cordi- 
ally embraced, to be the grand desideratum, which 
alone can relieve the mind of man from painful 
and unavoidable anxieties, inspire it with stable 
peace and solid hope, and furnish those motives 
and prospects which, in the present state of things, 
are absolutely necessary to produce a conduct 
worthy of a rational creature, distinguished by 
a vastness of capacity, which no assemblage of 
earthly good can satisfy, and by a principle and 
pre-intimation of immortality. 

At a time when hypothesis and conjecture in 
philosophy are so justly exploded, and little is 
considered as deserving the name of knowledge, 
which will not stand the test of experiment, the 
very use of the term experimental, in religious 
concernments, is by too many unhappily rejected 
with disgust. But we well know, that they, who 
affect to despise the inward feelings which religious 
persons speak of, and to treat them as enthu- 
siasm and folly, have inward feelings of then.' own, 
which, though they would, they cannot suppress. 
We have been too long in the secret ourselves, to 
account the proud, the ambitious, or the voluptu- 
ous, happy. We must lose the remembrance of 
what we once were, before we can believe, that a 
man is satisfied with himself, merely because he 
endeavours to appear so. A smile upon his face 
is often a mask worn occasionally and in company, 
to prevent, if possible, a suspicion of what at the 
same time is passing in the heart. We know that 
| there are people, who seldom smile when they are 
• alone, who therefore are glad to hide themselves 
1 in a throng from the violence of their own reflec- 
, tions ; and who, while by their looks and then* 
language they wish to persuade us they are happy, 
would be glad to change conditions with a dog. 
1 But in defiance of all their efforts they continue to 
think, forebode, and tremble. This we know, for 
it has been our own state, and therefore we know 
how to commiserate it in others. From this state 


the Bible relieved us. — When we were led to read 
it Avith attention, we found ourselves described ; — 
we learnt the causes of our inquietude, — we were 
directed to a method of relief, — we tried, and we 
were not disappointed. 

Dens nobis hcec otia fecit. 

We are now certain, that the gospel of Christ is 
the power of God unto salvation to every one that 
believeth. It has reconciled us to God, and to 
ourselves, to our duty, and our situation. It is 
the balm and cordial of the present life, and a 
sovereign antidote against the fear of death. 

Sed hactenus hcec. — Some smaller pieces, upon 
less important subjects, close the volume. Not one 
of them, I believe, was written with a view to 
publication, but I was unwilling they should be 
omitted. John newton. 

Charles Square, Hoxton, 
February 18, 1782. 


TABLE TALK. 


Si te forte mete gravis uret sarcina chartce, 
Abjicito. — Hob. lib. i. ep. 13. 

A. You told me, I remember, glory built 
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt ; 
The deeds that men admire as half divine, 
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. 
Strange doctrine this ! that without scruple tears 
The laurel that the very lightning spares, 
Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, 
And eats into his bloody sword like rust. 

B. I grant, that men continuing what they are, 
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war ; 
And never meant the rule should be applied 

To him that fights with justice on his side. 

Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, 
Reward his memory, dear to every muse, 
Who, with a courage of unshaken root, 
In honour's field advancing his firm foot, 
Plants it upon the line that justice draws, 
And will prevail or perish in her cause. 
'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes 
His portion in the good that heaven bestows ; 
And when recording history displays 
Feats of renown, though wrought hi ancient days, 
Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and died 
Where duty placed them, at their country's side, 
The man that is not moved with what he reads, 
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, 
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, 
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. 

But let eternal infamy pursue 
The wretch, to nought but his ambition true, 
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast 
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste. 
Think yourself station'd on a towering rock, 
To see a people scatter'd like a flock, 
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, 
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels, 
Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette, 
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet ! 
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced, 
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced ! 
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour, 
And death's own scythe, would better speak his 
power. 


TABLE TALK. 


Then grace the bony phantom in their stead 
With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade, 
Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress, 
The same their occupation and success. 

A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man ; 
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan : 
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, 
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. 

B. Seldom, alas ! the power of logic reigns 
With much sufficiency in royal brains : 
Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone, 
Wanting its proper base to stand upon. 

Man made for kings ! those optics are but dim 
That tell you so ; — say, rather, they for him. 
That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, 
Could they, or would they, reason as they ought. 
The diadem with mighty projects lined, 
To catch renown by ruining mankind, 
Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store, 
Just what the toy will sell for, and no more. 

Oh ! bright occasions of dispensing good, 
How seldom used, how little understood ! 
To pour in virtue's lap her just reward, 
Keep vice restrain' d behind a double guard, 
To quell the faction that affronts the throne, 
By silent magnanimity alone ; 
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts, 
Watch every beam philosophy imparts ; 
To give religion her unbridled scope, 
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope ; 
With close fidelity and love unfeign'd, 
To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd ; 
Covetous only of a virtuous praise, 
His life a lesson to the land he sways ; 
To touch the sword with conscientious awe, 
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw ; 
To sheath it in the peace-restoring close, 
With joy, beyond what victory bestows, — 
Blest country ! where these kingly glories shine, 
Blest England ! if this happiness be thine. 

A. Guard what you say ; the patriotic tribe 

Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe B. A 

The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, [bribe ? 

To lure me to the baseness of a lie. 

And of all lies (be that one poet's boast) 

The lie that flatters I abhor the most. 

Those arts be theirs that hate his gentle reign ; 

But he that loves him has no need to feign. 

A. Your smooth eulogium, to one crown 
Seems to imply a censure on the rest, [address'd, 

B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, 
Ask'd, when in hell, to see the royal jail, 
Approved their method in all other things, 

" But where, good sir, do you confine your kings ? " 
" There," said his guide, "thegroup is full in view." 
" Indeed !" replied the Don—" there are but few." 
His black interpreter the charge disdain'd ; — 
" Few, fellow ? There are all that ever reign'd." 

Wit undistinguishing is apt to strike 
The guilty and not guilty, both alike. 
I grant the sarcasm is too severe, 
And we can readily refute it here, 
While Alfred's name, the father of his age, 
And the Sixth Edward's, grace the historic page. 

A. Kings then at last have but the lot of all ; 
By their own conduct they must stand or fall. 

B. True. While they live, the courtly laureate 
His quit-rent ode, his pepper-corn of praise, [pays 
And many a dunce whose fingers itch to write, 
Adds, as he can, his tributary mite ; 


A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, 
A monarch's errors are forbidden game. 
Thus free from censure (overawed by fear) 
And praised for virtues that they scorn to wear, 
The fleeting forms of majesty engage 
Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage, 
Then leave their crimes for history to scan, 
And ask with busy scorn, Was this the man \ 

I pity kings whom worship waits upon 
Obsequious, from the cradle to the throne, 
Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows, 
And binds a wreath about their baby brows ; 
Whom education stiffens into state, 
And death awakens from that dream too late. 
Oh ! if servility, with supple knees, 
Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please ; 
If smooth dissimulation, skill' d to grace 
A devil's purpose with an angel's face ; 
If smiling peeresses and simpering peers, 
Encompassing his throne a few short years ; 
If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed, 
That wants no driving and disdains the lead ; 
If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks, 
Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks ; 
Shouldering and standing, as if sti'uck to stone, 
While condescending majesty looks on ; 
If monarchy consist in such base things, 
Sighing, I say again, I pity kings ! 

To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood, 
Even when he labours for his country's good ; 
To see a band call'd patriot for no cause, 
But that they catch at popular applause, 
Careless of all the anxiety he feels, 
Hook disappointment on the public wheels, 
With all their flippant fluency of tongue, 
Most confident, when palpably most wrong, — 
If this be kingly, then farewell for me 
All kingship, and may I be poor and free ! 

To be the Table Talk of clubs up stairs, 
To which the unwash'd artificer repairs, 
To indulge his genius after long fatigue, 
By diving into cabinet intrigue, 
(For what kings deem a toil, as well they may, 
To him is relaxation and mere play ;) — 
To win no praise when well- wrought plans prevail, 
But to be rudely censured when they fail ; 
To doubt the love his favourites may pretend, 
And in reality to find no friend ; 
If he indulge a cultivated taste, 
His galleries with the works of art well graced, 
To hear it call'd extravagance and waste ; 
If these attendants, and if such as these, 
Must follow royalty, then welcome ease ! 
However humble and confined the sphere, 
Happy the state that has not these to fear. 

A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative 
have dwelt 
On situations that they never felt, 
Start up sagacious, cover'd with the dust 
Of dreaming study and pedantic rust, 
And prate and preach about what others prove, 
As if the world and they were hand and glove. 
Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares. 
They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs ; 
Poets, of all men, ever least regret 
Increasing taxes and the nation's debt. 
Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse 
The mighty plan, oracular, in verse, 
No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new, 
Should claim my fix'd attention more than you. 

B 2 


TABLE TALK. 


B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay 
To turn the course of Helicon that way ; 
Nor would the nine consent, the sacred tide 
Should purl amidst the traffic of Cheapside, 
Or tinkle in 'Change Alley, to amuse 
The leathern ears of stock-jobbers and Jews. 

A. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme 
To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. 
When ministers and ministerial arts, 

Patriots who love good places at their hearts, 
When admirals extoll'd for standing still, 
Or doing nothing with a deal of skill ; 
Generals who will not conquer when they may, 
Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay, 
When freedom wounded almost to despair, 
Though discontent alone can find out where, 
When themes like these employ the poet's tongue, 
I hear, — as mute as if a siren sung. 
Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains 
A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains ? 
That were a theme might animate the dead, 
And move the lips of poets cast in lead. 

B. The cause, though worth the search, may yet 
Conjecture and remark, however shrewd, [elude 
They take, perhaps, a well-directed aim, 

Who seek it in his climate and his frame. 

Liberal in all things else, yet nature here 

With stern severity deals out the year. 

Winter invades the spring, and often pours 

A chilling flood on summer's drooping flowers ; 

Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, 

Ungenial blasts attending, curl the streams ; 

The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork 

With double toil, and shiver at their work. 

Thus with a rigour, for his good design'd, 

She rears her favourite man of all mankind. 

His form robust and of elastic tone, 

Proportion'd well, half muscle and half bone, 

Supplies with warm activity and force 

A mind well lodged, and masculine of course. 

Hence liberty, sweet liberty inspires, 

And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires. 

Patient of constitutional control, 

He bears it with meek manliness of soul ; 

But if authority grow wanton, woe 

To him that treads upon his free-born toe ! 

One step beyond the boundary of the laws 

Fires him at once in freedom's glorious cause. 

Thus proud prerogative, not much revered, 

Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard ; 

And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay, 

Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. 

Born in a climate softer far than ours, 
Not form'd like us, with such Herculean powers, 
The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, 
Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, 
Is always happy, reign whoever may, 
And laughs the sense of misery far away. 
He drinks his simple beverage with a gust ; 
And feasting on an onion and a crust, 
We never feel the alacrity and joy 
With which he shouts and carols, Vive le Roy, 
Fill'd with as much true merriment and glee, 
As if he heard his king say — Slave, be free ! 

Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, 
Less on exterior things than most suppose. 
Vigilant over all that he has made, 
Kind Providence attends with gracious aid, 
Bids equity throughout his works prevail, 
And weighs the nations in an even scale ; 


He can encourage slavery to a smile, 
And fill with discontent a British isle. 

A. Freeman and slave then, if the case be such, 
Stand on a level, — and you prove too much. 

If all men indiscriminately share 
His fostering power and tutelary care, 
As well be yoked by despotism's hand, 
As dwell at large in Britain's charter'd land. 

B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, 
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. 
The mind attains beneath her happy reign 

The growth that nature meant she should attain. 

The varied fields of science, ever new, 

Opening and wider opening on her view, 

She ventures onward with a prosperous force, 

While no base fear impedes her in her course. 

Religion, richest favour of the skies, 

Stands most reveal' d before the freeman's eyes ; 

No shades of superstition blot the day, 

Liberty chases all that gloom away ; 

The soul, emancipated, unoppress'd, 

Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best, 

Learns much, and to a thousand listening minds 

Communicates with joy the good she finds. 

Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show 

His manly forehead to the fiercest foe ; 

Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, 

His spirits rising as his toils increase, 

Guards well what arts and industry have won, 

And Freedom claims him for her first-born son. 

Slaves fight for what were better cast away, 

The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway ; 

But they that fight for freedom, undertake 

The noblest cause mankind can have at stake, 

Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call 

A blessing, freedom is the pledge of all. 

Oh liberty ! the prisoner's pleasing dream, 

The poet's muse, his passion and his theme, 

Genius is thine, and thou art fancy's nurse, 

Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse ; 

Heroic song from thy free touch acquires 

Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires. 

Place me where winter breathes his keenest air, 

And I will sing if liberty be there ; 

And I will sing at liberty's dear feet, 

In Afric's torrid clime or India's fiercest heat. 

A. Sing where you please ; in such a cause I 
An English poet's privilege to rant. [grant 
But is not freedom, at least is not ours, 

Too apt to play the wanton with her powers, 
Grow freakish, and o'erleaping every mound, 
Spread anarchy and terror all around ? 

B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your 
For bounding and curvetting in his course ; [horse 
Or if, when ridden with a careless rein, 

He break away, and seek the distant plain ? 
No. His high mettle, under good control, 
Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the 
Let discipline employ her wholesome arts ; [goal. 
Let magistrates alert perform their parts, 
Not skulk, or put on a prudential mask, 
As if their duty were a desperate task ; 
Let active laws apply the needful curb 
To guard the peace that riot would disturb, 
And liberty, preserved from wild excess, 
Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. 
When tumult lately burst his prison door, 
And set plebeian thousands in a roar, 
When he usurp'd authority's just place, 
And dared to look his master in the face, 


TABLE TALK. 


When the rude rabble's watchword Avas, Destroy ! 
And blazing London seem'd a second Troy, 
Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head, 
Beheld their progress with the deepest dread, 
Blush'd that effects like these she should produce, 
Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. 
She loses in such storms her very name, 
And fierce licentiousness should bear the blame. 

Incomparable gem ! thy worth untold, 
Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away 

when sold ; 
May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend 
Betray thee, while professing to defend ; 
Prize it ye ministers, ye monarchs spare, 
Ye patriots guard it with a miser's care ! 

A. Patriots, alas ! the few that have been found 
Where most they nourish, upon English ground, 
The country's need have scantily supplied ; 

And the last left the scene when Chatham died. 

B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age, 
Though the chief actor died upon the stage. 
In him, Demosthenes was heard again, 
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain ; 
She clothed him with authority and awe, 
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace, 
And all his country beaming in his face, 

He stood, as some inimitable hand 

Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. 

No sycophant or slave that dared oppose 

Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose, 

And every venal stickler for the yoke, 

Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 

Such men are raised to station and command, 
When Providence means mercy to a land. 
He speaks, and they appear ; to him they owe 
Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow, 
To manage with address, to seize with power 
The crisis of a dark decisive hour. 
So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own, 
Subserviency his praise, and that alone. 

Poor England ! thou art a devoted deer, 
Beset with every ill but that of fear. 
The nations hunt ; all mark thee for a prey, 
They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay, 
Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd ; 
Once Chatham saved thee, but who saves thee 

next ? 
Alas ! the tide of pleasure sweeps along 
All that should be the boast of British song. 
'Tis not the wreath that once adorn'd thy brow, 
The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. 
Our ancestry, a gallant Christian race, 
Patterns of every virtue, every grace, 
Confess'd a God ; they kneel'd before they fought, 
And praised him in the victories he wrought. 
Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth 
Then' sober zeal, integrity, and worth ; 
Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies, 
Is but the fire without the sacrifice. 
The stream that feeds the well-spring of the heart 
Not more invigorates life's noblest part, 
Than virtue quickens with a warmth divine 
The powers that sin has brought to a decline. 

A. The inestimable estimate of Brown, 
Rose like a paper-kite, and charm'd the town ; 
But measures, plann'd and executed well, 
Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. 
He trod the very self-same ground you tread, 
And victory refuted all he said. 


B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiss 
Its error, if it err'd, was merely this, — 
He thought the dying hour already come, 
And a complete recovery struck him dumb. 

But that effeminacy, folly, lust, 
Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must ; 
And that a nation shamefully debased 
Will be despised and trampled on at last, 
Unless sweet penitence her powers renew, 
Is truth, if history itself be true. 
There is a time, and justice marks the date, 
For long-forbearing clemency to wait ; 
That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt 
Is punish'd, and down comes the thunder-bolt. 
If Mercy then put by the threatening blow, 
Must she perform the same kind office now ? 
May she ! and if offended Heaven be still 
Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. 
'Tis not however insolence and noise, 
The tempest of tumultuary joys, 
Nor is it yet despondence and dismay, 
Will win her visits, or engage her stay ; 
Prayer only, and the penitential tear, 
Can call her smiling down, and fix her here. 

But when a country (one that I could name) 
In prostitution sinks the sense of shame, 
When infamous venality, grown bold, 
Writes on his bosom to be let or sold; 
When perjury, that heaven-defying vice, 
Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price, 
Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, 
To turn a penny in the way of trade ; 
When avarice starves, and never hides his face, 
Two or three millions of the human race, 
And not a tongue enquires how, where, or when, 
Though conscience will have twinges now and then; 
When profanation of the sacred cause 
In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, 
Bespeaks a land, once christian, fallen and lost 
In all that wars against that title most ; 
What follows next, let cities of great name, 
And regions long since desolate, proclaim : 
Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome, 
Speak to the present times and times to come, 
They cry aloud in every careless ear, 
" Stop, while ye may, suspend your mad career ! 
learn from our example and our fate, 
Learn wisdom and repentance ere too late ! " 

Not only vice disposes and prepares 
The mind that slumbers sweetly in her snares, 
To stoop to tyranny's usurp 'd command, 
And bend her polish'd neck beneath his hand, 
(A dire effect, by one of nature's laws 
Unchangeably connected with its cause ;) 
But Providence himself will intervene 
To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene. 
All are his instruments ; each form of war, 
What burns at home, or threatens from afar, 
Nature in arms, her elements at strife, 
The storms that overset the joys of life, 
Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land, 
And waste it at the bidding of his hand. 
He gives the word, and mutiny soon roars 
In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ; 
The standards of all nations are unfuii'd, 
She has one foe, and that one foe, the world, 
And if he doom that people with a frown, 
And mark them with the seal of wrath, press'd down, 
Obduracy takes place ; callous and tough, 
The reprobated race grows judgment-proof; 


G 


TABLE TALK. 


Earth shakes beneath them, and heaven roars above, 
But nothing scares them from the course they love ; 
To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, 
That charm down fear, they frolic it along, 
With mad rapidity and unconcern, 
Down to the gulf from which is no return. 
They trust in navies, and their navies fail, 
God's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ; 
They trust in armies, and their courage dies ; 
In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies ; 
But all they trust in withers, as it must, 
When He commands, in whom they place no trust. 
Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast, 
A long despised, but now victorious host ; 
Tyranny sends the chain that must abridge 
The noble sweep of all their privilege, 
Gives liberty the last, the mortal shock, 
Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock. 

A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach, 
Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach ? 

B. 1 know the mind that feels indeed the fire 
The muse imparts, and can command the lyre, 
Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, 
Whate'er the theme, that others never feel. 

If human woes her soft attention claim, 

A tender sympathy pervades the frame, 

She pours a sensibility divine 

Along the nerve of every feeling line. 

But if a deed not tamely to be borne, 

Fire indignation and a sense of scorn, 

The strings are swept with such a power, so loud, 

The storm of music shakes the astonish'd crowd. 

So when remote futurity is brought 

Before the keen enquiry of her thought, 

A terrible sagacity informs 

The poet's heart, he looks to distant storms, 

He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers, 

And arm'dwith strength surpassing humanpowers, 

Seizes events as yet unknown to man, 

And darts his soul into the dawning plan. 

Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name 

Of prophet and of poet was the same ; 

Hence British poets too the priesthood shared, 

And every hallow'd druid was a bard. 

But no prophetic fires to me belong, 

I play with syllables, and sport in song. 

A. At Westminster, where little poets strive 
To set a distich upon six and five, 

Where discipline helps opening buds of sense, 
And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, 
I was a poet too ; — but modern taste 
Is so refined and delicate and chaste, 
That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms, 
Without a creamy smoothness has no charms. 
Thus, all success depending on an ear, 
And thinking I might purchase it too dear, 
If sentiment were sacrificed to sound, 
And truth cut short to make a period round, 
I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse 
Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. 

B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, 

And some wits flag through fear of losing it. 
Give me the line that ploughs its stately course 
Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force ; 
That like some cottage beauty strikes the heart, 
Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. 
When labour and when dulness, club in hand, 
Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand, 
Boating alternately, in measured time, 
The clock-work tintinnabulum of rhyme, 


Exact and regular the sounds will be, 

But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. 

From him who rears a poem lank and long, 
To him who strains his all into a song, 
Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, 
All birks and braes, though he was never there ; 
Or having whelp'd a prologue with great pains, 
Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; 
A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke, 
An art contrived to advertise a joke, 
So that the jest is clearly to be seen, 
Not in the words — but in the gap between ; 
Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, 
The substitute for genius, sense, and wit. 

To dally much with subjects mean and low, 
Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. 
Neglected talents rust into decay, 
And every effort ends in push-pin play. 
The man that means success, should soar above 
A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove, 
Else summoning the Muse to such a theme, 
The fruit of all her labour is whipt-cream. 
As if an eagle flew aloft, and then — 
Stoop'd from his highest pitch to pounce a wren. 
As if the poet purposing to wed, 
Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. 

Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, 
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard ; 
To carry nature lengths unknown before, 
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more. 
Thus genius rose and set at order'd times, 
And shot a day-spring into distant climes, 
Ennobling every region that he chose, 
He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose, 
And, tedious years of Gothic darkness past, 
Emerged all splendour in our isle at last. 
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, 
Then show far off their shining plumes again. 

A. Is genius only found in epic lays % 
Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. 
Make their heroic powers your own at once, 
Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. 

B. These were the chief ; each interval of night 
Was graced with many an undulating light ; 

In less illustrious bards his beauty shone 
A meteor or a star ; in these, the sun. 

The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, 
While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. 
Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I, 
Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly ; 
Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land, 
An ell or two of prospect we command, 
But never peep beyond the thorny bound, 
Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round. 

In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart 
Had faded, poetry was not an art ; 
Language above all teaching, or if taught, 
Only by gratitude and glowing thought, 
Elegant as simplicity, and warm 
As ecstacy, unmanacled by form, 
Not prompted, as in our degenerate days, 
By low ambition and the thirst of praise, 
Was natural as is the flowing stream, 
And yet magnificent, a God the theme. 
That theme on earth exhausted, though above 
'Tis found as everlasting as his love, 
Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human things, 
The feats of heroes and the wrath of kings, 
But still while virtue kindled his delight, 
The song was moral, and so far was right. 


TABLE TALK. 


'Twas thus till luxury seduced the mind 

To joys less innocent, as less refined, 

Then genius danced a bacchanal, he crown'd 

The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound 

His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field 

Of wild imagination, and there reel'd 

The victim of his own lascivious fires, 

And dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires. 

Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome 
This Bedlam part ; and, others nearer home. 
When Cromwell fought for power, and while he 

reign'd 
The proud protector of the power he gain'd, 
Religion harsh, intolerant, austere, 
Parent of manners like herself severe, 
Drew a rough copy of the Christian face 
Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace ; 
The dark and sullen humour of the time 
Judged every effort of the Muse a crime ; 
Verse in the finest mould of fancy cast, 
Was lumber in an age so void of taste : 
But when the second Charles assumed the sway, 
And arts revived beneath a softer day, 
Then like a bow long forced into a curve, 
The mind, released from too constrain'd a nerve, 
Flew to its first position with a spring 
That made the vaulted roofs of pleasure ring. 
His court, the dissolute and hateful school 
Of wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, 
Swarin'd with a scribbling herd as deep inlaid 
With brutal lust as ever Circe made. 
From these a long succession, in the rage 
Of rank obscenity debauch'd their age, 
Nor ceased, till ever anxious to redress 
The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, 
The Muse instructed a well nurtured train 
Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, 
And claim the palm for purity of song, 
That lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. 
Then decent pleasantry and sterling sense 
That neither gave nor would endure offence, 
Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, 
The puppy pack that had defiled the scene. 

In front of these came Addison. In him 
Humour in holiday and sightly trim, 
Sublimity and Attic taste combined, 
To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 
Then Pope, as harmony itself exact, 
In verse well disciplined, complete, compact, 
Gave virtue and morality a grace 
That, quite eclipsing pleasure's painted face, 
Levied a tax of wonder and applause, 
Even on the fools that trampled on their laws. 
But he (his musical finesse was such, 
So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) 
Made poetry a mere mechanic art, 
And every warbler has his tune by heart. 
Nature imparting her satiric gift, 
Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, 
With droll sobriety they raised a smile 
At folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while. 
That constellation set, the world in vain 
Must hope to look upon their like again. 

A. Are we then left — B. Not wholly in the 
dark : 
Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark, 
Sufficient to redeem the modern race 
From total night and absolute disgrace. 
While servile trick and imitative knack 
Confine the million in the beaten track, 


Perhaps some courser who disdains the road, 
Snuffs up the wind and flings himself abroad. 

Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one, 
Short his career, indeed, but ably run. 
Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers, 
In penury consumed his idle hours, 
And like a scatter'd seed at random sown, 
Was left to spring by vigour of his own. 
Lifted at length, by dignity of thought 
And dint of genius, to an affluent lot, 
He laid his head in luxury's soft lap, 
And took too often there his easy nap. 
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth, 
'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. 
Surly and slovenly and bold and coarse, 
Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force, 
Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, 
Always at speed, and never drawing bit, 
He struck the lyre in such a careless mood, 
And so disdain'd the rules he understood, 
The laurel seem'd to wait on his command, 
He snatch'd it rudely from the Muse's hand. 

Nature, exerting an unwearied power, 
Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower, 
Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads 
The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads, 
She fills profuse ten thousand little throats 
With music, modulating all their notes, 
And charms the woodland scenes and wilds unknown, 
With artless airs and concerts of her own ; 
But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 
Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence. 
Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought, 
Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought, 
Fancy that from the bow that spans the sky, 
Brings colours dipt in heaven that never die, 
A soul exalted above earth, a mind 
Skill' d in the characters that form mankind, — 
And as the sun, in rising beauty dress'd, 
Looks to the westward from the dappled east, 
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose, 
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close, 
An eye like his to catch the distant goal, 
Or ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, 
Like his to shed illuminating rays 
On every scene and subject it surveys, — 
Thus graced the man asserts a poet's name, 
And the world cheerfully admits the claim. 

Pity ! Religion has so seldom found 
A skilful guide into poetic ground ! 
The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to 
And every muse attend her in her way. [stray, 
Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, 
And many a compliment politely penn'd, 
But unattired in that becoming vest 
Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd, 
Stands in the desert shivering and forlorn, 
A wintry figure, like a wither' d thorn. 
The shelves are full, all other themes are sped ; 
Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread, 
Satire has long since done his best, and curst 
And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst ; 
Fancy has sported all her powers away 
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play, 
And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, 
Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. 
'Twere new indeed, to see a bard all fire, 
Touch'd with a coal from heaven, assume the lyre, 
And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, 
With more than mortal music on his tongue, 


8 


THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 


That He who died below, and reigns above 
Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. 

For, after all, if merely to beguile 
By flowing numbers and a flowery style 
The tsedium that the lazy rich endure, 
Which now and then sweet poetry may cure, 
Or if to see the name of idol self 
Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, 
To float a bubble on the breath of fame, 
Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim, 
Debased to servile purposes of pride, 
How are the powers of genius misapplied ! 
The gift whose office is the giver's praise, 
To trace him in his word, his works, his ways, 
Then spread the rich discovery, and invite 
Mankind to share in the divine delight, 
Distorted from its use and just design, 
To make the pitiful possessor shine, 
To purchase at the fool-frequented fair 
Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear, 
Is profanation of the basest kind, 
Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind. 

A. Hail Sternhold then, and Hopkins hail ! B. 
If flattery, folly, lust employ the pen, [Amen. 

If acrimony, slander and abuse, 
Give it a charge to blacken and traduce ; 
Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease, 
With all that fancy can invent to please, 
Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, 
One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. 

A. 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, 
To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. 

B. No matter ; — we could shift when they were 
And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot. [not ; 


PROGRESS OF ERROR. 

Si quid loquar audiendian.—Hon. lib. iv. od. 2. 

Sing, Muse, (if such a theme, so dark, so long, 
May find a Muse to grace it with a song) 
By what unseen and unsuspected arts 
The serpent Error twines round human hearts ; 
Tell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades 
That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades, 
The poisonous, black, insinuating worm 
Successfully conceals her loathsome form. 
Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine ! 
Counsel and caution from a voice like mine ; 
Truths that the theorist could never reach, 
And observation taught me, I would teach. 

Not all whose eloquence the fancy fills, 
Musical as the chime of tinkling rills, 
Weak to perform, though mighty to pi'etend, 
Can trace her mazy windings to their end, 
Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure, 
Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure. 
The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, 
Falls soporific on the listless ear ; " 
Like quicksilver, the rhetoric they display 
Shines as it runs, but, grasp'd at, slips away. 

Placed for his trial on this bustling stage, 
From thoughtless youth to ruminating age, 
Free in his will to choose or to refuse, 
Man may improve the crisis, or abuse. 
Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan, 
Say, to what bar amenable were man I 


With nought in charge, he could betray no trust, 
And if he fell, would fall because he must ; 
If love reward him, or if vengeance strike, 
His recompense in both, unjust alike. 
Divine authority within his breast 
Brings, every thought, word, action, to the test, 
Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, 
As reason, or as passion, takes the reins. 
Heaven from above, and Conscience from within, 
Cry in his startled ear, " Abstain from sin 1 " 
The world around solicits his desire, 
And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire ; 
While, all his purposes and steps to guard, 
Peace follows virtue as its sure reward, 
And pleasure brings as surely in her train, 
Remorse and sorrow and vindictive pain. 

Man, thus endued with an elective voice, 
Must be supplied with objects of his choice. 
Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight, 
Or present or in prospect, meet his sight ; 
These open on the spot their honey'd store, 
Those call him loudly to pursuit of more. 
His unexhausted mine, the sordid vice 
Avarice shows, and virtue is the price. 
Here, various motives his ambition raise, 
Power, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of 

praise ; 
There beauty woos him with expanded arms ; 
Even Bacchanalian madness has its charms. 

Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined 
Might well alarm the most unguarded mind, 
Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth, 
Or lead him devious from the path of truth ; 
Hourly allurements on his passions press, 
Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess. 

Hark ! how it floats upon the dewy air ; — 
O what a dying, dying close was there ! 
'Tis harmony from yon sequester'd bower, 
Sweet harmony that soothes the midnight hour ; 
Long ere the charioteer of day had run 
His morning course, the enchantment was begun, 
And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, 
Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. 

Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent 
That Virtue points to ? Can a life thus spent 
Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, 
Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the 
Ye devotees to your adored employ, [skies \ 

Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy, 
Love makes the music of the blest above, 
Heaven's harmony is universal love ; 
And earthly sounds, though sweet and well com- 
And lenient as soft opiates to the mind, [bined, 
Leave vice and folly unsubdued behind. 

Grey dawn appears, the sportsman and his train 
Speckle the bosom of the distant plain ; 
'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs, 
Save that his scent is less acute than theirs, 
For persevering chase and headlong leaps, 
True beagle as the staunchest hound he keeps. 
Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene, 
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean ; 
The joy, the danger and the toil o'erpays ; 
'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. 
Again impetuous to the field he flies, 
Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies ; 
Like a slain deer, the tumbril brings him home, 
Unmiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom. 

Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place, 
Lights of the world, and stars of human race, 


THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 


9 


But if eccentric ye forsake your sphere, 
Prodigious, ominous, and view'd with fear, 
The comet's baneful influence is a dream, 
Yours real, and pernicious in the extreme. 
What then, — are appetites and lusts laid down, 
With the same ease the man puts on his gown ? 
Will avarice and concupiscence give place, 
Charm'd by the sounds, your reverence, or your 

grace 1 
No. But his own engagement binds him fast ; 
Or if it does not, brands him to the last 
What atheists call him, a designing knave, 
A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. 
Oh laugh, or mourn with me, the rueful jest, 
A cassock'd huntsman, and a fiddling priest ; 
He from Italian songsters takes his cue, 
Set Paul to music, he shall quote him too. 
He takes the field : the master of the pack 
Cries, Well done, saint ! — and claps him on the 
Is this the path of sanctity ? Is this [back. 

To stand a way-mark in the road to bliss ? 
Himself a wanderer from the narrow way, 
His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray? 
Go, cast your orders at your bishop's feet, 
Send your dishonour' d guwn to Monmouth Street, 
The sacred function, in your hands is made, 
Sad sacrilege ! no function, but a trade. 

Occiduus is a pastor of renown ; [down, 

When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath 
With wire and catgut he concludes the day, 
Quavering and semiquavering care away. 
The full concerto swells upon your ear ; 
All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear 
The Babylonian tyrant with a nod 
Had summon'd them to serve his golden god. 
So well that thought the employment seems to suit, 
Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. 
Oh fie ! 'Tis evangelical and pure ; 
Observe each face, how sober and demure ! 
Ecstacy sets her stamp on every mien, 
Chins fallen, and not an eye-ball to be seen. 
Still I insist, though music heretofore 
Has charm'd me much, not even Occiduus more, 
Love, joy, and peace make harmony more meet 
For sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet. 

Will not the sickliest sheep of every flock 
Resort to this example as a rock, 
There stand and justify the foul abuse 
Of sabbath hours, with plausible excuse 1 
If apostolic gravity be free 
To play the fool on Sundays, why not we ? 
If he the tinkling harpsichord regards 
As inoffensive, what offence in cards ? 
Strike up the fiddles! let us all be gay! 
Laymen have leave to dance, if parsons play. 

Italy ! thy sabbaths will be soon 
Our sabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon. 
Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene, 
Ours parcel'd out, as thine have ever been, 
God's worship and the mountebank between. 
What says the prophet ? Let that day be blest 
With holiness and consecrated rest. 
Pastime and business both it should exclude, 
And bar the door the moment they intrude ; 
Nobly distinguish'd above all the six, 
By deeds in which the world must never mix. 
Hear him again. He calls it a delight, 
A day of luxury, observed aright, [guest, 

When the glad soul is made heaven's welcome 
Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast. 


But triflers are engaged and cannot come ; 
Their answer to the call is — Not at home. 

Oh the dear pleasures of the velvet plain ! 
The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again. 
Cards with what rapture, and the polish'd die, 
The yawning chasm of indolence supply ! 
Then to the dance, and make the sober moon 
Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon. 
Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball, 
The snug close party, or the splendid hall 
Where night, down-stooping from her ebon throne, 
Views constellations brighter than her own : 
'Tis innocent and harmless, and refined, 
The balm of care, elysium of the mind. 
Innocent ! — Oh, if venerable time 
Slain at the foot of pleasure be no crime, 
Then with his silver beard and magic wand, 
Let Comus rise archbishop of the land ; 
Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe, 
Grand metropolitan of all the tribe. 

Of manners rough, and coarse athletic cast, 
The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste. 
Rufillus, exquisitely form'd by rule, 
Not of the moral but the dancing school, 
Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone 
As tragical, as others at his own. 
He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score, 
Then kill a constable, and drink five more ; 
But he can draw a pattern, make a tart, 
And has the Ladies' Etiquette by heart. 
Go, fool ! and arm in arm with Clodio plead 
Your Cause before a bar you little dread ; 
But know, the law that bids the drunkard die 
Is far too just to pass the trifler by. 
Both baby-featured and of infant size, 
View'd from a distance, and with heedless eyes, 
Folly and innocence are so alike, 
The difference, though essential, fails to strike : 
Yet folly ever has a vacant stare, 
A simpering countenance, and a trifling air j 
But innocence, sedate, serene, erect, 
Delights us, by engaging our respect. 

Man, Nature's guest by invitation sweet, 
Receives from her both appetite and treat ; 
But if he play the glutton and exceed, 
His benefactress blushes at the deed. 
For nature, nice, as liberal to dispense, 
Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. 
Daniel ate pulse by choice, — example rare ! 
Heaven bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and 
Gorgonius sits abdominous and wan, [fair. 

Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan ; 
He snuffs far off the anticipated joy, 
Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ, 
Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat, 
Oh nauseous ! an emetic for a whet, — 
Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good \ 
Temperance were no virtue if he could. 

That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call, 
Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all. 
And some that seem to threaten virtue less, 
Still hurtful, in the abuse, or by the excess. 

Is man then only for his torment placed, 
The centre of delights he may not taste ? 
Like fabled Tantalus condemn'd to hear 
The precious stream still purling in his ear, 
Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet curst 
With prohibition and perpetual thirst ? 
No, wrangler, — destitute of shame and sense ! 
The precept that enjoins him abstinence, 


10 


THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 


Forbids him none but the licentious joy, 
Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. 
Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid 
In every bosom where her nest is made, 
Hatch'd by the beams of truth, denies him rest, 
And proves a raging scorpion in his breast. 
No pleasure ? Are domestic comforts dead ? 
Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled ? 
Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame 
Good sense, good health, good conscience, and 

good fame ? 
All these belong to virtue, and all prove 
That virtue has a title to your love. 
Have you no touch of pity, that the poor 
Stand starved at your inhospitable door ? 
Or if yourself, too scantily supplied, 
Need help, let honest industry provide. 
Earn, if you want : if you abound, impart ; 
These both are pleasures to the feeling heart. 
No pleasure ? Has some sickly Eastern waste 
Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast ? 
Can British paradise no scenes afford 
To please her sated and indifferent lord ? 
Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run 
Quite to the lees ? And has religion none % 
Brutes capable, should tell you 'tis a lie, 
And judge you from the kennel and the sty. 
Delights like these, ye sensual and profane, 
Ye are bid, begg'd, besought to entertain ; 
Call'd to these crystal streams, do ye turn off 
Obscene, to swill and swallow at a trough ? 
Envy the beast then, on whom heaven bestows 
Your pleasures, with no curses in the close ! 

Pleasure, admitted in undue degree, 
Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free. 
'Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice 
Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their use; 
Ambition, avarice, and the lust of fame, 
And woman, lovely woman, does the same. 
The heart, surrender'd to the ruling power 
Of some ungovern'd passion every hour, 
Finds, by degrees, the truths that once bore sway, 
And all their deep impression wear away. 
So coin grows smooth, in traffic current pass'd, 
Till Caesar's image is effaced at last. 

The breach, though small at first, soon opening 
wide, 
In rushes folly with a full-moon tide: 
Then welcome errors, of whatever size, 
To justify it by a thousand lies. 
As creeping ivy clings to Avood or stone, 
And hides the ruin that it feeds upon, 
So sophistry cleaves close to and protects 
Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects. 
Mortals whose pleasures are their only care, 
First wish to be imposed on, and then are ; 
And lest the fulsome artifice should fail, 
Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil. 
Not more industrious are the just and true 
To give to virtue what is virtue's due, 
The praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth, 
And call her charms to public notice forth, 
Than vice's mean and disingenuous race 
To hide the shocking features of her face : 
Her form with dress and lotion they repair, 
Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair. 

The sacred implement I now employ 
' Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy, 
A trifle if it move but to amuse, 
But if to wrong the judgment and abuse, 


Worse than a poniard in the basest hand, 
It stabs at once the morals of a land. 

Ye writers of what none with safety reads, 
Footing it in the dance that fancy leads, 
Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend, 
Sniveling and driveling folly without end, 
Whose corresponding misses fill the ream 
With sentimental frippery and dream, 
Caught in a delicate soft silken net 
By some lewd earl or rake-hell baronet ; 
Ye pimps, who, under virtue's fair pretence, 
Steal to the closet of young innocence, 
And teach her, inexperienced yet and green, 
To scribble as you scribble at fifteen ; 
Who kindling a combustion of desire, 
With some cold moral think to quench the fire, 
Though all your engineering proves in vain, 
The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again ; 
Oh that a verse had power, and could command 
Far, far away these flesh-flies of the land ! 
Who fasten without mercy on the fair, 
And suck, and leave a craving maggot there. 
Howe'er disguised the inflammatory tale, 
And cover'd with a fine-spun specious veil, 
Such writers and such readers owe the gust 
And relish of their pleasure all to lust. 

But the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view 
A quarry more important still than you ; 
Down, down the wind she swims and sails away, 
Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. 

Petronius ! all the muses weep for thee, 
But every tear shall scald thy memory. 
The graces too, while virtue at their shrine 
Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine, 
Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, 
Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest: 
Thou polish'd and high-finish' d foe to truth, 
Grey-beard corruptor of our listening youth, 
To purge and skim away the filth of vice, 
That so refined it might the more entice, 
Then pour it on the morals of thy son 
To taint his heart, was worthy of thine own. 
Now while the poison all high life pervades, 
Write if thou canst one letter from the shades, 
One, and one only, charged with deep regret, 
That thy worst part, thy principles, live yet : 
One sad epistle thence may cure mankind 
Of the plague spread by bundles left behind. 

'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, 
Our most important are our earliest years. 
The mmd impressible and soft, with ease 
Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees, 
And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clue 
That education gives her, false or true. 
Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong ; 
Man's coltish disposition asks the thong, 
And without discipline the favourite child, 
Like a neglected forester, runs wild. 
But we, as if good qualities would grow 
Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow ; 
We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek, 
Teach him to fence and figure twice a week, 
And having done, we think, the best we can, 
Praise his proficiency and dub him man. 

From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home, 
And thence with all convenient speed to Rome, 
With reverend tutor clad in habit lay, 
To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day ; 
With memorandum-book for every town, 
And every post, and where the chaise broke down ; 


THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 


11 


His stock a few French phrases got by heart, 
With much to learn but nothing to impart, 
The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, 
Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands : 
Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair 
With awkward gait, stretch'd neck, and silly stare, 
Discover huge cathedrals built with stone, 
And steeples towering high much like our own, 
But show peculiar light by many a grin 
At Popish practices observed within. 

Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abbe 
Remarks two loiterers that have lost their way, 
And being always primed with politesse 
For men of their appearance and address, 
With much compassion undertakes the task, 
To tell them more than they have wit to ask ; 
Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread, 
Such as when legible were never read, 
But being canker'd now, and half worn out, 
Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt; 
Some headless hero or some Csesar shows, 
Defective only in his Roman nose ; 
Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans, 
Models of Herculanean pots and pans, 
And sells them medals, which, if neither rare 
Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care. 

Strange the recital ! from whatever cause 
His great improvement and new lights he draws, 
The 'squire once bashful is shamefaced no more, 
But teems with powers he never felt before : 
Whether increased momentum, and the force 
With which from clime to clime he sped his course, 
As axles sometimes kindle as they go, 
Chafed him and brought dull nature to a glow; 
Or whether clearer sides and softer air, 
That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair, 
Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran, 
Unfolded genially and spread the man ; 
Returning, he proclaims by many a grace, 
By shrugs and strange contortions of his face, 
How much a dunce that has been sent to roam, 
Excels a dunce that has been kept at home.*^ 

Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, 
And wisdom falls before exterior grace ; 
We slight the precious kernel of the stone, 
And toil to polish its rough coat alone. 
A just deportment, manners graced with ease, 
Elegant phrase, and figure form'd to please, 
Are qualities that seem to comprehend 
Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend. 
Hence an unfurnish'd and a listless mind, 
Though busy, trifling ; empty, though refined ; 
Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash 
With indolence and luxury, is trash ; 
While learning, once the man's exclusive pride, 
Seems verging fast towards the female side. 

Learning itself, received into a mind 
By nature weak, or viciously inclined, 
Serves but to lead philosophers astray 
Where children would with ease discern the way. 
And of all arts sagacious dupes invent 
To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent, 
The worst is scripture warp'd from its intent. 

The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased 
If Tom be sober, and the wheels well greased ; 
But if the rogue have gone a cup too far, 
Left out his linch-pin or forgot his tar, 
It suffers interruption and delay, 
And meets with hinderance in the smoothest 
way. 


When some hypothesis absurd and vain 
Has fill'd with all its fumes a critic's brain, 
The text that sorts not with his darling whim, 
Though plain to others, is obscure to him. 
The will made subject to a lawless force, 
All is irregular and out of course, 
And judgment drunk, and bribed to lose his way, 
Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noon-day. 

A critic on the sacred book should be 
Candid and learn' d, dispassionate and free ; 
Free from the wayward bias bigots feel, 
From fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal. 
But above all (or let the wretch refrain, 
Nor touch the page he cannot but profane) 
Free from the domineering power of lust ; 
A lewd interpreter is never just. 

How shall I speak thee, or thy power address, 
Thou god of our idolatry, the Press % 
By thee, religion, liberty, and laws 
Exert their influence, and advance their cause ; 
By thee, worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befel, 
Diffused, make earth the vestibule of hell : 
Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise, 
Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies, 
Like Eden's dread probationary tree, 
Knowledge of good and evil is from thee. 

No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest, 
Till half mankind were like himself possess'd. 
Philosophers, who darken and put out 
Eternal truth by everlasting doubt, 
Church quacks, with passions under no command, 
Who fill the world with doctrines contraband, 
Discoverers of they know not what, confined 
Within no bounds, the blind that lead the blind, 
To streams of popular opinion drawn, 
Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. 
The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around, 
Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound; 
Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood, 
Minnows and gudgeons gorge the unwholesome 
The propagated myriads spread so fast, [food. 
Even Leuwenhoek himself would stand aghast, 
Employ'd to calculate the enormous sum, 
And own his crab-computing powers o'ercome. 
Is this hyperbole ? The world well known, 
Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. 

Fresh confidence the speculatist takes 
From every hare-brain'd proselyte he makes, 
And therefore prints : — Himself but half deceived, 
Till others have the soothing tale believed. «-»• 
Hence comment after comment, spun as fine 
As bloated spiders draw the flimsy line ; 
Hence the same word that bids our lusts obey, 
Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. 
If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, 
Hebrew or Syriac shall be forced to bend ; 
If languages and copies all cry, No ! — 
Somebody proved it centuries ago. 
Like trout pursued, the critic in despair 
Darts to the mud and finds his safety there. 
Women, whom custom has forbid to fly 
The scholar's pitch, (the scholar best knows why) 
With all the simple and unletter'd poor, 
Admire his learning, and almost adore. 
Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong, 
With such fine words familiar to his tongue. 

Ye ladies ! (for, indifferent in your cause, 
I should deserve to forfeit all applause) 
Whatever shocks, or gives the least offence 
To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense, 


12 


TRUTH. 


(Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide) 
Nor has, nor can have scripture on its side. 

None but an author knows an author's cares, 
Or fancy's fondness for the child she bears. 
Committed once into the public arms, 
The baby seems to smile with added charms: 
Like something precious ventured far from shore, 
'Tis valued for the danger's sake the more. 
He views it with complacency supreme, 
Solicits kind attention to his dream, 
And daily, more enamour'd of the cheat, 
Kneels, and asks heaven to bless the dear deceit. 
So one, whose story serves at least to show 
Men loved their own productions long ago, 
Wooed an unfeeling statue for his wife, 
Nor rested till the gods had given it life. 
If some mere driveler suck the sugar'd fib, 
One that still needs his leading-string and bib, 
And praise his genius, he is soon repaid 
In praise applied to the same part, his head: 
For 'tis a rule that holds for ever true, 
Grant me discernment, and I grant it you. 

Patient of contradiction as a child, 
Affable, humble, diffident, and mild, 
Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke ; 
Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock: 
The creature is so sure to kick and bite, 
A muleteer's the man to set him right. 
First appetite enlists him truth's sworn foe, 
Then obstinate self-will confirms him so. 
Tell him he wanders, that his error leads 
To fatal ills, that though the path he treads 
Be flowery, and he see no cause of fear, 
Death and the pains of hell attend him there ; 
In vain ; the slave of arrogance and pride, 
He has no hearing on the prudent side. 
His still refuted quirks he still repeats, 
New raised objections with new quibbles meets, 
Till sinking in the quicksand he defends, 
He dies disputing, and the contest ends ; 
But not the mischiefs : they, still left behind, 
Like thistle-seeds are sown by every wind. 

Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill, 
Bend the straight rule to their own crooked will, 
And with a clear and shining lamp supplied, 
First put it out, then take it for a guide. 
Halting on crutches of unequal size, 
One leg by truth supported, one by lies, 
They sidle to the goal with awkward pace, 
Secure of nothing, but to lose the race. 

Faults in the life breed errors in the brain, 
And these, reciprocally, those again. 
The mind and conduct mutually imprint 
And stamp their image in each other's mint; 
Each sire and dam of an infernal race, 
Begetting and conceiving all that's base. 

None sends his arrow to the mark in view, 
Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue; 
For though ere yet the shaft is on the wing, 
Or when it first forsakes the elastic string, 
It err but little from the intended line, 
It falls at last, far wide of his design: 
So lie that seeks a mansion in the sky, 
Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye ; 
That prize belongs to none but the sincere, 
The least obliquity is fatal here. 

With caution taste the sweet Circcean cup, 
He that sips often, at last drinks it up. 
Habits are soon assumed, but when we strive 
To strip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive. 


Call'd to the temple of impure delight, 
He that abstains, and he alone, does right. 
If a wish wander that way, call it home ; 
He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam. 
But if you pass the threshold, you are caught ; 
Die then, if power Almighty save you not ! 
There hardening by degrees, till double steel'd, 
Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd ; 
Then laugh at all you trembled at before, 
And joining the freethinkers' brutal roar, 
Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense, 
That scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense ; 
If clemency revolted by abuse 
Be damnable, then, damn'd without excuse, [will 

Some dream that they can silence when they 
The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still ; 
But " Thus far and no farther •," when address'd 
To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, 
Implies authority that never can, 
That never ought, to be the lot of man. 

But, muse, forbear! long flights forebode a fall, 
Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all. 
Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies : 
He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies; 
And he that will be cheated to the last, 
Delusions, strong as hell, shall bind him fast. 
But if the wanderer his mistake discern, 
Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, 
Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss 
For ever and for ever % No — the Cross ! 
There and there only, (though the deist rave, 
And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave) 
There and there only, is the power to save; 
There no delusive hope invites despair, 
No mockery meets you, no deception there: 
The spells and charms that blinded you before, 
All vanish there, and fascinate no more. 

I am no preacher ; let this hint suffice, 
The Cross once seen is death to every vice : 
Else He that hung there suffered all his pain, 
Bled, groan'd and agonized, and died in vain. 


TRUTH. 


Pensentur trutind. — Hor. lib. ii. ep. i. 

Man, on the dubious waves of error toss'd, 
His ship half founder'd and his compass lost, 
Sees, far as human optics may command, 
A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land : 
Spreads all his canvass, every sinew plies, 
Pants for it, aims at it, enters it, and dies. 
Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes, 
His well-built systems, philosophic dreams, 
Deceitful views of future bliss, farewell ! 
He reads his sentence at the flames of hell. 

Hard lot, of man ! to toil for the reward 
Of virtue, and yet lose it ! — Wherefore hard ? 
He that would win the race, must guide his horse 
Obedient to the customs of the course, 
Else, though unequal'd to the goal he flies, 
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. 
Grace leads the right way, — if you choose the wrong, 
Take it and perish, but restrain your tongue ; 
Charge not, with light sufficient and left free, 
Your wilful suicide on God's decree. 

Oh how unlike the complex works of man, 
Heaven's easy, artless, unincumber'd plan ! 


TRUTH. 


13 


No meretricious graces to beguile, 

No clustering ornaments to clog the pile, 

From ostentation as from weakness free, 

It stands like the cserulean arch we see, 

Majestic in its own simplicity. 

Inscribed above the portal, from afar 

Conspicuous as the brightness of a star, 

Legible only by the light they give, 

Stand the soul-quickeningwords— believe and live. 

Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, 

Despise the plain direction and are lost. 

Heaven on such terms ! they cry with proud disdain, 

Incredible, impossible, and vain ! — 

Rebel because 'tis easy to obey, 

And scorn for its own sake the gracious way. 

These are the sober, in. whose cooler brains 

Some thought of immortality remains ; 

The rest too busy, or too gay, to wait 

On the sad theme, their everlasting state, 

Sport for a day and perish in a night, 

The foam upon the waters not so light. 

Who judged the Pharisee ? What odious cause 
Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws ? 
Had he seduced a virgin, wrong'd a friend, 
Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end ? 
Was blasphemy his sin ? Or did he stray 
From the strict duties of the sacred day % 
Sit long and late at the carousing board ? 
(Such were the sins with which he charged his Lord.) 
No — the man's morals were exact ; what then ? 
'Twas his ambition to be seen of men ; 
His virtues were his pride ; and that one vice 
Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price ; 
He wore them as fine trappings for a show, 
A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau. 

The self-applauding bird, the peacock see, — 
Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he ! 
Meridian sun-beams tempt him to unfold 
His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold ; 
He treads as if, some solemn music near, 
His measured step were govern'd by his ear, 
And seems to say, Ye meaner fowl, give place ! 
I am all splendour, dignity, and grace. 

Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes, 
Though he too has a glory in his plumes : 
He, Christian-like, retreats with modest mien, 
To the close copse or far sequester'd green, 
And shines without desiring to be seen. 
The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, 
Heaven turns from with abhorrence and disdain ; 
Not more affronted by avow'd neglect, 
Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect. 
What is all righteousness that men devise, 
What, but a sordid bargain for the skies % 
But Christ as soon would abdicate his own, 
As stoop from heaven to sell the proud a throne. 

His dwelling a recess in some rude rock, 
Book, beads, and maple dish his meagre stock, 
In shirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress'd, 
Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has bless'd, 
Adust with stripes told out for every crime, 
And sore tormented long before his time, 
His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot aid, 
His praise postponed, and never to be paid, 
See the sage hermit by mankind admired, 
With all that bigotry adopts, inspired, 
Wearing out life in his religious whim, 
Till his religious whimsy wears out him. 
His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow'd, 
You think him humble — God accounts him proud; 


High in demand, though lowly in pretence, 
Of all his conduct this the genuine sense, — 
My penitential stripes, my streaming blood 
Have purchased heaven, and prove my title good. 

Turn Eastward now, and fancy shall apply 
To your weak sight her telescopic eye. 
The Bramin kindles on his own bare head 
The sacred fire, self-torturing his trade ; 
His voluntary pains, severe and long, 
Would give a barbarous air to British song ; 
No grand inquisitor could worse invent, 
Than he contrives to suffer, well content. 

Which is the saintlier worthy of the two % 
Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say you. 
Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name ? 
I say the Bramin has the fairer claim. 
If sufferings scripture nowhere recommends, 
Devised by self to answer selfish ends, 
Give saintship, then all Europe must agree, 
Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he. 

The truth is, (if the truth may suit your ear, 
And prejudice have left a passage clear) 
Pride has attain'd its most luxuriant growth, 
And poison'd every virtue in them both. 
Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean, 
Humility may clothe an English dean ; 
That grace was Cowper's — his confess'd by all — 
Though placed in golden Durham's second stall. 
Not all the plenty of a bishop's board, 
His palace, and his lackeys, and, " my lord ! " 
More nourish pride, that condescending vice, 
Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice. 
It thrives in misery, and abundant grows 
In misery fools upon themselves impose. 

But why before us Protestants produce 
An Indian mystic or a French recluse % 
Their sin is plain, but what have we to fear, 
Reform'd and well instructed ? You shall hear. 

Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show 
She might be young some forty years ago, 
Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips, 
Her head erect, her fan upon her lips, 
Her eyebrows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray 
To watch yon amorous couple in their play, 
With bony and unkerchief'd neck defies 
The rude inclemency of wintry skies, 
And sails with lappet-head and mincing airs 
Duly at clink of bell, to morning prayers. 
To thrift and parsimony much inclined, 
She yet allows herself that boy behind ; 
The shivering urchin, bending as he goes, 
With slipshod heels, and dew-drop at his nose, 
His predecessor's coat advanced to wear, 
Which future pages are yet doom'd to share, 
Carries her bible tuck'd beneath his arm, 
And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm. 

She, half an angel in her own account, 
Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount, 
Though not a grace appears on strictest search, 
But that she fasts, and item, goes to church. 
Conscious of age, she recollects her youth, 
And tells, not always with an eye to truth, 
Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he came, 
Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name, 
Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay, 
And drank the little bumper every day. 
Of temper as envenom'd as an asp, 
Censorious, and her every word a wasp, 
In faithful memory she records the crimes, 
Or real or fictitious, of the times ; 


14 


TRUTH. 


Laughs at the reputations she has torn, 

And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn. 

Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride, 
Of malice fed while flesh is mortified. 
Take, madam, the reward of all your prayers, 
Where hermits andwhere Bramins meet with theirs ! 
Your portion is with them : nay, never frown, 
But, if you please, some fathoms lower down. 

Artist, attend! — your brushes and your paint — 
Produce them— take a chair, — now draw a saint. 
Oh sorrowful and sad ! the streaming tears 
Channel her cheeks, — a Niobe appears. 
Is this a saint \ Throw tints and all away ! 
True piety is cheerful as the day, 
Will weep indeed and heave a pitying groan 
For others' woes, but smiles upon her own. 

What purpose has the King of Saints in view? 
Why falls the gospel like a gracious dew \ 
To call up plenty from the teeming earth, 
Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth \ 
Is it that Adam's offspring may be saved 
From servile fear, or be the more enslaved ? 
To loose the links that gall'd mankind before, 
Or bind them faster on, and add still more ? 
The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove, 
Or if a chain, the golden one of love ; 
No fear attends to quench his glowing fires, 
What fear he feels his gratitude inspires. 
Shall he for such deliverance freely wrought, 
Recompense ill \ He trembles at the thought : 
His master's interest and his own combined, 
Prompt every movement of his heart and mind ; 
Thought, word, and deed, his liberty evince, 
His freedom is the freedom of a prince. 

Man's obligations infinite, of course 
His life should prove that he perceives their force ; 
His utmost he can render is but small, 
The principle and motive all in all. 
You have two servants, — Tom, an arch sly rogue, 
From top to toe the Geta now in vogue ; 
Genteel in figure, easy in address, 
Moves without noise, and swift as an express, 
Reports a message with a pleasing grace, 
Expert in all the duties of his place : 
Say, on what hinge does his obedience move ? 
Has he a world of gratitude and love ? 
No, not a spark, — 'tis all mere sharper's play ; 
He likes your house, your housemaid, and your pay; 
Reduce his wages, or get rid of her, 
Tom quits you, with, Your most obedient, sir. — 

The dinner served, Charles takes his usual stand, 
Watches your eye, anticipates command, 
Sighs if perhaps your appetite should fail, 
And if he but suspects a frown, turns pale ; 
Consults all day your interest and your ease, 
Richly rewarded if he can but please, 
And proud to make his firm attachment known, 
To save your life would nobly risk his own. 
Now, which stands highest in your serious thought ? 
Charles, without doubt, say you, — and so he ought; 
One act that from a thankful heart proceeds, 
Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds. 
Thus Heaven approves as honest and sincere, 
The work of generous love and filial fear ; 
But with averted eyes the omniscient Judge 
Scorns the base hireling and the slavish drudge. 

Where dwell these matchless saints ? old Curio 
cries ; 
Even at your side, sir, and before your eyes, 
The favour'd few, the enthusiasts you despise ; 


And pleased at heart because on holy ground 
Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, 
Reproach a people with his single fall, 
And cast his filthy raiment at them all. 
Attend, — an apt similitude shall show, 
Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. 

See where it smokes along the sounding plain, 
Blown all aslant, a driving dashing rain, 
Peal upon peal redoubling all around, 
Shakes it again and faster to the ground ; 
Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, 
Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away ; 
Ere yet it came the traveller urged his steed, 
And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed ; 
Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his 

case, 
He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace ; 
Suppose, unlook'd for in a scene so rude, 
Long hid by interposing hill or wood, 
Some mansion neat and elegantly dress'd, 
By some kind hospitable heart possess'd, 
Offer him warmth, security and rest ; 
Think with what pleasure, safe and at his ease, 
He hears the tempest howling in the trees, 
What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ, 
While danger past is turn'd to present joy. 
So fares it with the sinner when he feels 
A growing dread of vengeance at his heels ; 
His conscience, like a glassy lake before, 
Lash'd into foaming waves begins to roar ; 
The law grown clamorous, though silent long, 
Arraigns him, charges him with every wrong, 
Asserts the rights of his offended Lord, 
And death or restitution is the word ; 
The last impossible, he fears the first, 
And having well deserved, expects the worst. 
Then welcome refuge, and a peaceful home ; 
Oh for a shelter from the wrath to come ! 
Crush me, ye rocks, ye falling mountains, hide, 
Or bury me in ocean's angry tide ! — 
The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes 
I dare not — And you need not, God replies : 
The remedy you want I freely give ; 
The book shall teach you, read, believe and live ! 
'Tis done — the raging storm is heard no more, 
Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore, 
And Justice, guardian of the dread command, 
Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. 
A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise ; 
Hence the complexion of his future days, 
Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd, 
And the world's hatred, as its sure effect. 

Some lead a life unblameable and just, 
Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust. 
They never sin, — or if (as all offend) 
Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, 
The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, 
A slight gratuity atones for all ; 
For though the pope has lost his interest here, 
And pardons are not sold as once they were, 
No papist more desirous to compound, 
Than some grave sinners upon English ground. 
That plea refuted, other quirks they seek : 
Mercy is infinite and man is weak ; 
The future shall obliterate the past, 
And heaven no doubt shall be their home at last. 

Come then, — a still small whisper in your ear, 
He has no hope that never had a fear ; 
And he that never doubted of his state, 
He may perhaps — perhaps he may — too late. 


TRUTH. 


15 


The path to bliss abounds with many a snare, — 
Learning is one, and wit, however rare : 
The Frenchman first in literary fame, 
(Mention him, if you please — Voltaire? The same) 
With spirit, genius, eloquence supplied, 
Lived long, wrote much, laugh'd heartily, and died : 
The scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew 
Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew : 
An infidel in health, but what when sick ? 
Oh, then a text would touch him at the quick. 
View him at Paris in his last career : 
Surrounding throngs the demigod revere, 
Exalted on his pedestal of pride, 
And fumed with frankincense on every side, 
He begs their flattery with his latest breath, 
And smother'd in't at last, is praised to death. 

Yon cottager who weaves at her own door, 
Pillow and bobbins all her little store, 
Content though mean, and cheerful, if not gay, 
Shuffling her threads about the live-long day, 
Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night 
Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light ; 
She for her humble sphere by nature fit, 
Has little understanding, and no wit, 
Receives no praise, but (though her lot be such, 
Toilsome and indigent) she renders much ; 
Just knows, and knows no more, her bible true, 
A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew, 
And in that charter reads, with sparkling eyes, 
Her title to a treasure in the skies. 

happy peasant ! O unhappy bard ! 
His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward ; 
He praised perhaps for ages yet to come, 
She never heard of half a mile from home ; 
He lost in errors his vain heart prefers, 
She safe in the simplicity of hers. 

Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound 
In science, win one inch of heavenly ground : 
And is it not a mortifying thought 
The poor should gain it, and the rich should not ? 
No ; — the voluptuaries, who ne'er forget 
One pleasure lost, lose heaven without regret ; 
Regret would rouse them and give birth to prayer, 
Prayer would add faith, and faith would fix them 

Not that the Former of us all in this, [there. 
Or aught he does, is govern'd by caprice ; 
The supposition is replete with sin, 
And bears the brand of blasphemy burnt in. 
Not so ; — the silver trumpet's heavenly call 
Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all ; 
Kings are invited, and would kings obey, 
No slaves on earth more welcome were than they : 
But royalty, nobility, and state, 
Are such a dead preponderating weight, 
That endless bliss (how strange soe'er it seem) 
In counterpoise, flies up and kicks the beam. 
'Tis open and ye cannot enter ; — why ? 
Because ye will not, Conyers would reply ; — 
And he says much that many may dispute 
And cavil at with ease, but none refute. 
Oh bless'd effect of penury and want, 
The seed sown there, how vigorous is the plant ! 
No soil like poverty for growth divine, 
As leanest land supplies the richest wine. 
Earth gives too little, giving only bread, 
To nourish pride or turn the weakest head : 
To them, the sounding jargon of the schools 
Seems what it is, a cap and bells for fools : 
The light they walk by, kindled from above, 
Shows them the shortest way to life and love : 


They, strangers to the controversial field, 
Where deists always foil'd, yet scorn to yield, 
And never check'd by what impedes the wise, 
Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize. 

Envy, ye great, the dull unletter'd small, 
Ye have much cause for envy — but not all ; 
We boast some rich ones whom the gospel sways, 
And one that wears a coronet and prays ; 
Like gleanings of an olive-tree they show, 
Here and there one upon the topmost bough. 

How readily, upon the gospel plan 
That question has its answer, — what is man ? 
Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretch ; 
An instrument whose chords, upon the stretch 
And strain'd to the last screw that he can bear, 
Yield only discord in his Maker's ear : 
Once the blest residence of truth divine, 
Glorious as Solyma's interior shrine, 
Where, in his own oracular abode, 
Dwelt visibly the light-creating God ; 
But made long since, like Babylon of old, 
A den of mischiefs never to be told : 
And she once mistress of the realms around, 
Now scatter'd wide and nowhere to be found, 
As soon shall rise and reascend the throne, 
By native power and energy her own, 
As Nature, at her own peculiar cost, 
Restore to man the glories he has lost. 
Go bid the winter cease to chill the year, 
Replace the wandering comet in his sphere, 
Then boast (but wait for that unhoped for hour) 
The self -restoring arm of human power ! 
But what is man in his own proud esteem ? 
Hear him, himself the poet and the theme : 
A monarch clothed with majesty and awe, 
His mind his kingdom, and his will his law ; 
Grace in his mien and glory in his eyes, 
Supreme on earth and worthy of the skies ; 
Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod, 
And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a god ! 

So sings he, charm'd with his own mind and form, 
The song magnificent, the theme a worm ! 
Himself so much the source of his delight, 
His Maker has no beauty in his sight. 
See where he sits contemplative and fix'd, 
Pleasure and wonder in his features mix'd : 
His passions tamed and all at his control, 
How perfect the composure of his soul ! 
Complacency has breathed a gentle gale 
O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail. 
His books well trimm'd and in the gayest style, 
Like regimented coxcombs rank and file, 
Adorn his intellects as well as shelves, 
And teach him notions splendid as themselves : 
The Bible only stands neglected there, 
Though that of all most worthy of his care ; 
And, like an infant, troublesome awake, 
Is left to sleep for peace and quiet sake. 

What shall the man deserve of humankind, 
Whose happy skill and industry combined 
Shall prove (what argument could never yet) 
The Bible an imposture and a cheat ? 
The praises of the libertine profess' d, 
The worst of men, and curses of the best. 
Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes, 
The dying, trembling at the awful close, 
Where the betray'd, forsaken, and oppress'd, 
The thousands whom the world forbids to rest, 
Where should they find (those comforts at an end 
The Scripture yields) or hope to find, a friend ? 


16 


TRUTH. 


Sorrow might muse herself to madness then, 

And, seeking exile from the sight of men, 

Bury herself in solitude profound, 

Grow frantic with her pangs, and bite the ground. 

Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life, 

Flies to the tempting pool, or felon knife ; 

The jury meet, the coroner is short, 

And lunacy the verdict of the court : 

Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known, 

Such lunacy is ignorance alone. 

They knew not, what some bishops may not know, 

That|Scripture is the only cure of woe : 

That field of promise, how it flings abroad 

Its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road ! 

The soul, reposing on assured relief, 

Feels herself happy amidst all her grief, 

Forgets her labour as she toils along, 

Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. 

But the same word that, like the polish'd share, 
Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care, 
Kills too the flowery weeds, where'er they grow, 
That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow. 
Oh that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, 
Sad messenger of mercy from above, 
How does it grate upon his thankless ear, 
Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear ! 
His will and judgment at continual strife, 
That civil Avar embitters all his life : 
In vain he points his powers against the skies, 
In vain he closes or averts his eyes, 
Truth will intrude — she bids him yet beware — 
And shakes the sceptic in the scorner's chair. 

Though various foes against the truth combine, 
Pride above all opposes her design ; 
Pride, of a growth superior to the rest, 
The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest, 
Swells at the thought, and kindling into rage, 
Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage. 

And is the soul indeed so lost, — she cries, — 
Fallen from her glory and too weak to rise, 
Torpid and dull beneath a frozen zone, 
Has she no spark that may be deem'd her own ? 
Grant her indebted to "what zealots call 
Grace undeserved, yet surely not for all ; — 
Some beams of rectitude she yet displays, 
Some love of virtue and some power to praise ; 
Can lift herself above corporeal things, 
And soaring on her own unborrow'd wings, 
Possess herself of all that's good or true, 
Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. 
Past indiscretion is a venial crime, 
And if the youth, unmellow'd yet by time, 
Bore on his branch luxuriant then and rude, 
Fruits of a blighted size, austere and crude, 
Maturer years shall happier stores produce, 
And meliorate the well concocted juice. 
Then, conscious of her meritorious zeal, 
To Justice she may make her bold appeal, 
And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind, 
The worthless and unfruitful of mankind. 
Hear then how Mercy, slighted and defied, 
Retorts the affront against the crown of Pride. 

Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd, 
And the fool with it that insults his Lord. 
The atonement a Redeemer's love has wrought 
Is not for you, — the righteous need it not. 
Seest thou yon harlot wooing all she meets, 
The worn-out nuisance of the public streets, 
Herself from morn to night, from night to morn, 
Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn, 


The gracious shower, unlimited and free, 
Shall fall on her, when Heaven denies it thee. 
Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift, 
That man is dead in sin, and life a gift. 

Is virtue then, unless of Christian growth, 
Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both ? 
Ten thousand sages lost in endless woe, 
For ignorance of what they could not know ? 
That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue ; 
Charge not a God with such outrageous wrong ! 
Truly not I. — The partial light men have, 
My creed persuades me, well employ'd may save ; 
While he that scorns the noonday beam, perverse, 
Shall find the blessing unimproved a curse. 
Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind 
Left sensuality and dross behind, 
Possess for me their undisputed lot, 
And take unenvied the reward they sought. 
But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea, 
Not blind by choice, but destined not to see. 
Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame 
Celestial, though they knew not whence it came, 
Derived from the same source of light and grace, 
That guides the Christian in his swifter race ; 
Their judge was Conscience, and her rule their law ; 
That rule pursued with reverence and with awe, 
Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow, 
From what they knew, to what they wish'd to know. 
But let not him that shares a brighter day, 
Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray, 
Prefer the twilight of a darker time, 
And deem his base stupidity no crime \ 
The wretch, that slights the bounty of the skies, 
And sinks while favour'd with the means to rise, 
Shall find them rated at their full amount, 
The good he scorn'd all carried to account. 

Marshaling all his terrors as he came, 
Thunder and earthquake and devouring flame, 
From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law, 
Life for obedience, death for every flaw. 
When the great Sovereign would his will express, 
He gives a perfect rule ; what can He less ? 
And guards it with a sanction as severe 
As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear : 
Else his own glorious rights he would disclaim, 
And man might safely trifle with his name. 
He bids him glow with unremitting love 
To all on earth, and to Himself above ; 
Condemns the injurious deed, the slanderous tongue, 
The thought that meditates a brother's wrong ; 
Brings not alone the more conspicuous part, 
His conduct to the test, but tries his heart. 

Hark ! universal Nature shook and groan'd ; 
'Twas the last trumpet — see the Judge enthroned ! 
Rouse all your courage at your utmost need, 
Now summon every virtue, stand and plead. 
What ! silent? Is your boasting heard no more? 
That self-renouncing wisdom, learn'd before, 
Had shed immortal glories on your brow, 
That all your virtues cannot purchase now. 

All joy to the believer ! he can speak, 
Trembling yet happy, confident yet meek. 
Since the dear hour, that brought me to thy foot, 
And cut up all my follies by the root, 
I never trusted in an arm but thine, 
Nor hoped but in thy righteousness divine : 
My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, 
Were but the feeble efforts of a child ; 
Howe'er perform'd, it was their brightest part, 
That they proceeded from a grateful heart ; 


EXPOSTULATION. 


17 


Cleansed in thine own all-purifying blood, 
Forgive their evil, and accept their good ; 
I cast them at thy feet — my only plea 
Is what it was, dependence upon Thee ; 
While struggling in the vale of tears below, 
That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now. 

Angelic gratulations rend the skies, 
Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise, 
Humility is crown' d, and Faith receives the prize. 


EXPOSTULATION. 


Tantane, tarn patiens, nullo certamine tolli 
Dona sines ? Virgil. 


Why weeps the Muse for England % What appears 
In England's case to move the Muse to tears ? 
From side to side of her delightful isle 
Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile ? 
Can Nature add a charm, or art confer 
A new-found luxury not seen in her ? 
Where under heaven is pleasure more pursued, 
Or where does cold reflection less intrude ? 
Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn 
Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn ; 
Ambrosial gardens, in which Art supplies 
The fervour and the force of Indian skies ; 
Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits 
To pour his golden tide through all her gates ; 
Whom fiery suns that scorch the russet spice 
Of Eastern groves, and oceans floor'd with ice, 
Forbid in vain to push his daring way 
To darker climes, or climes of brighter day ; 
Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll, 
From the world's girdle to the frozen pole ; 
The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets ; 
Her vaults below, where every vintage meets ; 
Her theatres, her revels, and her sports, 
The scenes to which not youth alone resorts, 
But age, in spite of weakness and of pain, 
Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again ; 
All speak her happy : — let the Muse look round 
From East to West, no sorrow can be found, 
Or only what in cottages confined, 
Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. 
Then wherefore weep for England ? What appears 
In England's case to move the Muse to tears ? 
The prophet wept for Israel, wish'd his eyes 
Were fountains fed with infinite supplies ; 
For Israel dealt in robbery and wrong, [tongue, 
There were the scorner's and the slanderer's 
Oaths used as playthings or Convenient tools, 
As interest bias'd knaves, or fashion fools ; 
Adultery neighing at his neighbour's door, 
Oppression labouring hard to grind the poor, 
The partial balance and deceitful weight, 
The treacherous smile, a mask for secret hate, 
Hypocrisy, formality in prayer, 
And the dull service of the lip, were there. 
Her women insolent and self-caress'd, 
By Vanity's unwearied finger dress'd, 
Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart 
To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from art ; 
Were just such trifles without worth or use, 
As silly pride and idleness produce ; 
Curl'd, scented, furbelow'd and flounced around, 
With feet too delicate to touch the ground, 


They stretch' d the neck, and roll'd the wanton eye, 
And sigh'd for every fool that flutter'd by. 

He saw his people slaves to every lust, 
Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjust ; 
He heard the wheels of an avenging God 
Groan heavily along the distant road ; 
Saw Babylon set wide her two-leaved brass 
To let the military deluge pass ; 
Jerusalem a prey, her glory soil'd, 
Her princes captive, and her treasures spoil'd ; 
Wept till all Israel heard his bitter cry, 
Stamp'd with his foot, and smote upon his thigh ; 
But wept and stamp'd and smote his thigh in vain, 
Pleasure is deaf when told of future pain, 
And sounds prophetic are too rough to suit 
Ears long accustom'd to the pleasing lute ; 
They scorn'd his inspiration and his theme, 
Pronounced him frantic and his fears a dream, 
With self-indulgence wing'd the fleeting hours, 
Till the foe found them, and down fell the towers. 

Long time Assyria bound them in her chain, 
Till penitence had purged the public stain, 
And Cyrus, with relenting pity moved, 
Return'd them happy to the land they loved : 
There, proof against prosperity, awhile 
They stood the test of her ensnaring smile, 
And had the grace in scenes of peace to show 
The virtue they had learn'd in scenes of woe. 
But man is frail, and can but ill sustain 
A long immunity from grief and pain, 
And after all the joys that plenty leads, 
With tiptoe step vice silently succeeds. 

When he that ruled them with a shepherd's rod, 
In form a man, in dignity a God, 
Came not expected in that humble guise, 
To sift, and search them with unerring eyes, 
He found, conceal'd beneath a fair outside, 
The filth of rottenness and worm of pride, 
Their piety a system of deceit, 
Scripture employ'd to sanctify the cheat, 
The pharisee the dupe of his own art, 
Self-idolized, and yet a knave at heart. 

When nations are to perish in their sins, 
'Tis in the church the leprosy begins : 
The priest, whose office is, with zeal sincere, 
To watch the fountain, and preserve it clear, 
Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink, 
While others poison what the flock must drink ; 
Or, waking at the call of lust alone, 
Infuses lies and errors of his own : 
His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure, 
And, tainted by the very means of cure, 
Catch from each other a contagious spot, 
The foul forerunner of a general rot. 
Then Truth is hush'd, that Heresy may preach ; 
And all is trash that Reason cannot reach ; 
Then God's own image on the soul impress'd 
Becomes a mockery and a standing jest ; 
And faith, the root whence only ban arise 
The graces of a life that wins the skies, 
Loses at once all value and esteem, 
Pronounced by greybeards a pernicious dream; 
Then ceremony leads her bigots forth, 
Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth, 
While truths, on which eternal things depend, 
Find not, or hardly find, a single friend ; 
As soldiers watch the signal of command, 
They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; 
Happy to fill religion's vacant place 
With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. 


18 


EXPOSTULATION. 


Such, when the Teacher of his church was there, 
People and priest, the sons of Israel were, 
Stiff in the letter, lax in the design 
And import of then- oracles divine, 
Their learning legendary, false, absurd, 
And yet exalted above God's own word, 
They drew a curse from an intended good, 
Puff 'd up with gifts they never understood. 
He judged them with as terrible a frown, 
As if not love, but wrath had brought him down ; 
Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs, 
Had grace for others' sins, but none for theirs. 
Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran ; 
Rhetoric is artifice, the work of man, 
And tricks and turns that fancy may devise, 
Are far too mean for Him that rules the skies. 
The astonish 'd vulgar trembled while he tore 
The mask from faces never seen before ; 
He stripp'd the impostors in the noonday sun, 
Show'd that they follow'd all they seem'd to shun, 
Their prayers made public, their excesses kept 
As private as the chambers where they slept ; 
The temple and its holy rites profaned 
By mummeries he that dwelt in it disdain'd ; 
Uplifted hands, that, at convenient times, 
Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, 
Wash'd with a neatness scrupulously nice, 
And free from every taint but that of vice. 
Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace 
When Obstinacy once has conquer'd Grace. 
They saw distemper heal'd, and life restored, 
In answer to the fiat of his word, 
Confess'd the wonder, and with daring tongue 
Blasphemed the authority from which it sprung. 
They knew by sure prognostics seen on high, 
The future tone and temper of the sky, 
But, grave dissemblers ! could not understand, 
That sin let loose speaks punishment at hand. 

Ask now of history's authentic page, 
And call up evidence from every age ; 
Display with busy and laborious hand 
The blessings of the most indebted land ; 
What nation will you find whose annals prove 
So rich an interest in almighty love ? 
Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day, 
A people planted, water'd, blest as they ? 
Let Egypt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim 
The favours pour'd upon the Jewish name ; 
Their freedom purchased for them at the cost 
Of all their hard oppressors valued most, 
Their title to a country not their own 
Made sure by prodigies till then unknown ; 
For them the state they left made waste and void, 
For them the states to which they went destroy'd, 
A cloud to measure out their march by day, 
By night a fire to cheer the gloomy way, 
That moving signal summoning, when best, 
Their host to move, and, when it stay'd, to rest. 
For them the rocks dissolved into a flood, 
The dews condensed into angelic food, 
Their very garments sacred, old yet new, 
And Time forbid to touch them as he flew ; 
Streams, swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand, 
While they pass'd through to their appointed 

land ; 
Their leader arm'd with meekness, zeal, and love, 
And graced with clear credentials from above ; 
Themselves secured beneath the Almighty wing ; 
Their God their captain ', lawgiver, and king ; 
1 Vide Joshua, v. 14. 


Crown'd with a thousand victories, and at last 
Lords of the conquer'd soil, there rooted fast, 
In peace possessing what they won by war, 
Their name far publish'd, and revered as far ; 
Where will you find a race like theirs, endow'd 
With all that man e'er wish'd, or heaven bestow'd ? 

They and they only amongst all mankind 
Received the transcript of the eternal mind, 
Were trusted with his own engraven laws, 
And constituted guardians of his cause ; 
Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call, 
And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all. 
In vain the nations that had seen them rise 
With fierce and envious yet admiring eyes, 
Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were 
By power divine and skill that could not err. 
Had they maintain'd allegiance firm and sure, 
And kept the faith immaculate and pure, 
Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome 
Had found one city not to be o'ercome , 
And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd 
Had bid defiance to the warring world. 
But grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds, 
As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds ; 
Cured of the golden calves, their fathers' sin, 
They set up self, that idol-god, within ; 
View'd a Deliverer with disdain and hate, 
Who left them still a tributary state ; 
Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free 
From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree. 
There was the consummation and the crown, 
The flower of Israel's infamy full blown ; 
Thence date their sad declension and their fall, 
Their woes not yet repeal'd, thence date them all. 

Thus fell the best instructed in her day, 
And the most favour'd land, look where we may. 
Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes 
Had pour'd the day, and clear'd the Roman skies ; 
In other climes perhaps creative art, 
With power surpassing theirs, perform'd her part, 
Might give more life to marble, or might fill 
The glowing tablets with a juster skill, 
Might shine in fable, and grace idle themes 
With all the embroidery of poetic dreams ; 
'Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan, 
That truth and mercy had reveal'd to man ; 
And while the world beside, that plan unknown, 
Deified useless wood or senseless stone, 
They breathed in faith their well-directed prayers, 
And the true God, the God of truth, was theirs. 

Their glory faded, and their race dispersed, 
The last of nations now, though once the first, 
They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn, 
Keep wisdom, or meet vengeance in your turn ! 
If we escaped not, if heaven spared .not us, 
Peel'd, scatter'd, and exterminated thus ; 
If vice received her retribution due, 
When we were visited, what hope for you ? 
When God arises with an awful frown, 
To punish lust, or pluck presumption down ; 
When gifts perverted, or not duly prized, 
Pleasure o'ervalued, and his grace despised, 
Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand 
To pour down wrath upon a thankless land, 
He will be found impartially severe, 
Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear. 

Israel, of all nations most undone ! 
Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone, 
Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and rased, 
And thou a worshipper e'en where thou mayst ; 


EXPOSTULATION. 


19 


Thy services once only without spot, 

Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot ; 

Thy Levites, once a consecrated host, 

No longer Levites, and their lineage lost, 

And thou thyself o'er every country sown, 

With none on earth that thou canst call thine own ; 

Cry aloud, thou that sittest in the dust, 

Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust, 

Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears, 

Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears ; 

But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. 

What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar, 
And fling their foam against thy chalky shore ? 
Mistress, at least while Providence shall please, 
And trident-hearing queen of the wide seas, — 
Why, having kept good faith, and often shown 
Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none ? 
Thou that hast set the persecuted free, 
None interposes now to succour thee. 
Counfries indehted to thy power, that shine 
With light derived from thee, would smother 

thine ; 
Thy very children watch for thy disgrace, — 
A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face : 
Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year, 
With sums Peruvian mines could never clear, 
As if, like arches built with skilful hand, 
The more 'twere press'd the firmer it would stand. 
The cry in all thy ships is still the same, 
Speed us away to battle and to fame ! 
Thy mariners explore the wild expanse, 
Impatient to descry the flags of France, 
But, though they fight as thine have ever fought, 
Return ashamed without the wreaths they sought. 
Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, 
Chaos of contrarieties at war, 
Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light, 
Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight ; 
Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand, 
To disconcert what Policy has plann'd ; 
Where Policy is busied all night long 
In setting right what Faction has set wrong ; 
Where flails of oratory thresh the floor, 
That yields them chaff and dust, and nothhig more. 
Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain, 
Tax'd till the brow of Labour sweats in vain ; 
War lays a burden on the reeling state, 
And Peace does nothing to relieve the weight ; 
Successive loads succeeding broils impose, 
And sighing millions prophesy the close. 

Is adverse Providence when ponder'd well, 
So dimly writ or difficult to spell, 
Thou canst not read with readiness and ease 
Providence adverse in events like these ? 
Know then, that heavenly wisdom on this ball 
Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all : 
That, while laborious and quick-thoughted man 
Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan, 
He first conceives, then perfects his design, 
As a mere instrument in hands divine : 
Blind to the working of that secret power 
That balances the wings of every hour, 
The busy trifler dreams himself alone, 
Frames many a purpose, and God works his own. 
States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane, 
Even as his will and his decrees ordain ; 
While honour, virtue, piety, bear sway, 
They flourish ; and as these decline, decay. 
In just resentment of his injured laws, 
He pours contempt on them and on their cause ; 


Strikes the rough thread of error right athwart 
The web of every scheme they have at heart, 
Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust 
The pillars of support hi which they trust, 
And do his errand of disgrace and shame 
On the chief strength and glory of the frame. 
None ever yet impeded what He wrought, 
None bars Him out from his most secret thought ; 
Darkness itself before His eyes is light, 
And hell's close mischief naked in His sight. 

Stand now and judge thyself. — Hast thou incurr'd 
His anger who can waste thee with a word, 
Who poises and proportions sea and land, 
Weighing them in the hollow of his hand, 
And in whose awful sight all nations seem 
As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream ? 
Hast thou (a sacrilege his soul abhors) 
Claim'd all the glory of thy prosperous wars, 
Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem 
Of his just praise, to lavish it on them ? 
Hast thou not learn'd, what thou art often told, 
A truth still sacred, and believed of old, 
That no success attends on spears and swords 
Unbless'd, and that the battle is the Lord's ? 
That Courage is his creature, and Dismay 
The post that at his bidding speeds away, 
Ghastly in feature, and his stammering tongue 
With doleful rumour and sad presage hung, 
To quell the valour of the stoutest heart, 
And teach the combatant a woman's part % 
That he bids thousands fly when none pursue, 
Saves as he will by many or by few, 
And claims for ever as his royal right, 
The event and sure decision of the fight ? 

Hast thou, though suckled at fair Freedom's 
Exported slavery to the conquer'd East, [breast, 
Pull'd down the tyrants India served with dread, 
And raised thyself, a greater, in their stead ? 
Gone thither arm'd and hungry, return'd full, 
Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul, 
A despot big with power obtain'd by wealth, 
And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth ? 
With Asiatic vices stored thy mind, 
But left their virtues and thine own behind, 
And, having truck'd thy soul, brought home the 
To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee ? [fee, 

Hast thou by statute shoved from its design 
The Saviour's feast, his own blest bread and wine, 
And made the symbols of atoning grace 
An office key, a picklock to a place, 
That infidels may prove their title good 
By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood ? 
A blot that will be still a blot, in spite 
Of all that grave apologists may write, 
And though a bishop toil to cleanse the stain, 
He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. 
And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, 
Till perjuries are common as bad pence, 
While thousands, careless of the damning sin, 
Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look within 1 ? 

1 In the first edition, instead of the next paragraph it 
stood thus : — 
Hast thou admitted with a blind, fond trust, 
The lie that burn'd thy fathers' hones to dust, 
That first adjudged them heretics, then sent 
Their souls to heaven, and cursed them as they went ? 
The lie that Scripture strips of its disguise, 
And execrates above all other lies, 
The lie that claps a lock on mercy's plan, 
And gives the key to yon infirm old man, 
c 2 


20 


EXPOSTULATION. 


Hast thou, when heaven has clothed thee with 
disgrace, 
And, long provoked, repaid thee to thy face, 
(For thou hast known eclipses, and endured 
Dimness and'anguish, all thy beams obscured, 
Whe>n sin has shed dishonour on thy brow, 
And never of a sabler hue than now ;) 
Hast thou with heart perverse and conscience 
Despising all rebuke, still persevered, [sear'd, 
And, having chosen evil, scorn'd the voice 
That cried, Repent ! and gloried in thy choice ? 
Thy fastings, when calamity at last 
Suggests the expedient of a yearly fast, 
What mean they ? Canst thou dream there is a 
In lighter diet at a later hour, [power 

To charm to sleep the threatenings of the skies, 
And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes ? 
The fast that wins deliverance, and suspends 
The stroke that a vindictive God intends, 
Is to renounce hypocrisy ; to draw 
Thy life upon the pattern of the law ; 
To war with pleasures, idolised before ; 
To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more. 
All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence, 
Is wooing mercy by renew'd offence. 

Hast thou within thee sins, that in old time 
Brought fire from heaven, the sex-abusing crime, 
Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace 
Baboons are free from, upon human race ? 
1 Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot 
That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot, 
Where Paradise seem'd still vouchsafed on earth, 
Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth, 
Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire, 
; Suffering the vengeance of eternal fire ; 
Then Nature injured, scandalised, defiled, 
Unveil'd her blushing cheek, look'd on, and smiled ; 
Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced, 
And praised the wrath that laid her beauties waste. 

Far be the thought from any verse of mine, 
And farther still the form'd and fix'd design, 
To thrust the charge of deeds that I detest, 
Against an innocent unconscious breast: 
The man that dares traduce, because he can 
With safety to himself, is not a man. 
An individual is a sacred mark, 
Not to be pierced in play or in the dark ; 
But public censure speaks a public foe, 
Unless a zeal for virtue guide the blow. 

The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere, 
From mean self-interest and ambition clear, 
Their hope in heaven, servility their scorn, 
Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn, 
Their wisdom pure and given them from above, 
Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love, 

Who once insconced in apostolic chair 

Is deified, and sits omniscient there; 

The lie that knows no kindred, owns no friend 

Bat liim that makes its progress his chief end, 

That having spilt much blood, makes that a boast, 

And canonizes him that sheds the most? 

Away with charity that soothes a lie, 

And thrusts the truth with scorn and anger by ! 

Shame on the candour and the gracious smile 

Bestow*d on them that light the martyr's pile, 

While insolent disdain In Crowns expi 

Attends the tenets that endured that test ! 

Grant them the rights of men, and while they cease 

To rex the peace of others, grant them peace ; 

But trusting bigots whose false zeal has made 
Treachery their duty, thou art self-bctray'd. 


As meek as the man Moses, and withal 
As bold as, in Agrippa's presence, Paul, 
Should fly the world's contaminating touch, 
Holy and unpolluted : — are thine such ? 
Except a few with Eli's spirit blest, 
Hophni and Phineas may describe the rest. 

Where shall a teacher look in days like these, 
For ears and hearts that he can hope to please \ 
Look to the poor, — the simple and the plain 
Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain : 
Humility is gentle, apt to learn, 
Speak but the word, will listen and return. 
Alas, not so ! the poorest of the flock 
Are proud, and set their faces as a rock ; 
Denied that earthly opulence they choose, 
God's better gift they scoff at and refuse. 
The rich, the produce of a nobler stem, 
Are more intelligent at least, — try them. 
O vain inquiry ! they without remorse 
Are altogether gone a devious course, [stray ; 

Where beckoning Pleasure leads them, wildly 
Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. 

Now, borne upon the wings of truth sublime, 
Review thy dim original and prime. 
This island-spot of unreclaim'd rude earth, 
The cradle that received thee at thy birth, 
Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast, 
And Danish bowlings scared thee as they pass'd ; 
For thou wast born amid the din of arms, 
And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms. 
While yet thou wast a groveling puling chit, 
Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit, 
The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, 
Though twice a Csesar could not bend thee now : 
His victory was that of orient light, 
When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night. 
v Thy language at this distant moment shows 
How much the country to the conqueror owes : 
Expressive, energetic, and refined, 
It sparkles with the gems he left behind. 
He brought thy land a blessing when he came, 
He found thee savage, and he left thee tame ; 
Taught thee to clothe thy pmk'd and painted hide, 
And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride ; 
He sow'd the seeds of order where he went, 
Improved thee far beyond his own intent, 
And while he ruled thee by the sword alone, 
Made thee at last a warrior like his own. 
Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, 
Needs only to be seen to be admired ; 
But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night, 
Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight ; 
Thy Druids struck the well-strung harps they bore 
With fingers deeply dyed in human gore ; 
And, while the victim slowly bled to death, 
Upon the tolling chords rung out his dying breath. 

Who brought the lamp that with awakening beams 
Dispell'd thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, 
Tradition, now decrepit and worn out, 
Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt : 
But still light reach'd thee ; and those gods of thine, 
Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine, 
Fell broken and defaced at his own door, 
As Dagon in Philistia long before. 
But Rome with sorceries and magic wand 
Soon raised a cloud that darken'd every land ; 
And thine was smother'd in the stench and fog 
Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog. 
Then priests with bulls and briefs and shaven crowns, 
And griping fists and unrelenting frowns, 


EXPOSTULATION: 


21 


Legates and delegates with powers from hell, 

Though heavenly in pretension, fleeced thee well ; 

And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind, 

Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind 1 . 

Thy soldiery, the Pope's well-managed pack, 

Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the smack, 

And, when he laid them on the scent of blood, 

Would hunt a Saracen through fire and flood. 

Lavish of life to win an empty tomb, 

That proved a mint of wealth, a mine to Pome, 

They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies, 

His worthless absolution all the prize. 

Thou wast the veriest slave in days of yore, 

That ever dragg'd a chain, or tugg'd an oar ; 

Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust, 

Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, 

Disdain'd thy counsels, only in distress 

Found thee a goodly sponge for Power to press. 

Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee, 

Provoked and harass'd, in return plagued thee ; 

Call'd thee away from peaceable employ, 

Domestic happiness and rural joy, 

To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down 

In causeless feuds and bickerings of their own. 

Thy parliaments adored on bended knees 

The sovereignty they were convened to please ; 

Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist, 

Complied with, and were graciously dismiss'd ; 

And if some Spartan soul a doubt express'd, 

And, blushing at the tameness of the rest, 

Dared to suppose the subject had a choice, 

He was a traitor by the general voice. 

O slave ! with powers thou didst not dare exert, 

Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert ! 

It shakes the sides of splenetic Disdain, 

Thou self-entitled ruler of the main, 

To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea, 

That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee; 

When other nations flew from coast to coast, 

And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast. 

Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust ; 
Blush if thou canst ; not petrified, thou must ; 
Act but an honest and a faithful part ; 
Compare what then thou wast with what thou art ; 
And God's disposing providence confess'd, 
Obduracy itself must yield the rest. — 
Then thou art bound to serve him, and to prove, 
Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. 

Has he not hid thee and thy favour'd land, 
For ages safe beneath his sheltering hand, 
Given thee his blessing on the clearest proof, 
Bid nations leagued against thee stand aloof,' 
And charged hostility and hate to roar 
Where else they would, but not upon thy shore ? 
His power secured thee, when presumptuous Spain 
Baptized her fleet Invincible in vain ; 
Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resign'd 
To every pang that racks an anxious mind, 
Ask'd of the waves that broke upon his coast, 
What tidings % and the surge replied — All lost ! 
And when the Stuart, leaning on the Scot, 
Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot, 
Pierced to the very centre of thy realm, 
And hoped to seize his abdicated helm, 
'Twas but to prove how quickly with a frown 
He that had raised thee could have pluck'd thee 

down. 
Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd, 
Thy foes imp lacable, thy land at rest ; 

1 Which may he found at Doctors' Commons. C. 


Thy thunders travel over earth and seas, 
And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 
: Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm, 
Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm, 
While his own heaven surveys the troubled scene, 
And feels no change, unshaken and serene. 
Freedom, in other lands scarce known to shine, 
Pours out a flood of splendour upon thine ; 
Thou hast as bright an interest in her rays 
As ever Roman had in Rome's best days. 
True freedom is, where no restraint is known 
That Scripture, justice, and good sense disown, 
Where only vice and injury are tied, 
And all from shore to shore is free beside. 
Such freedom is, — and Windsor's hoary towers 
Stood trembling at the boldness of thy powers, 
That won a nymph on that immortal plain, 
Like her the fabled Phoebus wooed in vain : 
He found the laurel only ; — happier you, 
The unfading laurel and the virgin too 2 ! 

Now think, if Pleasure have a thought to spare, 
If God himself be not beneath her care ; 
If business, constant as the wheels of time, 
Can pause one hour to read a serious rhyme ; 
If the new mail thy merchants now receive, 
Or expectation of the next give leave : 
O, think, if chargeable with deep arrears 
For such indulgence gilding all thy years, 
How much, though long neglected, shining yet, 
The beams of heavenly truth have swell'd the debt. 
When persecuting zeal made royal sport 
With tortured innocence in Mary's court, 
And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake, 
Enjoy 'd the show and danced about the stake ; 
The sacred book, its value understood, 
Received the seal of martyrdom in blood. 
Those holy men, so full of truth and grace, 
Seem to reflection of a different race, 
Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere, 
In such a cause they could not dare to fear ; 
They could not purchase earth with such a prize, 
Nor spare a life too short to reach the skies. 
From them to thee, convey'd along the tide 
Their streaming hearts pour'd freely when they 

died, 
Those truths which neither use nor years impair, 
Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share. 
What dotage will not Vanity maintain ? 
What web too weak to catch a modern brain ? 
The moles and bats in full assembly find, 
On special search, the keen-eyed eagle blind. 
And did they dream, and art thou wiser now ? 
Prove it : — if better, I submit and bow. 
Wisdom and Goodness are twin born, one heart 
Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. 

So then, — as darkness overspread the deep, 
Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep, 
And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, 
Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High, 
By such a change thy darkness is made light, 
Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might ; 
And He, whose power mere nullity obeys, 
Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise. 
To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil, 
Doing and suffering, his unquestion'd will ; 
'Tis to believe what men, inspired of old, 
Faithful, and faithfully inform'd, unfold ; 

2 Alluding to the grarit of Magna Charta, which was 
extorted from King John by the barons, at Runnymede, 
near Windsor. C 


22 


HOPE. 


Candid and just, with no false aim in view, 
To take for truth what cannot but be true ; 
To learn in God's own school the Christian part, 
And bind the task assign'd thee to thine heart. 
Happy the man there seeking and there found, 
Happy the nation where such men abound! 

How shall a verse impress thee \ by what name 
Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame ? 
By theirs, whose bright example unimpeach'd 
Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd, 
Heroes and worthies of days past, thy sires % 
Or His, who touch' d their heart with hallo w'd 

fires ? 
Their names, alas ! in vain reproach an age, 
Whom all the vanities they scorn'd engage ; 
And His, that seraphs trembled at, is hung 
Disgracefully on every trifler's tongue, 
Or serves the champion in forensic war 
To flourish and parade with at the bar. 
Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea, 
If interest move thee, to persuade even thee ; 
By every charm that smiles upon her face, 
By joys possess'd, and joys still held in chase, 
If dear society be worth a thought, 
And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not, 
Reflect that these and all that seems thine own, 
Held by the tenure of his will alone, 
Like angels in the service of their Lord, 
Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word ; 
That gratitude and temperance in our use 
Of what he gives unsparing and profuse, 
Secure the favour, and enhance the joy, 
That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy. 

But above all reflect, how cheap soe'er 
Those rights that millions envy thee, appear, 
And though resolved to risk them, and swim 

down 
The tide of pleasure heedless of His frown, 
That blessings truly sacred, and when given, 
Mark'd with the signature and stamp of Heaven, 
The word of prophecy, those truths divine 
Which make that heaven, if thou desire it, thine, 
( Awful alternative ! believed, beloved, 
Thy glory ; and thy shame if unimproved) 
Are never long vouchsafed, if push'd aside 
With cold disgust or philosophic pride; 
And that judicially withdrawn, disgrace, 
Error and darkness occupy their place. 

A world is up in arms, and thou a spot 
Not quickly found if negligently sought, 
Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, 
Endurest the brunt, and darest defy them all : 
And wilt thou join to this bold enterprise 
A bolder still, a contest with the skies % 
Remember, if He guard thee and secure, 
Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure ; 
But if He leave thee, though the skill and power 
Of nations, sworn to spoil thee and devour, 
Were all collected in thy single arm, 
And thou couldst laugh away the fear of harm, 
That strength would fail opposed against the push 
And feeble onset of a pigmy rush. 
Say not (and if the thought of such defence 
Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence) 
What nation amongst all my foes is free 
From crimes as base as any charged on me ? 
Their measure fill'd, they too shall pay the debt, 
Which God, though long forborne, will not forget. 
But know that Wrath divine, when most severe, 
Makes justice still the guide of Ids career, 


And will not punish in one mingled crowd, 
Them without light, and thee without a cloud. 
Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech, 
Still murmuring with the solemn truths I teach, 
And while at intervals a cold blast sings 
Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings, 
My soul shall sigh in secret and lament 
A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent. 
I know the warning song is sung in vain, 
That few will hear and fewer heed the strain ; 
But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd 
A blessing to my country and mankind, 
Reclaim the wandering thousands, and bring home 
A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam, 
Then place it once again between my knees ; 
The sound of truth will then be sure to please : 
And truth alone, where'er my life be cast, 
In scenes of plenty or the pining waste, 
Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last. 


HOPE. 


doceas iter, et sacra ostia pandas. 

Vibg. En. 


Ask what is human life — the sage replies, 

With disappointment lowering in his eyes, 

A painful passage o'er a restless flood, 

A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, 

A scene of fancied bliss and heartfelt care, 

Closing at last in darkness and despair. 

The poor, inured to drudgery and distress, 

Act without aim, think little, and feel less, 

And nowhere, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes, 

Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. 

Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand, 

As fortune, vice, or folly, may command ; 

As in a dance the pair that take the lead 

Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed, 

So shifting and so various is the plan, 

By which Heaven rules the mixt affairs of man : 

Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd, 

The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud; 

Business is labour, and man's weakness such, 

Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much ; 

The very sense of it foregoes its use, 

By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. 

Youth lost in dissipation, we deplore, 

Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore; 

Our years, a fruitless race without a prize, 

Too many, yet too few to make us wise. 

Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, 
Lothario cries, What philosophic stuff ! 
O querulous and weak ! — whose useless brain 
Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain ; 
Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past, 
Whose prospect shows thee a disheartening waste; 
Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, 
And youth invigorate that frame again, 
Renew'd desire would grace with other speech 
Joys always prized, when placed within our reach. 

For lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom 
That overhangs the borders of thy tomb, 
See Nature gay as when she first began, 
With smiles alluring her admirer man ; 
She spreads the morning over eastern hills, 
Earth glitters with the drops the night distils, 


HOPE. 


23 


The sun obedient at her call appears, 

To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears, 

Banks clothed with flowers, groves fill'd with 

sprightly sounds, 
The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds, 
Streams edged with osiers, fattening every field 
Where'er they flow, now seen and now conceal'd ; 
From the blue rim where skies and mountains meet, 
Down to the very turf beneath thy feet, 
Ten thousand charms that only fools despise, 
Or pride can look at with indifferent eyes, 
All speak one language, all with one sweet voice 
Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice ! 
Man feels the spur of passions and desires, 
And she gives largely more than he requires ; 
Not that his hours devoted all to care, 
Hollow-eyed abstinence and lean despair, 
The wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste, 

sight, 
She holds a paradise of rich delight ; 
But gently to rebuke his awkward fear, 
To prove that what she gives, she gives sincere, 
To banish hesitation, and proclaim, 
His happiness, her dear, her only aim. 
'Tis grave philosophy's absurdest dream, 
That heaven's intentions are not what they seem, 
That only shadows are dispensed below, 
And earth has no reality but woe. 

Thus things terrestrial wear a different hue, 
As youth or age persuades ; and neither true : 
So Flora's wreath through colour'd crystal seen, 
The rose or lily appears blue or green, 
But still the imputed tints are those alone 
The medium represents, and not their own. 

To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd, 
To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best, 
Till half the world comes rattling at his door, 
To fill the dull vacuity till four; 
And just when evening turns the blue vault grey, 
To spend two hours in dressing for the day ; 
To make the sun a bauble without use, 
Save for the fruits his heavenly beams produce ; 
Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought, 
Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not ; 
Through mere necessity to close his eyes 
Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise; 
Is such a life, so tediously the same, 
So void of all utility or aim, 
That poor Jonquil with almost every breath 
Sighs for his exit, vulgarly call'd death ; 
For he, with all his follies, has a mind 
Not yet so blank, or fashionably blind, 
But now and then perhaps a feeble ray 
Of distant wisdom shoots across his way, 
By which he reads, that life without a plan, 
As useless as the moment it began, 
Serves merely as a soil for discontent 
To thrive in ; an incumbrance ere half spent. 
Oh weariness beyond what asses feel, 
That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel ; 
A dull rotation, never at a stay, 
Yesterday's face twin image of to-day ; 
While conversation, an exhausted stock, 
Grows drowsy as the clicking of a clock. 
No need, he cries, of gravity stuff' d out 
With academic dignity devout, 
To read wise lectures, vanity the text : 
Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next ; 
For truth self-evident with pomp impress'd 
Is vanity surpassing all the rest. 


That remedy, not hid in deeps profound, 
Yet seldom sought where only to be found, 
While passion turns aside from its due scope 
The inquirer's aim, that remedy is Hope. 
Life is His gift, from whom whate'er life needs, 
And every good and perfect gift proceeds ; 
Bestow 'd on man, like all that we partake, 
Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake ; 
Transient, indeed, as is the fleeting hour, 
And yet the seed of an immortal flower, 
Design'd in honour of his endless love, 
To fill with fragrance his abode above: 
No trifle, howsoever short it seem, 
And, howsoever shadowy, no dream ; 
Its value what no thought can ascertain, 
Nor all an angel's eloquence explain. 

Men deal with life, as children with their play, 
Who first misuse, then cast their toys away ; 
Live to no sober purpose, and contend 
That their Creator had no serious end. 
When God and man stand opposite in view, 
Man's disappointment must of course ensue. 
The just Creator condescends to write, 
In beams of inextinguishable light, 
His names of wisdom, goodness, power, and love, 
On all that blooms below or shines above, 
To catch the wandering notice of mankind, 
And teach the world, if not perversely blind, 
His gracious attributes, and prove the share 
His offspring hold in his paternal care. 
If, led from earthly things to things divine, 
His creature thwart not his august design, 
Then praise is heard instead of reasoning pride, 
And captious cavil and complaint subside. 
Nature, employ'd in her allotted place, 
Is handmaid to the purposes of Grace ; 
By good vouchsafed makes known superior good, 
And bliss not seen by blessings understood : 
That bliss reveal'd in Scripture, with a glow 
Bright as the covenant-ensuring bow, 
Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn 
Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is born. 

Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all 
That men have deem'd substantial since the fall, 
Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe 
From emptiness itself a real use ; 
And while she takes, as at a father's hand, 
What health and sober appetite demand, 
From fading good derives, with chemic art, 
That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. 
Hope with uplifted foot set free from earth, 
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth, 
On steady wings sails through the immense abyss, 
Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss, 
And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, 
With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. 
Hope, as an anchor firm and sure, holds fast 
The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. 
Hope ! nothing else can nourish and secure 
His newborn virtues, and preserve him pure ; 
Hope ! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy, 
Whom now despairing agonies destroy, 
Speak, for he can, and none so well as he, 
What treasures centre, what delights in thee. 
Had he the gems, the spices, and the land 
That boasts the treasure, all at'his command, 
The fragrant grove, the inestimable mine, 
Were light, when weigh'd against one smile of thine. 

Though clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms, 
He shine with all a cherub's artless charms, 


24 


HOPE. 


Man is tho genuine offspring of revolt, 

Stubborn ami sturdy, a wild ass's colt; 

His passions, like the watery stores that sleep 

Beneath the smiling surface of the deep, 

Wait hut the lashes of a wintry storm, 

To frown and roar, and shake his feeble form. 

From infancy through childhood's giddy maze, 

Froward at school, and fretful in his plays, 

The pony tyrant burns to subjugate 

The free republic of the whip-gig state. 

If one, his equal in athletic frame, 

Or, more provoking still, of nobler name, 

Dare step across his arbitrary views, 

An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues: 

The little reeks look trembling at the scales, 

Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand prevails. 

Now see him launch'd into the world at large : 
l\' priest, supinely droning o'er his charge, 
'Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl, 
Though short, too long, the price he pays for all. 
If lawyer, loud whatever cause he plead, 
But proudest of the worst, if that succeed. 
Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees, 
Punctually paid for lengthening out disease ; 
No Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays 
That make superior skill his second praise. 
If arms engage him, he devotes to sport 
His date of life, so likely to be short ; 
A soldier may be any thing, if brave ; 
So may a tradesman, if not quite a knave. 
Such stuff" the world is made of ; and mankind 
To passion, interest, pleasure, whim resign'd, 
Insist on, as if each were his own Pope, 
Forgiveness and the privilege of hope. 
But Conscience, in some awful silent hour, 
When captivating lusts have lost their power, 
Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dream, 
Reminds him of religion, hated theme ! 
Starts from the down on which she lately slept, 
And tells of laws despised, at least not kept, 
Shows with a pointing finger and no noise, 
A pale procession of past sinful joys, 
All witnesses of blessings foully scorn'd, 
And life abused, — and not to be suborn'd. 
Mark these, she says ; these, summon'd from afar, 
I! sgin their march to meet thee at the bar; 
Tii' re find a Judge inexorably just, 
And perish there, as all presumption must. 

I 'race be to those (such peace as earth can 
give) 
W ho live in pleasure, dead even while they live; 
Born capable indeed of heavenly truth, 
Bui down to latest age from earliest youth, 
Their mind a wilderness through want of care, 
Tin- plough of wisdom never entering there. 
Peace (if insensibility may claim 
A right to the meek honours of her name) 
To men of pedigree : their noble race, 
Emulous always of the nearest place 
To any throne, except the throne of grace. 
Lei cottagers ami onenlighten'd swains 
Revere the laws they dream that heaven ordains, 
Resort on Sundays to the house of prayer, 
And ask, and fancy they find blessings there; 
Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat 
To enjoy cool nature in a country seat, 
'I exchange th,. centre of a thousand trades, 
Pot clumps, and lawns, and temples, and cascades, 
May now and then their velvet cushions take, 
And set m to pray, for good example sake; 


Judging, in charity no doubt, the town 
Pious enough, and having need of none. 
Kind souls ! to teach their tenantry to prize 
What they themselves, without remorse, despise: 
Nor hope have they nor fear of aught to come, 
As well for them had prophecy been dumb ; 
They could have held the conduct they pursue, 
Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a Jew ; 
And truth, proposed to reasoners wise as they, 
Is a pearl cast — completely cast away. 

They die Death lends them, pleased and as 

in sport, 
All the grim honours of his ghastly court. 
Far other paintings grace the chamber now, 
Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow : 
The busy heralds hang the sable scene 
With mournful scutcheons and dim lamps between, 
Proclaim their titles to the crowd around, 
But they that wore them move not at the sound ; 
The coronet placed idly at their head, 
Adds nothing now to the degraded dead, 
And even the star that glitters on the bier 
Can only say — Nobility lies here. 
Peace to all such ! — 'twere pity to offend 
By useless censure whom Ave cannot mend ; 
Life without hope can close but in despair, 
'Twas there we found them, and must leave them 
there. 

As when two pilgrims in a forest stray, 
Both may be lost, yet each in his own way ; 
So fares it with the multitudes beguil'd 
In vain opinion's waste and dangerous wild ; 
Ten thousand rove the brakes and thorns among, 
Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong. 
But here, alas ! the fatal difference lies, 
Each man's belief is right in his own eyes ; 
And he that blames what they have blindly chose, 
Incurs resentment for the love he shows. 

Say, botanist ! within whose province fall 
The cedar and the hyssop on the wall, 
Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, the bowers, 
What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and flowers '? 
Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both combined, 
Distinguish every cultivated kind ; 
The want of both denotes a meaner breed, 
And Chloe from her garland picks the weed. 
Thus hopes of every sort, whatever sect 
Esteem them, sow them, rear them, and protect, 
If wild in nature, and not duly found, 
Gethsemane ! in thy dear hallow'd ground, 
That cannot bear the blaze of Scripture light, 
Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the sight, 
Nor animate the soul to Christian deeds, 
(Oh, cast them from thee!) are weeds, arrant weeds. 

Ethclred's house, the centre of six ways, 
Diverging each from each, like equal rays, 
Himself as bountiful as April rains, 
Lord paramount of the surrounding plains, 
Would give relief of bed and board to none 
But guests that sought it in the appointed One. 
And they might enter at his open door, 
Even till his spacious hall would hold no more. 
He sent a servant forth by every road, 
To sound his horn, and publish it abroad, 
That all might mark — knight, menial, high and low, 
An ordinance it concern'd them much to know. 
1 1" after all, some headstrong hardy lout 
Would disobey, though sure to be shut out, 
Could he with reason murmur at his case, 
Himself sole author of his own disgrace I 


HOPE. 


25 


No ! the decree Avas just and without flaw, 
And he that made had right to make the law ; 
His sovereign power and pleasure unrestrain'd, 
The wrong was his who wrongfully complain'd. 

Yet half mankind maintain a churlish strife 
With Him, the Donor of eternal life, 
Because the deed, by which his love confirms 
The largess he bestows, prescribes the terms. 
Compliance with his will your lot ensures, 
Accept it only, and the boon is yours : 
And sure it is as kind to smile and give, 
As with a frown to say, Do this, and live. 
Love is not pedler's trumpery bought and sold, 
He will give freely, or he will withhold ; 
His soul abhors a mercenary thought, 
And him as deeply who abhors it not. 
He stipulates indeed, but merely this, 
That man will freely take an unbought bliss, 
Will trust him for a faithful generous part, 
Nor set a price upon a willing heart. 
Of all the ways that seem to promise fair 
To place you where his saints his presence share, 
This only can ; for this plain cause, express'd 
In terms as plain, Himself has shut the rest. 
But oh the strife, the bickering, and debate 
The tidings of unpurchased heaven create ! 
The flirted fan, the bridle, and the toss, 
All speakers, yet all language at a loss. 
From stuccoed walls smart arguments rebound ; 
And beaux, adepts in every thing profound, 
Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound. 
Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites, 
The explosion of the level'd tube excites, 
Where mouldering abbey walls o'erhang the glade, 
And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade ; 
The screaming nations, hovering in mid air, 
Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there, 
And seem to warn him never to repeat 
His bold intrusion on their dark retreat. 

Adieu, Vinoso cries, ere yet he sips 
The purple bumper trembling at his lips, 
Adieu to all morality ! if Grace 
Make works a vain ingredient in the case. 
The Christian hope is — Waiter, draw the cork — 
If I mistake not — Blockhead ! with a fork ! 
Without good works, whatever some may boast, 
Mere folly and delusion — Sir, your toast. 
My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes, 
That Heaven will weigh man's virtues and his 

crimes 
With nice attention in a righteous scale, 
And save or damn as these or those prevail. 
I plant my foot upon this ground of trust, 
And silence every fear with — God is just. 
But if perchance on some dull drizzling day 
A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say, 
If thus the important cause is to be tried, 
Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side \ 
I soon recover from these needless frights, 
And God is merciful — sets all to rights. 
Thus, between justice, as my prime support, 
And mercy, fled to as the last resort, 
I glide and steal along with heaven in view, 
And, — pardon me, the bottle stands with you. 

I never will believe, the colonel cries, 
The sanguinary schemes that some devise, 
Who make the good Creator on their plan 
A being of less equity than man. 
If appetite, or what divines call lust, 
Which men comply with even because they must, 


Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure ? 

Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine is sure. 

If sentence of eternal pain belong 

To every sudden slip and transient wrong, 

Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail 

A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail. 

My creed (whatever some creed-makers mean 

By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene) 

My creed is, He is safe that does his best, 

And death's a doom sufficient for the rest. 

Right, says an ensign ; and, for aught I see, 
Your faith and mine substantially agree : 
The best of every man's performance here 
Is to discharge the duties of his sphere. 
A lawyer's dealing should be just and fair, 
Honesty shines with great advantage there. 
Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest, 
A decent caution and reserve at least. 
A soldier's best is courage in the field, 
With nothing here that wants to be conceal'd ; 
Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay ; 
A hand as liberal as the light of day ; 
The soldier thus endow'd, who never shrinks, 
Nor closets up his thought whate'er he thinks, 
Who scorns to do an injury by stealth, 
Must go to heaven — and I must drink his health. 
Sir Smug ! he cries, (for lowest at the board, 
Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord, 
His shoulders witnessing by many a shrug 
How much his feelings suffer' d, sat Sir Smug) 
Your office is to winnow false from true ; 
Come, prophet, drink, and tell us what think you. 

Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass, 
Which they that woo preferment rarely pass, 
Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies, 
Is still found fallible, however wise ; 
And differing judgments serve but to declare 
That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where. 
Of all it ever was my lot to read 
Of critics now alive or long since dead, 
The book of all the world that charm'd me most 
Was, — well-a-day, the title-page was lost. 
The writer well remarks, a heart that knows 
To take with gratitude what Heaven bestows, 
With prudence always ready at our call, 
To guide our use of it, is all in all. 

Doubtless it is To which, of my own store, 

I superadd a few essentials more ; 

But these, excuse the liberty I take, 

I waive just now, for conversation sake. — 

Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim, 

And add Right Reverend to Smug's honour'd name. 

And yet our lot is given us in a land 
Where busy arts are never at a stand ; 
Where Science points her telescopic eye, 
Familiar with the wonders of the sky ; 
Where bold Inquiry, diving out of sight, 
Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light ; 
Where nought eludes the persevering quest 
That fashion, taste, or luxury suggest. 

But above all, in her own light array'd, 
See Mercy's grand apocalypse display'd ! 
The sacred book no longer suffers wrong, 
Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue, 
But speaks with plainness art could never mend, 
What simplest minds can soonest comprehend. 
God gives the word, the preachers throng around, 
Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound: 
That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way, 
The trumpet of a life-restoring day ; 


2(i 


HOPE. 


'Tis heard where England's Eastern glory shines, 
And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines. 
And still it spreads. See Germany send forth 
Her sons ' to pour it on the farthest north ; 
Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy 
The rage and rigour of a polar sky, 
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's Rose 
On icy plains and in eternal snows. 

Oh bless'd within the enclosure of your rocks, 
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks, 
No fertilizing streams your fields divide, 
That show reversed the villas on their side ; 
No groves have ye ; no cheerful sound of bird, 
Or voice of turtle in your land is heard ; 
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell 
Of those that walk at evening where ye dwell ; 
But Whiter, arm'd with terrors here unknown, 
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne, 
Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, 
And bids the mountains he has built, stand fast ; 
Beckons the legions of his storms away 
From happier scenes, to make your land a prey, 
Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, 
And scorns to share it with the distant sun. 
— Yet Truth is yours, remote unenvied isle ! 
And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile ; 
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds 
In chains of error our accomplish 'd minds, 
That decks with all the splendour of the true, 
A false religion, is unknown to you. 
Nature indeed vouchsafes for our delight 
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night ; 
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer 
Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here ; 
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies 
Have risen at length on your admiring eyes, 
That shoot into your darkest caves the day 
From which our nicer optics turn away. 

Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice, 
The dire effect of mercy without price ! 
What were they \ what some fools are made by art 
They were by nature, atheists, head and heart. 
The gross idolatry blind heathens teach 
Was too refined for them, beyond their reach. 
Not even the glorious sun, though men revere 
The monarch most that seldom will appear, 
And though his beams that quicken where they 

shine, 
May claim some right to be esteem'd divine, — 
Not even the sun, desirable as rare, 
Could bend one knee, engage one votary there; 
They were, what base credulity believes 
True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, 

thieves. 
The full-gorged savage at his nauseous feast 
Spent half the darkness, and snored out the rest, — 
Was one whom justice, on an equal plan 
Denouncing death upon the sins of man, 
-Might almost have indulged with an escape, 
Chargeable only with a human shape. 

What are they now? — Morality may spare 
Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there. 
The wretch that (nice sang wildly, danced, and 

laugh'd, 
And Buek'd in dizzy madness with his draught, 
lias wept a silent flood, reversed his ways, 
Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays; 
Feeds sparingly, communicates his store, 


1 The Moravian missionaries in Greenland. 
Krantz. C. 


Vide 


Abhors the craft he boasted of before, 
And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more. 
Well spake the prophet, Let the desert sing, 
Where sprang the thorn the spiry fir shall spring, 
And where unsightly and rank thistles grew, 
Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew. 

Go now, and with important tone demand 
On what foundation virtue is to stand, 
If self-exalting claims be turn'd adrift, 
And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift : 
The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes 
Glistening at once with pity and surprise, 
Amazed that shadows should obscure the sight 
Of one whose birth was in a land of light, 
Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free, 
And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. 

These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied 
The common care that waits on all beside, 
Wild as if Nature there, void of all good, 
Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood, 
Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann'd 
A plaything world, unworthy of his hand ; 
Can see his love, though secret evil lurks 
In all we touch, stamp 'd plainly on his works ; 
Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes, 
Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows. 

Hard task indeed o'er arctic seas to roam ! 
Is hope exotic ? grows it not at home ? 
Yes ; but an object bright as orient morn 
May press the eye too closely to be borne ; 
A distant virtue we can all confess, 
It hurts our pride and moves our envy less. 

Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding Greek 
I slur a name a poet must not speak) 
Stood pilloried on infamy's high stage, 
And bore the pelting scorn of half an age, 
The very but of slander, and the blot 
For every dart that malice ever shot. 
The man that mention'd him, at once dismiss'd 
All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd ; 
His crimes were such as Sodom never knew, 
And Perjury stood up to swear all true ; 
His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence, 
His speech rebellion against common sense ; 
A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule, 
And when by that of reason, a mere fool ; 
The world's best comfort was, his doom was pass'd, 
Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last. 

Now, Truth, perform thine office ; waft aside 
The curtain drawn by prejudice and pride, 
Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes 
This more than monster in his proper guise. 

He loved the world that hated him ; the tear 
That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere. 
Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife, 
His only answer was a blameless life, 
And he that forged and he that threw the dart, 
Had each a brother's interest in his heart. 
Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, 
Were copied close in him, and well transcribed ; 
He follow'd Paul ; his zeal a kindred flame, 
His apostolic charity the same, 
Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas, 
Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease ; 
Like him he labour'd, and like him content 
To bear it, suffer'd shame where'er he went. 

Blush, Calumny ; and write upon his tomb, 
If honest eulogy can spare thee room, 
Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies, [skies ; 
Which, aim'd at him, have pierced the offended 


HOPE. 


27 


And say, Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplored, 
Against thine image in thy saint, O Lord ! 

No blinder bigot, I maintain it still, 
Than he who must have pleasure, come what will : 
He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw, 
And deems her sharp artillery mere straw. 
Scripture indeed is plain, but God and he 
On scripture ground are sure to disagree ; 
Some wiser rule must teach him how to live 
Than that his Maker has seen fit to give, 
Supple and flexible as Indian cane, 
To take the bend his appetites ordain, 
Contrived to suit frail nature's crazy case, 
And reconcile his lusts with saving grace. 
By this, with nice precision of design, 
He draws upon life's map a zigzag line, 
That shows how far 'tis safe to follow sin, 
And where his danger and God's wrath begin. 
By this he forms, as pleased he sports along, 
His well-poised estimate of right and wrong, 
And finds the modish manners of the day, 
Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play. 

Build by whatever plan caprice decrees, 
With what materials, on what ground you please, 
Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired, 
If not that hope the Scripture has required : 
The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild 
With which hypocrisy for ever teems, [dreams, 
(Though other follies strike the public eye, 
And raise a laugh) pass unmolested by ; 
But if, unblameable in word and thought, 
A man arise, a man whom God has taught, 
With all Elijah's dignity of tone, 
And all the love of the beloved John, 
To storm the citadels they build in air, 
And smite the untemper'd wall, 'tis death to spare, 
To sweep away all refuges of lies, 
And place, instead of quirks themselves devise, 
Lama sabachthani before their eyes, — 
To prove that without Christ all gain is loss, 
All hope despair, that stands not on his cross, — 
Except the few his God may have impress'd, 
A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. [least, 

Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at 
There dwells a consciousness in every breast, 
That folly ends where genuine hope begins, 
And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins. 
Nature opposes with her utmost force 
This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce, 
And, while religion seems to be her view, 
Hates with a deep sincerity the true: 
For this, of all that ever influenced man, 
Since Abel worship'd, or the world began, 
This only spares no lust, admits no plea, 
But makes him, if at all, completely free ; 
Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car, 
Of an eternal, universal war ; 
Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles, 
Scorns with the same indifference frowns and 

smiles, 
Drives through the realms of Sin, where Riot reels, 
And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels ! 
Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art, 
Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart, 
Insensible of Truth's almighty charms, 
Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms ! 
While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears, 
His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears, 
Mighty to parry and push by God's word 
With senseless noise, his argument the sword, 


Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace, 
And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face. 

Parent of Hope, immortal Truth, make known 
Thy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all thine own! 
The silent progress of thy power is such, 
Thy means so feeble, and despised so much, 
That few believe the wonders thou hast wrought, 
And none can teach them but whom thou hast 

taught. 
Oh see me sworn to serve thee, and command 
A painter's skill into a poet's hand, 
That while I trembling trace a work divine, 
Fancy may stand aloof from the design, 
And light and shade and every stroke be thine. 

If ever thou hast felt another's pain, 
If ever when he sigh'd, hast sigh'd again, 
If ever on thine eyelid stood the tear 
That pity had engender'd, drop one here. 
This man was happy, — had the world's good word, 
And with it every joy it can afford ; 
Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife, 
Which most should sweeten his untroubled life ; 
Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race, 
Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, 
And whether at the toilet of the fair 
He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there ; 
Or if in masculine debate he shared, 
Ensured him mute attention and regard. 
Alas how changed ! expresive of his mind, 
His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined ; 
Those awful syllables, hell, death, and sin, 
Though whisper'd, plainly tell what works within, 
That conscience there performs her proper part, 
And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart. 
Forsaking, and forsaken of all friends, 
He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends ; 
Hard task ! for one who lately knew no care, 
And harder still as learnt beneath despair : 
His hours no longer pass unmark'd away, 
A dark importance saddens every day ; 
He hears the notice of the clock, perplex'd, 
And cries, Perhaps eternity strikes next ; 
Sweet music is no longer music here. 
And laughter sounds like madness in his ear ; 
His grief the world of all her power disarms, 
Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms : 
God's holy word, once trivial in his view, 
Now by the voice of his experience true, 
Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone 
Must spring that hope he pants to make his own. 

Now let the bright reverse be known abroad ; 
Say, man's a worm, and power belongs to God. 
As when a felon, whom his country's laws 
Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause. 
Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears, 
The shameful close of all his mispent years, 
If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, 
A tempest usher in the dreaded morn, 
Upon his dungeon walls the lightnings play, 
The thunder seems to summon him away, 
The warder at the door his key applies, 
Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies ; 
If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost, 
When hope, long lingering, at last yields the ghost, 
The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear, 
He drops at once his fetters and his fear, 
A transport glows in all he looks and speaks, 
And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks : 
Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs 
The comfort of a few poor added days, 


28 


CHARITY. 


Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul 
Of him whom hope has with a touch made whole. 
'Tis heaven, all heaven descending on the wings 
Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; 
'Tis more, — 'tis God diffused through every part, 
'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. 
Oh, welcome now the sun's once hated light, 
His noonday beams were never half so bright. 
Not kindred minds alone are call'd to employ 
Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy, 
Unconscious nature, all that he surveys, 
Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his 
praise. 

These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth, 
The scoff of wither'd age and beardless youth ; 
These move the censure and illiberal grin 
Of fools that hate thee and delight in sin : 
but these shall last when night has quench'd the 

pole, 
And heaven is all departed as a scroll : 
And when, as Justice has long since decreed, 
This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed, 
Then these thy glorious works, and they that share 
That Hope which can alone exclude despair, 
Shall live exempt from weakness and decay, 
The brightest wonders of an endless day. 

Happy the bard, (if that fair name belong 
To him that blends no fable with his song) 
Whose lines uniting, by an honest art, 
The faithful monitor's and poet's part, 
Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind, 
And, while the}- captivate, inform the mind j 
Still happier, if he till a thankful soil, 
And fruit reward his honourable toil : 
But happier far who comfort those that wait- 
To hear plain truth at Judah's hallow'd gate ; 
Their language simple, as their manners meek, 
No shining ornaments have they to seek, 
Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste, 
In sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste ; 
But while they speak the wisdom of the skies, 
Which art can only darken and disguise, 
The abundant harvest, recompense divine, 
Repays their work, — the gleaning only, mine. 


CHARITY. 


Qud nihil majus meliusve terris 

Fata donavere bonique divi, 

bunt, quamvit redeant in durum 
Tempora priscum.—HoR. Lib. iv. Ode ii. 

Faibesx and foremost of the train that wait 
On man's most dignified and happiest state, 
Whether we Dame thee Charity or Love, 
Chief grace below, and all in all above, 
Prosper ( 1 press thee with a powerful plea) 
A task 1 venture on, impell'd by thee: 
Oh never soon but in thy bless'd effects, 
Nor felt but in the soul that Heaven selects, 
Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known 
To other hearts, musl have thee in his own. 

Come, prompt me with benevolent desires, 

Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires, 

And though disgraced and Blighted, to redeem 

A poet's name, by making thee the theme. 

<•<>([ working ever on a social plan, 
I v various ties attaches man to man : 


He made at first, though free and unconfined, 
One man the common father of the kind, 
That every tribe, though placed as he sees best, 
Where seas or deserts part them from the rest, 
Differing in language, manners, or in face, 
Might feel themselves allied to all the race. 
When Cook — lamented, and with tears as just 
As ever mingled with heroic dust, 
Steer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown, 
And in his country's glory sought his own, 
Wherever he found man, to nature true, 
The rights of man were sacred in his view ; 
He soothed with gifts and greeted with a smile 
The simple native of the new-found isle ; 
He spurn'd the wretch that slighted or withstood 
The tender argument of kindred blood, 
Nor would endure that any should control 
His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. 

But though some nobler minds a law respect, 
That none shall with impunity neglect, 
In baser souls unnumber'd evils meet, 
To thwart its influence and its end defeat. 
While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved, 
See Cortes odious for a world enslaved ! 
Where wast thou then, sweet Charity, where then, 
Thou tutelary friend of helpless men ? 
Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found, 
Or building hospitals on English ground % 
No ! — Mammon makes the world his legatee [fee. 
Through fear, not love ; and Heaven abhors the 
Wherever found, (and all men need thy care) 
Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. 
The hand that slew till it could slay no more, 
Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore. 
Their prince, as justly seated on his throne 
As vain imperial Philip on his own, 
Trick'd out of all his royalty by art, 
That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart, 
Died by the sentence of a shaven priest, 
For scorning what they taught him to detest. 
How dark the veil that intercepts the blaze 
Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways ! 
God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof, 
And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof: 
The wreath he won drew down an instant curse, 
The fretting plague is in the public purse, 
The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state, 
Starved by that indolence their mines create. 

Oh, could their ancient Incas rise again, 
How would they take up Israel's taunting strain ! 
Art thou too fallen, Iberia ! Do we see 
The robber and the murderer weak as we ? 
Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despise 
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies, 
Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid 
Low in the pits thine avarice has made. 
We come with joy from our eternal rest, 
To see the oppressor in his turn oppress'd. 
Art thou the God the thunder of whose hand 
RolPd over all our desolated land, 
Shook principalities and kingdoms down, 
And made the mountains tremble at his frown? 
The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers, 
And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours. 
'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils, 
And vengeance executes what justice wills. 

Again - the band of commerce was design'd 
To associate all the branches of mankind. 
And if a boundless plenty be the robe, 
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. 


CHARITY. 


29 


Wise to promote whatever end he means, 
God opens fruitful Nature's various scenes, 
Each climate needs what other climes produce, 
And offers something to the general use ; 
No land hut listens to the common call, 
And in return receives supply from all. 
This genial intercourse and mutual aid 
Cheers what were else an universal shade, 
Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den, 
And softens human rockwork into men. 
Ingenious Art with her expressive face, 
Steps forth to fashion and refine the race, 
Not only fills necessity's demand, 
But overcharges her capacious hand : 
Capricious taste itself can crave no more 
Than she supplies from her abounding store : 
She strikes out all that luxury can ask, 
And gains new vigour at her endless task. 
Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire, 
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre ; 
From her the canvass borrows light and shade, 
And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. 
She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys, 
Gives difficulty all the grace of ease, 
And pours a torrent of sweet notes around, 
Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. 

These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most 
Where commerce has enrich'd the busy coast ; 
He catches all improvements in his flight, 
Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight, 
Imports what others have invented well, 
And stirs his own to match them or excel. 
'Tis thus reciprocating each with each, 
Alternately the nations learn and teach ; 
While Providence enjoins to every soul 
An union with the vast terraqueous whole. 

Heaven speed the canvass gallantly unfurl'd 
To furnish and accommodate a world, 
To give the pole the produce of the sun, 
And knit the unsocial climates into one ! — ■ 
Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave 
Impel the fleet whose errand is to save, 
To succour wasted regions, and replace 
The smile of opulence in sorrow's face ! — 
Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, 
Impede the bark that ploughs the deep serene, 
Charged with a freight transcending in its worth 
The gems of India, nature's rarest birth, 
That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, 
A herald of God's love to pagan lands ! — 
But, ah ! what wish can prosper, or what prayer, 
For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, 
Who drive a loathsome traffic, gauge and span 
And buy the muscles and the bones of man ? 
The tender ties of father, husband, friend, 
All bonds of nature in that moment end, 
And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, 
A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death. 
The sable warrior, frantic with regret 
Of her he loves and never can forget, 
Loses in tears the far receding shore, 
But not the thought that they must meet no more ; 
Deprived of her and freedom at a blow, 
What has he left that he can yet forego ? 
Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign' d, 
He feels his body's bondage in his mind, 
Puts off his generous nature, and, to suit 
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. 

Oh most degrading of all ills that wait 
On man, a mourner in his best estate ! 


All other sorrows virtue may endure, 

And find submission more than half a cure ; 

Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd 

To improve the fortitude that bears the load, 

To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase, 

The path of Wisdom, all whose paths ai'e peace. 

But slavery ! — Virtue dreads it as her grave : 

Patience itself is meanness in a slave : 

Or if the will and sovereignty of God 

Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod, 

Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, 

And snap the chain the moment when you may. 

Nature imprints upon whate'er we see, 

That has a heart and life in it, Be free ; 

The beasts are charter'd, — neither age nor force, 

Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : 

He breaks the cord that held him at the rack, 

And, conscious of an unincumber'd back, 

Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein, 

Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane, 

Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs, 

Nor stops, till, overleaping all delays, 

He finds the pasture where his fellows graze. 

Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian name, 
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame? 
Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead 
Expedience as a warrant for the deed ? 
So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold 
To quit the forest and invade the fold ; 
So may the ruffian, who with ghostly glide, 
Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside ; 
Not he, but his emergence forced the door, 
He found it inconvenient to be poor. — - 
Has God then given its sweetness to the cane, 
Unless his laws be trampled on, — in vain ? 
Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist, 
Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd ? 
Impudent blasphemy ! So Folly pleads, 
And, Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. 
' But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, 
That man make man his prey, because he must; 
Still there is room for pity to abate, 
And soothe the sorrows of so sad a state. 
A Briton knows, or if he knows it not, 
The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought, 
That souls have no discriminating hue, 
Alike important in their Maker's view ; 
That none are free from blemish since the fall, 
And love divine has paid one price for all. 
The wretch, that works and weeps without relief, 
Has one that notices his silent grief. 
He, from whose hands alone all power proceeds, 
Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds, 
Considers all injustice with a frown ; 
But marks the man that treads his fellow down. 
Begone ! the whip and bell in that hard hand 
Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command ; 
Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim 
To scourge him, weariness his only blame. 
Remember, Heaven has an avenging rod ; 
To smite the poor is treason against God. 

Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd, 
While life's sublimest joys are overlook'd. 
We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil, 
Murmuring and weary of our daily toil, 
Forget to enjoy the palm-tree's offer'd shade, 
Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade : 
Else who would lose, that had the power to im- 
prove, 
The occasion of transmuting fear to love ? 


30 


CHARITY 


Oil, 'tis a godlike privilege to save, 

And he that scorns it is himself a slave. — 

Inform his mind ; one flash of heavenly day 

Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away ; 

" Beauty for ashes" is a gift indeed, 

And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed. 

Then would he say, submissive at thy feet, 

While gratitude and love made service sweet, 

My dcai- deliverer out of hopeless night, 

Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, 

1 was a bondman on my native plain, 

Sin forged, and ignorance made fast the chain ; 

Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew, 

Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue ; 

Farewell my former joys ! I sigh no more 

For Africa's once loved, benighted shore ; 

Serving a benefactor I am free, 

At my best home, if not exiled from thee. 

Some men make gain a fountain, whence pro- 
ceeds 
A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ; 
The swell of pity, not to be confined 
Within the scanty limits of the mind, 
Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, 
A rich deposit, on the bordering lands ; 
These have an ear for His paternal call, 
Who makes some rich for the supply of all, 
God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ, 
And Thornton is familiar with the joy. 

Oh, could I worship aught beneath the skies, 
That earth hath seen, or fancy can devise, 
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, 
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, 
With fragrant turf and flowers as wild and fair 
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. 
Duly, as ever on the mountain's height 
The peep of morning shed a dawning light ; 
Again, when evening in her sober vest 
Drew the grey curtain of the fading west, 
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and 

praise, 
For the chief blessings of my fairest days : 
But that were sacrilege ; — praise is not thine, 
But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine : 
Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly 
A captive bird into the boundless sky, 
This triple realm adores thee ; — thou art come 
From Sparta hither, and art here at home. 
We feel thy force still active, at this hour 
Enjoy immunity from priestly power, 
While conscience, happier than in ancient years, 
Owns no superior but the God she fears. 
Propitious spirit! yet expunge a wrong 
Thy rights have suffer'd, and our land, too long. 
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share 
The fears and hopes of a commercial care ; 
Prisons expect the wicked, and were built 
To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt, 
But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood, 
Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood, 
And honest merit stands on slippery ground, 
Where covert guile and artifice abound: 
Let just restraint, inv public peace design'd, 
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind, 
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee, 
But let insolvent innocence go free. 

Patron, of else the most despised of men, 
Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen ; 

like the laurel its immortal meed, 
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed, 


I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame, 

(Charity chosen as my theme and aim) 

I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. 

Blest with all wealth can give thee, to resign 

Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine, 

To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, 

To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe, 

To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home 

Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, 

But knowledge such as only dungeons teach, 

And only sympathy like thine could reach ; 

That grief, sequester'd from the public stage, 

Might smooth her feathers and enjoy her cage, 

Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal 

The boldest patriot might be proud to feel. 

Oh that the voice of clamour and debate, 

That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state, 

Were hush'd in favour of thy generous plea, 

The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee ! 

Philosophy that does not dream or stray, 
Walks arm in arm with nature all his way, 
Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends 
Whatever steep enquiry recommends, 
Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll 
Round other systems under her control, 
Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light 
That cheers the silent journey of the night, 
And brings at his return a bosom charged 
With rich instruction and a soul enlarged. 
The treasured sweets of the capacious plan 
That Heaven spreads wide before the view of 

man, 
All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue 
Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new ; 
He too has a connecting power, and draws 
Man to the centre of the common cause, 
Aiding a dubious and deficient sight 
With a new medium and a purer light. 
All truth is precious, if not all divine, 
And what dilates the powers must needs refine. 
He reads the skies, and watching every change, 
Provides the faculties an ampler range, 
And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, 
A prouder station on the general scale. 
But reason still, unless divinely taught, 
Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought ; 
The lamp of revelation only, shows, 
What human wisdom cannot but oppose, 
That man in nature's richest mantle clad, 
And graced with all philosophy can add, 
Though fair without, and luminous within, 
Is still the progeny and heir of sin. 
Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride, 
He feels his need of an unerring guide, 
And knows that falling he shall rise no more, 
Unless the power that bade him stand, restore. 
This is indeed philosophy ; this known, 
Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own ; 
And without this, whatever he discuss, 
Whether the space between the stars and us, 
Whether he measure earth, compute the sea, 
Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea, 
The solemn trifler with his boasted skill 
Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still ; 
Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes 
Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. 
Self-knowledge truly learn'd, of course implies 
The rich possession of a nobler prize, 
For self to self, and God to man reveal'd, 
(Two themes to nature's eye for ever seal'd) 


CHARITY. 


31 


Are taught by rays that fly with equal pace 
From the same centre of enlightening grace. 
Here stay thy foot ; how copious and how clear 
The o'erflowing well of Charity springs here ! 
Hark ! 'tis the music of a thousand rills, 
Some through the groves, some down the sloping 

hills, 
Winding a secret or an open course, 
And all supplied from an eternal source. 
The ties of Nature do but feebly bind, 
And commerce partially reclaims mankind ; 
Philosophy, without his heavenly guide, 
May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride, 
But while his province is the reasoning part, 
Has still a veil of midnight on his heart : 
'Tis truth divine exhibited on earth, 
Gives Charity her being and her birth. 

Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows, 
What will not argument sometimes suppose I) 
An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind, 
Endued with reason, yet by nature blind. 
Let supposition lend her aid once more, 
And land some grave optician on the shore : 
He claps his lens, if haply they may see, 
Close to the part where vision ought to be ; 
But finds that though his tubes assist the sight, 
They cannot give it, or make darkness light. 
He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud 
A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd, 
He talks of light, and the prismatic hues, 
As men of depth in erudition use, 
But all he gains for his harangue is — Well — 
What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! 

The soul whose sight all-quickening grace renews 
Takes the resemblance of the good she views, 
As diamonds stript of their opaque disguise, 
Reflect the noonday glory of the skies. * 
She speaks of Him, her author, guardian, friend, 
Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, 
In language warm as all that love inspires, 
And in the glow of her intense desires 
Pants to communicate her noble fires. 
She sees a world stark blind to what employs 
Her eager thought and feeds her flowing joys, 
Though wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, 
Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all : 
Herself as weak as her support is strong, 
She feels that frailty she denied so long, 
And from a knowledge of her own disease, 
Learns to compassionate the sick she sees. 
Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence, 
The reign of genuine Charity commence ; 
Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, 
She still is kind, and still she perseveres ; 
The truth she loves, a sightless world blaspheme, 
'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream, 
The danger they discern not, they deny, 
Laugh at their only remedy, and die. 
But still a soul thus touch'd can never cease, 
Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. 
Pure in her aim and in her temper mild, 
Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child ; 
She makes excuses where she might condemn, 
Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them ; 
Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast, 
The worst suggested, she believes the best ; 
Not soon provoked, however stung and teased, 
And if perhaps made angry, soon appeased ; 
She rather waives than will dispute her right, 
And injured, makes forgiveness her delight. 


Such was the portrait an apostle drew, 
The bright original was one he knew, 
Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. 

When one that holds communion with the skies 
Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, 
And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
'Tis even as if an Angel shook his wings : 
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. 
So when a ship, well freighted with the stores 
The sun matures on India's spicey shores, 
Has dropt her anchor and her canvass furl'd, 
In some safe haven of our western world, 
'Twere vain enquiry to what port she went, 
The gale informs us, laden with the scent. 

Some seek, when queasy conscience has its 
qualms, 
To lull the painful malady with alms : 
But charity not feign' d intends alone 
Another's good, — theirs centres in their own ; 
And too short-lived to reach the realms of peace, 
Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. 
Flavia, most tender of her own good name, 
Is rather careless of a sister's fame : 
Her superfluity the poor supplies, 
But if she touch a character, it dies. 
The seeming virtue weigh'd against the vice, 
She deems all safe, for she has paid the price ; 
No charity but alms aught values she, 
Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree. 
How many deeds with which the world has rung, 
From pride in league with ignorance have sprung ! 
But God o'errules all human follies still, 
And bends the tough materials to his will. 
A conflagration or a wintry flood 
Has left some hundreds without home or food, 
Extravagance and avarice shall subscribe, 
While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. 
The brief proclaim'd, it visits every pew, 
But first the 'Squire's, a compliment but due ; 
With slow deliberation he unties 
His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes, 
And while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm, 
Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm ; 
Till finding, what he might have found before, 
A smaller piece amidst the precious store, 
Pinch'd close between his finger and his thumb, 
He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. 
Gold to be sure ! — Throughout the town 'tis told, 
How the good 'Squire gives never less than gold. 
From motives such as his, though not the best, 
Springs in due time supply for the distress'd, 
Not less effectual than what love bestows, 
Except — that office clips it as it goes. 

But lest I seem to sin against a friend, 
And wound the grace I mean to recommend, 
(Though vice derided with a just design 
Implies no trespass against love divine) 
Once more I would adopt the graver style ; 
A teacher should be sparing of his smile. 

Unless a love of virtue light the flame, 
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame ; 
He hides behind a magisterial air 
His own offences, and strips others bare, 
Affects indeed a most humane concern, 
That men, if gently tutor' d, will not learn, 
That mulish folly, not to be reclaim'd 
By softer methods, must be made ashamed, 
But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean) 
Too often rails to gratify his spleen. 


.*52 


CHARITY. 


Most satirists are indeed a public scourge ; 
Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge ; 
Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd, 
The milk of their good purpose all to curd. 
Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, 
By lean despair upon an empty purse, 
The wild assassins start into the street, 
Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet. 
No skill in swordsmanship however just, 
Can be secure against a madman's thrust ; 
And even virtue, so unfairly match'd, 
Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch'd. 
When scandal has new-minted an old he, 
Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 
'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears 
Gathering around it with erected ears ; 
A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd, 
Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud, 
Just as the sapience of an author's brain 
Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. 
Strange ! how the frequent interjected dash 
Quickens a market and helps off the trash ; 
The important letters that include the rest 
Serve as a key to those that are suppress'd ; 
Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw, 
The world is charm' d, and Scrib escapes the law. 
So when the cold damp shades of night prevail, 
Worms may be caught by either head or tail ; 
Forcibly drawn from many a close recess, 
They meet with little pity, no redress ; 
Plunged in the stream they lodge upon the mud, 
Food for the famish'd rovers of the flood. 

All zeal for a reform that gives offence 
To peace and charity, is mere pretence ; 
A bold remark, but which, if well applied, 
Would humble many a towering poet's pride. 
Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, 
And had no other play-place for his wit ; 
Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame, 
He sought the jewel in his neighbour's shame ; 
Perhaps — whatever end he might pursue, 
The cause of virtue could not be his view. 
At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes, 
The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise, 
But shine with cruel and tremendous charms, 
That while they please, possess us with alarms : 
So have I seen, (and hasten'd to the sight 
On all the wings of holiday delight) 
Where stands that monument of ancient power, 
Named with emphatic dignity, the Tower, 
< i mis, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small, 
In starry forms disposed upon the wall ; 
We wonder, as we gazing stand below, 
That brass and steel should make so fine a show ; 
Hut though we praise the exact designer's skill, 
Account them implements of mischief still. 

No works shall find acceptance in that day 
When all disguises shall be rent away 
That square not truly with the Scripture plan, 
Nor spring from love to God, or love to man. 
As he ordains things sordid in their birth 
To be resolved into their parent earth, 
And though the soul shall seek superior orbs, 
Whatever this world produces, it absorbs ; 
So self starts nothing but what tends apace, 
Home to the goal where it began the race. 
Such as our motive is our aim must be, 
If this be servile, that can ne'er be free ; 
II' b« If employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought, 
We glorify that self, not Him we ought : 


I Such virtues had need prove their own reward, 

j The judge of all men owes them no regard. 
True Charity, a plant divinely nursed, 
Fed by the love from which it rose at first, 
Tli rives against hope, and in the rudest scene 
Storms but enliven its unfading green ; 
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies, 
Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies. 
To look at Him who form'd us and redeem'd, 
So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd, 
To see a God stretch forth his human hand, 

i To uphold the boundless scenes of his command, — 

| To recollect that in a form like ours 
He bruised beneath his feet the infernal powers, 
Captivity led captive, rose to claim 
The wreath he won so dearly in our name ; 
That throned above all height he condescends 
To call the few that trust in him his friends ; 
That in the heaven of heavens, that space he 

deems 
Too scanty for the exertion of his beams, 
And shines, as if impatient to bestow 
Life and a kingdom upon worms below ; 
That sight imparts a never-dying flame, 
Though feeble in degree, in kind the same. 
Like Him the soul thus kindled from above 
Spreads wide her arms of universal love, 
And still enlarged as she receives the grace, 
Includes creation in her close embrace. 
Behold a Christian ! — and without the fires 
The founder of that name alone inspires, 
Though all accomplishments, all knowledge meet, 
To make the shining prodigy complete, 
Whoever boasts that name — behold a cheat ! 
Were love, in these the world's last doting 
years, 
As frequent, as the want of it appears, 
The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold 
Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold ; 
Relenting forms would lose their power or cease, 
And even the dipp'd and sprinkled, live in peace: 
Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, 
And flow in free communion with the rest. 
The statesman skill' d in projects dark and deep, 
Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep ; 
His budget often fill'd, yet always poor, 
Might swing at ease behind his study door, 
No longer prey upon our annual rents, 
Nor scare the nation with its big contents : 
Disbanded legions freely might depart, 
And slaying man would cease to be an art. 
No learned disputants would take the field, 
Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield ; 
Both sides deceived, if rightly understood, 
Pelting each other for the public good. 
Did Charity prevail, the press would prove 
A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love ; 
And I might spare myself the pains to show 
What few can learn, and all suppose the} know. 

Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay 
With many a wild indeed but flowery spray, 
In hopes to gain, what else I must have lost, 
The attention pleasure has so much engross'd. 
But if unhappily deceived I dream, 
And prove too weak for so divine a theme, 
Let Charity forgive me a mistake 
That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make, 
And spare the poet for his subject sake. 


CONVERSATION. 


33 


CONVERSATION. 




Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri, 
Nee percussa juvantfluctu tarn litora, nee qua 
Saxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles. 

Virg. Eel. 5. 

Though Nature weigh our talents, and dispense 

To every man his modicum of sense, 

And Conversation in its better part 

May be esteem'd a gift and not an art, 

Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil, 

On culture, and the sowing of the soil. 

Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, 

But talking is not always to converse, 

Not more distinct from harmony divine 

The constant creaking of a country sign. 

As alphabets in ivory employ 

Hour after hour the yet unletter'd boy, 

Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee 

Those seeds of science call'd his ABC, 

So language in the mouths of the adult, 

Witness its insignificant result, 

Too often proves an implement of play, 

A toy to sport with, and pass time away. 

Collect at evening what the day brought forth, 

Compress the sum into its solid worth, 

And if it weigh the importance of a fly, 

The scales are false, or algebra a lie. 

Sacred interpreter of human thought, 

How few respect or use thee as they ought ! 

But all shall give account of every wrong 

Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue, 

Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, 

Or sell their glory at a market-price, 

Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon, 

The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon. 

There is a prurience in the speech of some, 
Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them 

dumb : 
His wise forbearance has their end in view, 
They fill their measure and receive their due. 
The heathen law-givers of ancient days, 
Names almost worthy of a Christian praise, 
Would drive them forth from the resort of men, 
And shut up every saytr in his den. 
Oh come not ye near innocence and truth, 
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth ! 
Infectious as impure, your blighting power 
Taints in its rudiments the promised flower, 
Its odour perish'd and its charming hue ; 
Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. 
Not even the vigorous and headlong rage 
Of adolescence or a firmer age, 
Affords a plea allowable or just, 
For making speech the pamperer of lust ; 
But when the breath of age commits the fault, 
'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault. 
So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene, 
No longer fruitful and no longer green, 
The sapless wood divested of the bark 
Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark. 

Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife ; 
Some men have surely then a peaceful life. 
Whatever subject occupy discourse, 
The feats of Vestris or the naval force, 
Asseveration blustering in your face 
Makes contradiction such a hopeless case ; 


In every tale they tell, or false or true, 
Well known, or such as no man ever knew, 
They fix attention, heedless of your pain, 
With oaths like rivets forced into the brain ; 
And even when sober truth prevails throughout, 
They swear it, 'till affirmance breeds a doubt. 
A Persian, humble servant of the sun, 
Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none, 
Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, 
With adjurations every word impress, 
Supposed the man a bishop, or at least, 
God's name so much upon his lips, a priest, 
Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs, 
And begg'd an interest in his frequent prayers. 

Go quit the rank to which ye stood preferr'd, 
Henceforth associate in one common herd ; 
Religion, virtue, reason, common sense, 
Pronounce your human form a false pretence, — 
A mere disguise in which a devil lurks, 
Who yet betrays his secret by his works. 

Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are, 
And make colloquial happiness your care, 
Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, — 
A duel in the form of a debate : 
The clash of arguments and jar of words, 
Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, 
Decide no question with their tedious length, 
For opposition gives opinion strength, 
Divert the champions prodigal of breath, 
And put the peaceably-disposed to death. 
Oh thwart me not, Sir Soph, at every turn, 
Nor carp at every flaw you may discern ; 
Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 
I am not surely always in the wrong : 
'Tis hard if all is false that I advance, 
A fool must now and then be right by chance. 
Not that all freedom of dissent I blame ; 
No, — there I grant the privilege I claim. 
A disputable point is no man's ground, 
Rove where you please, 'tis common all around ; 
Discourse may want an animated No, 
To brush the surface, and to make it flow ; 
But still remember, if you mean to please, 
To press your point with modesty and ease. 
The mark at which my juster aim I take, 
Is contradiction for its own dear sake : 
Set your opinion at whatever pitch, 
Knots and impediments make something hitch ; 
Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain, 
Your thread of argument is snapt again ; 
The wrangler, rather than accord with you, 
Will judge himself deceived, — and prove it too. 
Vociferated logic kills me quite, — 
A noisy man is always in the right ; 
I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, 
Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, 
And when I hope his blunders are all out, 
Reply discreetly — To be sure — no doubt. 

Dubius is such a scrupulous good man, — 
Yes, you may catch him tripping if you can. 
He would not with a peremptory tone 
Assert the nose upon his face his own ; 
With hesitation admirably slow, 
He humbly hopes, presumes it may be so. 
His evidence, if he were call'd by law 
To swear to some enormity he saw, 
For want of prominence and just relief, 
Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. 
Through constant dread of giving truth offence, 
He ties up all his hearers in suspense, 


34 


CONVERSATION. 


Knows what he knows as if he knew it not, 

What he remembers seems to have forgot, 

His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befal, 

Centering at last in having none at all. 

Yet though he tease and baulk your listening ear, 

He makes one useful point exceeding clear ; 

Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme 

A sceptic in philosophy may seem, 

Reduced to practice, his beloved rule 

Would only prove him a consummate fool. 

Useless in him alike both brain and speech, 

Fate having placed all truth above his reach ; 

His ambiguities his total sum, 

He might as well be blind and deaf and dumb. 

Where men of judgment creep and feel their 
The positive pronounce without dismay, [way, 
Their want of light and intellect supplied 
By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride : 
Without the means of knowing right from wrong, 
They always are decisive, clear, and strong ; 
Where others toil with philosophic force, 
Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course, 
Flings at your head conviction in the lump, 
And gains remote conclusions at a jump ; 
Their own defect, invisible to them, 
Seen in another they at once condemn, 
And though self-idolized in every case, 
Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. 
The cause is plain and not to be denied, 
The proud are always most provoked by pride ; 
Few competitions but engender spite, 
And those the most where neither has a right. 

The point of honour has been deem'd of use, 
To teach good manners and to curb abuse ; 
Admit it true, the consequence is clear, 
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, 
And at the bottom, barbarous still and rude, 
We are restrain'd indeed, but not subdued. 
The very remedy, however sure, 
Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, 
And savage in its principle appears, 
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. 
'Tis hard indeed if nothing will defend 
Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end, 
That now and then a hero must decease, 
That the surviving world may live in peace. 
Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show 
The practice dastardly and mean and low, 
That men engage in it compell'd by force, 
And fear, not courage, is its proper source, 
The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear [sneer. 
Lest fops should censure us, and fools should 
At least to trample on our Maker's laws, 
And hazard life for any or no cause, 
To rush into a fixt eternal state 
Out of the very flames of rage and hate, 
Or send another shivering to the bar 
With all the guilt of such unnatural war, 
Whatever use may urge, or honour plead, 
On reason's verdict is a madman's deed. 
Am I to set my life upon a throw 
Because a bear is rude and surly ? No. — 
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man 
Will not affront me, and no other can. 
Were I empowered to regulate the lists, 
They should encounter with well-loaded fists; 
A Trojan combat would be something new, 
Let Dares heat Entellus black and hlue, 
Then each might show to his admiring friends 
in honourable bumps his rich amends, 


And carry in contusions of his skull 
A satisfactory receipt in full. 

A story in which native humour reigns 
Is often useful, always entertains ; 
A graver fact enlisted on your side 
May furnish illustration, well applied ; 
But sedentary weavers of long tales 
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. 
'Tis the most asinine employ on earth, 
To hear them tell of parentage and birth, 
And echo conversations dull and dry, 
Embellish'd with, he said, and so said I. 
At every interview their route the same, 
The repetition makes attention lame ; 
We bustle up with unsuccessful speed, 
And in the saddest part cry, — Droll indeed ! 
The path of narrative with care pursue, 
Still making probability your clue, 
On all the vestiges of truth attend, 
And let them guide you to a decent end. 
Of all ambitions man may entertain, 
The worst that can invade a sickly brain 
Is that which angles hourly for surprise, 
And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. 
Credulous infancy or age as weak 
Are fittest -auditors for such to seek, 
Who to»please others will themselves disgrace, 
Yet please not, but affront you to your face. 
A great retailer of this curious ware, 
Having unloaded, and made many stare, 
Can this be true 1 an arch observer cries, — 
Yes, rather moved, I saw it with these eyes. 
Sir ! I believe it on that ground alone ; 
I could not had I seen it with my own. 
A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct, 
The language plain, and incidents well link'd. 
Tell not as new what everybody knows, 
And new or old still hasten to a close, 
There centering in a focus, round and neat, 
Let all your rays of information meet : 
What neither yields us profit or delight, 
Is like a nurse's lullaby at night ; 
Guy Earl of Warwick and fair Eleanore, 
Or giant-killing Jack would please me more. 

The pipe with solemn interposing puff 
Makes half a sentence at a time enough ; 
The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, [again. 
Then pause and puff, — and speak, and pause 
Such often like the tube they so admire, 
Important triflers ! have more smoke than fire. 
Pernicious weed ! whose scent the fair annoys, 
Unfriendly to society's chief joys, 
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours 
The sex whose presence civilizes ours. 
Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants 
To poison vermin that infest his plants ; 
But are we so to wit and beauty blind 
As to despise the glory of our kind, 
And show the softest minds and fairest forms 
As little mercy as he grubs and worms % 
They dare not wait the riotous abuse 
Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce, 
When wine has given indecent language birth, 
And forced the flood-gates of licentious mh'th; 
For sea-born Venus her attachment shows 
Still to that element from which she rose, 
And with a quiet which no fumes disturb, 
Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. 

The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose 
In contact inconvenient, nose to nose, 


CONVERSATION. 


35 


As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, 
Touch'd with a magnet had attracted his. 
His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large, 
Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge, — 
An extract of his diary, — no more, — 
A tasteless journal of the day before. 
He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, 
Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stept home again ; 
Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk 
With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 
I interrupt him with a sudden bow, 
Adieu, dear Sir ! lest you should lose it now. 

I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume ; 
The sight's enough, — no need to smell a beau, — 
Who thrusts his nose into a raree-show ? 
His odoriferous attempts to please 
Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees, 
But we that make no honey though we sting, 
Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 
'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort, 
What makes some sick and others a-la-mort, 
An argument of cogence, we may say, 
Why such a one should keep himself away. 

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see 
Quite as absurd, though not so light as he : 
A shallow brain behind a serious mask, 
An oracle within an empty cask, 
The solemn fop ; significant and budge ; 
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ; 
He says but little, and that little said 
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 
His wit invites you by his looks to come, 
But when you knock it never is at home : 
'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage, 
Some handsome present, as your hopes presage, 
'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 
An absent friend's fidelity and love ; 
But when unpack'd your disappointment groans 
To find it stuff'd with brickbats, earth, and stones. 

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, 
In making known how oft they have been sick, 
And give us in recitals of disease 
A doctor's trouble, but without the fees ; 
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, 
How an emetic or cathartic sped; 
Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot, 
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. 
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, 
Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill ; 
And now — alas for unforeseen mishaps ! 
They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ; [bad; 
They thought they must have died, they were so 
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. 

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch, 
You always do too little or too much : 
You speak with life in hopes to entertain, 
Your elevated voice goes through the brain ; 
You fall at once into a lower key, 
That's worse, — the dronepipe of an humble-bee. 
The southern sash admits too strong a light, 
You rise and drop the curtain, — now 'tis night. 
He shakes with cold, — you stir the fire and strive 
To make a blaze, — that's roasting him alive. 
Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ; 
With sole, — that's just the sort he would not wish. 
He takes what he at first profess'd to loathe, 
And in due time feeds heartily on both ; 
Yet still, o'erclouded with a constant frown, 
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. 


Your hope to please him vain on every plan, 

Himself should work that wonder, if he can. 

Alas ! his efforts double his distress, 
He likes yours little, and his own still less ; 
Thus always teasing others, always teased, 
His only pleasure is — to be displeased. 

I pity bashful men, who feel the 5 pain 
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, 
And bear the marks upon a blushing face 
Of needless shame and self-imposed disgrace. 
Our sensibilities are so acute, 
The fear of being silent makes us mute. 
We sometimes think we could a speech produce 
Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose, 
But, being tied, it dies upon the lip, 
Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip : 
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns, 
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. 
Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd ; 
It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd, 
By way of wholesome curb upon our pride, 
To fear each other, fearing none beside. 
The cause perhaps inquiry may descry, 
Self-searching with an introverted eye, 
Conceal'd within an unsuspected part, 
The vainest corner of our own vain heart ; 
For ever aiming at the world's esteem, 
Our self-importance ruins its own scheme ; 
In other eyes our talents rarely shown, 
Become at length so splendid in our own, 
We dare not risk them into public view, 
Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. 
True modesty is a discerning grace, 
And only blushes in the proper place ; 
But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, 
Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed to appear : 
Humility the parent of the first, 
The last by Vanity produced and nursed. 
The circle form'd, we sit in silent state, 
Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate ; 
Yes, Ma'am, and No, Ma'am, utter'd softly, show 
Every five minutes how the minutes go ; 
Each individual suffering a constraint, 
Poetry may, but colours cannot paint, 
As if in close committee on the sky, 
Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry, 
And finds a changing clime a happy source 
Of wise reflection and well-timed discourse. 
We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, 
Like conservators of the public health, 
Of epidemic throats, if such there are, 
And coughs and rheums, and phthisic and catarrh. 
That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, 
Fill'd up at last with interesting news, 
Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed, 
And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed ; 
But fear to call a more important cause, 
As if 'twere treason against English laws. 
The visit paid, with ecstasy we come, 
As from a seven years' transportation, home, 
And there resume an unembarrass'd brow, 
Recovering what we lost we know not how, 
The faculties that seem'd reduced to nought, 
Expression and the privilege of thought. 

The reeking, roaring hero of the chase, 
I give him over as a desperate case. 
Physicians write in hopes to work a cure, 
Never, if honest ones, when death is sure : 
And though the fox he follows may be tamed, 
A mere fox-follower never is reclaim'd. 

D 2 


36 


CONVERSATION. 


Some furrier should prescribe his proper course. 
Whose only fit companion is his horse, 
Or if deserving of a better doom, 
The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. 
Yet even the rogue that serves him, though he 
To rake his honours orders cap in hand, [stand 
Prefers his fellow grooms with much good sense, 
Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. 
If neither horse nor groom affect the squire, 
Where can at last his jockey ship retire? 
Oh, to the club, the scene of savage joys, 
The school of coarse good fellowship and noise ; 
There, in the sweet society of those 
Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose, 
Let him improve his talent if he can, 
Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. 
Man's heart had been impenetrably seal'd 
Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field, 
Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand 
Given him a soul, and bade him understand. 
The reasoning power vouchsafed of course inferr'd 
The power to clothe that reason with his word ; 
For all is perfect that God works on earth, 
And He that gives conception adds the birth. 
If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood 
What uses of his boon the giver would. 
The mind despatched upon her busy toil, 
Should range where Providence has bless'd the 
Visiting every flower with labour meet, [soil ; 

And gathering all her treasures sweet by sweet, 
She should imbue the tongue with what she sips, 
And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, 
That good diffused may more abundant grow, 
And speech may praise the power that bids it flow. 
Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night 
That fills the listening lover with delight, 
Forget his harmony, with rapture heard, 
To learn the twittering of a meaner bird ? 
Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice, 
That odious libel on a human voice I 
No, — Nature, unsophisticate by man, 
Starts not aside from her Creator's plan ; 
The melody that was at first design'd 
To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind, 
Is note for note deliver'd in our ears, 
In the last scene of her six thousand years : 
Yet Fashion, leader of a chattering train, 
Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign, 
Who shifts and changes all things but his shape, 
And would degrade her votary to an ape, 
The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong 
Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue ; 
There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace, 
Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace, 
And when accomplished in her way ward school, 
Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. 
Tis an unalterable fix'd decree, 
That none could frame or ratify but she, 
That heaven and hell, and righteousness and sin, 
Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, 
God and his attributes, (a field of day 
Where 'tis an angel's happiness to stray) 
Fruits of his love, and wonders of his might, 
Be never named in ears esteem'd polite: 
That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, 

Shall stand proscribed a madman or a knave, 

A dose designer not to he believed, 

Or, if excused that charge, at least deceived. 

Oh folly worthy of the nurse's lap, 

Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap ! 


Is it incredible, or can it seem 
A dream to any, except those that dream, 
That man should love his Maker, and that fire, 
Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire ? 
Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes, 
And veil your daring crest that braves the skies, 
That air of insolence affronts your God, 
You need his pardon, and provoke his rod : 
Now, in a posture that becomes you more 
Than that heroic strut assumed before, 
Know, your arrears with every hour accrue 
For mercy shown, while wrath is justly due. 
The time is short, and there are souls on earth, 
Though future pain may serve for present mirth, 
Acquainted with the woes that fear or shame, 
By fashion taught, forbade them once to name, 
And having felt the pangs you deem a jest, 
Have proved them truths too big to be express'd. 
Go seek on Revelation's hallow'd ground, 
Sure to succeed, the remedy they found : [mock, 
Touch'd by that power that you have dared to 
That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock, 
Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream, 
That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. 

It happen'd on a solemn eventide, 
Soon after He that was our surety died, 
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, 
The scene of all those sorrows left behind, 
Sought their own village, busied as they went 
In musings worthy of the great event : 
They spake of him they loved, of him whose life, 
Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, 
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, 
A deep memorial graven on their hearts. 
The recollection, like a vein of ore, 
The farther traced enrich'd them still the more : 
They thought him, and they justly thought him, one 
Sent to do more than he appear'd to have done, 
To exalt a people, and to place them high 
Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. 
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 
A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend, 
And ask'd them with a kind engaging air 
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. 
Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread, 
And truth and wisdom gracing all he said, 
Explain'd, illustrated, and search 'd so well 
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, 
That reaching home, the night, they said, is near, 
We must not now be parted, sojourn here. — 
The new acquaintance soon became a guest, 
And made so welcome at their simple feast, 
He bless'd the bread, but vanish 'd at the word, 
And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord ! 
Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say, 
Did they not burn within us by the way ? 

Now theirs was converse such as it behoves 
Man to maintain, and such as God approves : 
Their views indeed were indistinct and dim, 
But yet successful, being aim'd at him. 
Christ and his character their only scope, 
Their object and their subject and their hope, 
They felt what it became them much to feel, 
And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal, 
Found him as prompt as their desire was true, 
To spread the newborn glories in their view. 

Well, — what are ages and the lapse of time 
Match'd against truths as lasting as sublime % 
Can length of years on God himself exact, 
Or make that fiction which was once a fact ? 


CONVERSATION. 


37 


No, — marble and recording brass decay, 
And like the graver's memory pass away ; 
The works of man inherit, as is just, 
Their author's frailty, and return to dust ; 
But truth divine for ever stands secure, 
Its head as guarded as its base is sure ; 
Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years 
The pillar of the eternal plan appears, 
The raving storm and dashing wave defies, 
Built by that Architect who built the skies. 
Hearts may be found that harbour at this hour 
That love of Christ in all its quickening power, 
And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife, 
Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, 
Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows 
A Jordan for the ablution of our woes. 
Oh days of heaven and nights of equal praise, 
Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days, 
When souls drawn upward in communion sweet, 
Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat, 
Discourse as if released and safe at home, 
Of dangers past and wonders, yet to come, 
And spread the sacred treasures of the breast 
Upon the lap of covenanted rest. 

What, always dreaming over heavenly things, 
Like angel-heads in stone with pigeon-wings ? 
Canting and whining out all day the word, 
And half the night ? fanatic and absurd ! 
Mine be the friend less frequent in his prayers, 
Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs, 
Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day, 
And chase the splenetic dull hours away, 
Content on earth in earthly things to shine, 
Who waits for heaven ere he becomes divine, 
Leaves saints to enjoy those altitudes they teach, 
And plucks the fruit placed more within his reach. 

Well spoken, advocate of sin and shame, 
Known by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name. 
Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right, 
The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light ? 
Can hopes of heaven, bright prospects of an hour 
That comes to waft us out of sorrow's power, 
Obscure or quench a faculty that finds 
Its happiest soil in the serenest minds ? 
Religion curbs indeed its wanton play, 
And brings the trifler under rigorous sway, 
But gives it usefulness unknown before, 
And purifying, makes it shine the more. 
A Christian's wit is inoffensive light, 
A beam that aids but never grieves the sight, 
Vigorous in age as in the flush of youth, 
'Tis always active on the side of truth ; 
Temperance and peace insure its healthful state, 
And make it brightest at its latest date. 
Oh I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain, 
Ere life go down, to see such sights again) 
A veteran warrior in the Christian field, 
Who never saw the sword he could not wield ; 
Grave without dulness, learned without pride, 
Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed ; 
A man that would have foil'd at their own play 
A dozen would-be's of the modern day ; 
Who when occasion justified its use, 
Had wit as bright as ready to produce, 
Could fetch from records of an earlier age, 
Or from philosophy's enlighten'd page, 
His rich materials, and regale your ear 
With strains it was a privilege to hear ; 
Yet above all his luxury supreme, 
And his chief glory, was the gospel theme ; 


There he was copious as old Greece or Rome, 
His happy eloquence seem'd there at home, 
Ambitious not to shine or to excel, 
But to treat justly what he loved so well. 

It moves me more perhaps than folly ought, 
When some green heads as void of wit as thought, 
Suppose themselves monopolists of sense, 
And wiser men's ability pretence. 
Though time will wear us, and we must grow old, 
Such men are not forgot as soon as cold, 
Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb, 
Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume. 
And to say truth, though in its early prime, 
And when unstain'd with any grosser crime, 
Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast, 
That in the valley of decline are lost, 
And Virtue with peculiar charms appears 
Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years ; 
Yet age, by long experience well inform'd, 
Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd, 
That fire abated which impels rash youth, 
Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth, 
As time improves the grape's authentic juice, 
Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use, 
And claims a reverence in its shortening day, 
That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. 
The fruits of age, less fair, are yet more sound 
Than those a brighter season pours around, 
And like the stores autumnal suns mature, 
Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure. 

What is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much, 
And dreaded more than a contagious touch % 
I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear ; 
The fire is catching if you draw too near ; 
But sage observers oft mistake the flame, 
And give true piety that odious name. 
To tremble (as the creature of an hour 
Ought at the view of an Almighty power) 
Before His presence, at whose awful throne 
All tremble in all worlds, except our own ; 
To supplicate his mercy, love his ways, 
And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise, 
Though common sense allow'd a casting voice, 
And free from bias, must approve the choice, 
Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme, 
And wild as madness in the world's esteem. 
But that disease, when soberly defined, 
Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind ; 
It views the truth with a distorted eye, 
And either warps or lays it useless by : 
'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws 
Its sordid nourishment from man's applause, 
And while at heart sin unrelinquish'd lies, 
Presumes itself chief favourite of the skies. 
'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds 
In fly-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds, 
Shines in the dark, but usher'd into day, 
The stench remains, the lustre dies away. 

True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed 
Of hearts, in union mutually disclosed ; 
And, farewell else all hope of pure delight, 
Those hearts should be reclaim'd, renew'd, upright. 
Bad men, profaning friendship's hallow'd name, 
Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame, 
A dark confederacy against the laws 
Of virtue,, and religion's glorious cause : 
They build each other up with dreadful skill, 
As bastions set point blank against God's will, 
Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt, 
Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out,— 


38 


CONVERSATION. 


Call legions up from hell to back the deed, 
And curst with conquest, finally succeed : 
But souls that carry on a blest exchange 
Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range, 
And with a fearless confidence make known 
The sorrows sympathy esteems its own, 
Daily derive increasing light and force 
From such communion in their pleasant course, 
Feel less the journey's roughness and its length, 
Meet their opposers with united strength, 
And one in heart, in interest, and design, 
Gird up each other to the race divine. 

But Conversation, choose what theme we may, 
And chiefly when religion leads the way, 
Should flow like waters after summer showers, 
Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers. 
The Christian in whose soul, though now distress'd, 
Lives the dear thought of joys he once possess'd, 
When all his glowing language issued forth 
With God's deep stamp upon its current worth, 
Will speak without disguise, and must impart, 
Sad as it is, his undissembling heart, 
Abhors constraint, and dares not feign a zeal, 
Or seem to boast a fire he does not feel. 
The song of Sion is a tasteless thing, 
Unless, when rising on a joyful wing, 
The soul can mix with the celestial bands, 
And give the strain the compass it demands. 

Strange tidings these to tell a world who treat 
All hut their own experience as deceit ! 
Will they believe, though credulous enough 
To swallow much upon much weaker proof, 
That there are blest inhabitants of earth, 
Partakers of a new ethereal birth, 
Their hopes, desires, and purposes estranged 
From things terrestrial, and divinely changed, 
Their very language of a kind that speaks 
The soul's sure interest in the good she seeks, 
Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt, 
As Tully with philosophy once dealt, 
And in the silent watches of the night, 
And through the scenes of toil-renewing light, 
The social walk, or solitary ride, 
Keep still the dear companion at their side ? 
No, — shame upon a self-disgracing age, 
(I oil's work may serve an ape upon a stage 
With such a jest as fill'd with hellish glee 
Certain invisibles as shrewd as he ; 
But veneration or respect finds none, 
Save from the subjects of that work alone. 
The world grown old, her deep discernment shows, 
Claps >]>' ctacles on her sagacious nose, 
Peruses closely the true Christian's face, 
And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace, 
Usurps God's office, lays his bosom bare, 
And finds hypocrisy close-lurking there, 
Ami serving God herself through mere constraint, 
Concludes bis onfeign'd love of him, a feint. 
And yet Cod knows, look human nature through, 
(And in due time the world shall know it too) 
That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast, 
That after man's defection laid all waste, 
Sincerity towards the heart-searching God 
Ibis made the new-born creature her abode, 
Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls, 
Till the last fire burn all between the poles. 
Sincerity ! Why 'tis his only pride ; 
Weak and imperfect in all grace beside, 
He knows that God demands bis heart entire, 
And gives him all his just demands require. 


Without it, his pretensions were as vain, 

As, having it, he deems the world's disdain ; 

That great defect would cost him not alone 

Man's favourable judgment, but his own, 

His birthright shaken, and no longer clear, 

Than while his conduct proves his heart sincere. 

Retort the charge, and let the world be told 

She boasts a confidence she does not hold ; 

That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead 

A cold misgiving, and a killing dread ; 

That while in health, the ground of her support 

Is madly to forget that life is short ; 

That sick, she trembles, knowing she must die, 

Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie. 

That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes, 

She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives ; 

Her utmost reach, historical assent, 

The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant ; 

That truth itself is in her head as dull 

And useless as a candle in a skull, 

And all her love of God a groundless claim, 

A trick upon the canvass, painted flame. 

Tell her again, the sneer upon her face, 

And all her censures of the work of grace, 

Are insincere, meant only to conceal 

A dread she would not, yet is forced to feel ; 

That in her heart the Christian she reveres, 

And while she seems to scorn him, only fears. 

A poet does not work by square or line, 
As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; 
At least we moderns, our attention less, 
Beyond the example of our sires digress, 
And claim a right to scamper and run wide, 
Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy guide. 
The world and I fortuitously met, 
I owed a trifle and have paid the debt ; 
She did me wrong, I recompensed the deed, 
And, having struck the balance, now proceed. 
Perhaps, however, as some years have pass'd 
Since she and I conversed together last, 
And I have lived recluse in rural shades, 
Which seldom a distinct report pervades, 
Great changes and new manners have occurr'd, 
And blest reforms that I have never heard, 
And she may now be as discreet and wise, 
As once absurd in all discerning eyes. 
Sobriety perhaps may now be found, 
Where once intoxication press'd the ground ; 
The subtle and injurious may be just, 
And he grown chaste that was the slave of lust ; 
Arts once esteem'd may be with shame dismiss'd, 
Charity may relax the miser's fist, 
The gamester may have cast his cards away, 
Forgot to curse, and only kneel to pray. 
It has indeed been told me (with what weight, 
How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state) 
That fables old, that seem'd for ever mute, 
Revived, are hastening into fresh repute, 
And gods and goddesses discarded long, 
Like useless lumber or a stroller's song, 
Are bringing into vogue their heathen train, 
And Jupiter bids fair to rule again ; 
That certain feasts are instituted now, 
Where Venus hears the lover's tender vow ; 
That all Olympus through the country roves, 
To consecrate our few remaining groves, 
And echo learns politely to repeat 
The praise of names for ages obsolete : 
That having proved the weakness, it should seem, 
Of revelation's ineffectual beam, 


RETIREMENT. 


39 




To bring the passions under sober sway, 
And give the moral springs their proper play, 
They mean to try what may at last be done 
By stout substantial gods of wood and stone, 
And whether Roman rites may not produce 
The virtues of old Rome for English use. 
May much success attend the pious plan, 
May Mercury once more embellish man, 
Grace him again with long forgotten arts, 
Reclaim his taste and brighten up his parts, 
Make him athletic as in days of old, 
Learn'd at the bar, in the palaestra bold, 
Divest the rougher sex of female airs, 
And teach the softer not to copy theirs. 
The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught 
Who works the wonder, if it be but wrought. 
'Tis time, however, if the case stand thus, 
For us plain folks and all who side with us, 
To build our altar, confident and bold, 
And say as stern Elijah said of old, 
The strife now stands upon a fair award, 
If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord, — 
If he be silent, faith is all a whim, 
Then Baal is the God, and worship him. 
Digression is so much in modern use, 
Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse, 
Some never seem so wide of their intent, 
As when returning to the theme they meant ; 
As mendicants, whose business is to roam, ' 
Make every parish but their own their home : 
Though such continual zigzags in a book, 
Such drunken reelings have an awkward look, 
And I had rather creep to what is true 
Than rove and stagger with no mark in view ; 
Yet to consult a little seenrd no crime, 
The freakish humour of the present time. 
But now, to gather up what seems dispersed, 
And touch the subject I design'd at first, 
May prove, though much beside the rules of art, 
Best for the public, and my wisest part. 
And first let no man charge me that I mean 
To clothe in sables every social scene, 
And give good company a face severe, 
As if they met around a father's bier ; 
For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent, 
And laughter all their work, is life mispent, 
Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply, 
Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. 
To find the medium asks some share of wit, 
And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. 
But though life's valley be a vale of tears, 
A brighter scene beyond that vale appears, 
Whose glory with a light that never fades, 
Shoots between scatter'd rocks and opening shades, 
And while it shows the land the soul desires, 
The language of the land she seeks, inspires. 
Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure 
Of all that was absurd, profane, impure ; 
Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech 
Pursues the course that truth and nature teach, 
No longer labours merely to produce 
The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use : 
Where'er it winds, the salutary stream, 
Sprightly and fresh, enriches every theme, 
While all the happy man possess'd before, 
The gift of nature or the classic store, 
Is made subservient to the grand design 
For which Heaven form'd the faculty divine. 
So should an idiot, while at large he strays, 
Find the sweet lyre on which an artist plays, 


With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes, 
And grins with wonder at the jar he makes ; 
But let the wise and well-instructed hand 
Once take the shell beneath its just command, 
In gentle sounds it seems as it complain'd 
Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd, 
Till tuned at length to some immortal song, 
It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise 
along. 


RETIREMENT. 


studiis Jlorens ignobilis oli. 

Virg. Georg. lib. 4. 

Hackney'd in business, wearied at the oar 

Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more, 

But which when life at ebb runs weak and low, 

All wish or seem to wish they could forego, 

The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, 

Pants for the refuge of some rural shade, 

Where all his long anxieties forgot 

Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot, 

Or recollected only to gild o'er 

And add a smile to what was sweet before, 

He may possess the joys he thinks he sees, 

Lay his old age upon the lap of ease, 

Improve the remnant of his wasted span, 

And having lived a trifler, die a man. 

Thus conscience pleads her cause within the breast, 

Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd, 

And calls a creature form'd for God alone, 

For heaven's high purposes and not his own, 

Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, 

From what debilitates and what inflames, 

From cities humming with a restless crowd, 

Sordid as active, ignorant as loud, 

Whose highest praise is that they live in vain, 

The dupes of pleasure or the slaves of gain, 

Where works of man are cluster'd close around, 

And works of God are hardly to be found, 

To regions, where in spite of sin and woe, 

Traces of Eden are still seen below, 

Where mountain, river, forest, field and grove 

Remind him of his Maker's power and love. 

'Tis well if look'd for at so late a day, 

In the last scene of such a senseless playj. 

True wisdom will attend his feeble call, 

And grace his action ere the curtain fall. 

Souls that have long despised their heavenly birth, 

Their wishes all impregnated with earth, 

For threescore years employed with ceaseless care 

In catching smoke and feeding upon air, 

Conversant only with the ways of men, 

Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. 

Inveterate habits choke the unfruitful heart, 

Their fibres penetrate its tenderest part, 

And draining its nutritious powers to feed 

Their noxious growth, starve every better seed. 

Happy if full of days, — but happier far 
If ere we yet discern life's evening star, 
Sick of the service of a world that feeds 
Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, 
We can escape from custom's idiot sway, 
To serve the Sovereign we were born to obey. 
Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd 
(Infinite skill) in all that he has made I 


40 


RETIREMENT 


To trace in Nature's most minute design, 
The signature and stamp of power divine, 
Contrivance intricate express'd with ease, 
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees, 
The shapely limb and lubricated joint, 
Within the small dimensions of a point, 
Muscle and nerve miraculously spun, 
His mighty work who speaks and it is done, 
The invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd, 
To whom an atom is an ample field. 
To wonder at a thousand insect forms, 
These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms, 
New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share, 
Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, 
Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and 
More hideous foes than fancy can devise ; [size, 
With helmed heads and dragon scales adorn'd, 
The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd, 
Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, 
Despise his bulwarks and unpeople earth. 
Then with a glance of fancy to survey, 
Far as the faculty can stretch away, 
Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command 
From urns that never fail through every land, 
These like a deluge with, impetuous force, 
Those winding modestly a silent course, 
The cloud- surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales, 
Seas on which every nation spreads her sails, 
The sun, a Avorld whence other worlds drink light, 
The crescent moon, the diadem of night, 
Stars countless, each in his appointed place, 
Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space, — 
At such a sight to catch the poet's flame, 
Aud with a rapture like his own exclaim, 
These are thy glorious works, thou Source of good, 
How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! 
Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, 
This universal frame, thus wondrous fair ; 
Thy power divine and bounty beyond thought, 
Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought, 
Absorb'd in that immensity I see, 
I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee ; 
Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day, 
Thy words, more clearly than thy works display, 
That while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine, 
I may resemble thee and call thee mine. 

blest proficiency ! surpassing all 
That men erroneously their glory call, 
The recompense that arts or arms can yield, 
The bar, the senate, or the tented field, 
Compared with this sublimest life below, 
Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show ? 
Thus studied, used and consecrated thus, 
Whatever is, seems form'd indeed for us, 
Not as the plaything of a froward child, 
Fretful unless diverted and beguil'd, 
Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires 
Of pride, ambition, or impure desires: 
But as a scale by which the soul ascends 
From mighty means to more important ends, 
Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, 
Mounts from inferior beings up to God, 
And sees by no fallacious li^ht or dim, 
Earth made for man, and man himself for Him. 

Not that I mean to approve, or would enforce 
A BUperBtitioUB and monastic; course: 

Truth is not local ; God alike pervades 

And fills the world of traffic and the shades, 

\nd 1 1 1 : i v be fearM amid the busiest scenes, 

sorn'd where business never intervenes. 


But 'tis not easy with a mind like ours, 
Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers, 
And in a world where (other ills apai't) 
The roving eye misleads the careless heart, 
To limit thought, by nature prone to stray 
Wherever freakish fancy points the way ; 
To bid the pleadings of self-love be still, _ 
Resign our own and seek our Maker's will ; 
To spread the page of Scripture, and compare 
Our conduct with the laws engraven there ; 
To measure all that passes in the breast, 
Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test, 
To dive into the secret deeps within, 
To spare no passion and no favourite sin, 
And search the themes important above all, 
Ourselves and our recovery from our fall. 
But leisure, silence, and a mind released 
From anxious thoughts how wealth may be in- 
How to secure in some propitious hour, [creased, 
The point of interest or the post of power ; 
A soul serene, and equally retired 
From objects too much dreaded or desired, 
Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute, 
At least are friendly to the great pursuit. 

Opening the map of God's extensive plan, 
We find a little isle, this life of man ; 
Eternity's unknown expanse appears 
Circling around and limiting his years ; 
The busy race examine and explore 
Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore, 
With care collect what in their eyes excels, 
Some shining pebbles and some weeds and shells, 
Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great, 
And happiest he that groans beneath his weight ; 
The waves o'ertake them in their serious play, 
And every hour sweeps multitudes away ; 
They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, 
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. 
A few forsake the throng, with lifted eyes_ 
Ask wealth of Heaven, and gain a real prize, 
Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above, 
Seal'd with his signet whom they serve and love : 
Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait 
A kind release from their imperfect state, 
And unregretted are soon snatch'd away 
From scenes of sorrow into glorious day. 

Nor these alone prefer a life recluse, 
Who seek retirement for its proper use ; 
The love of change that lives in every breast, 
Genius, and temper, and desire of rest, 
Discordant motives in one centre meet, 
And each inclines its votary to retreat. ^ 
Some minds by nature are averse to noise, 
And hate the tumult half the world enjoys, 
The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize 
That courts display before ambitious eyes, 
The fruits that hang on pleasure's flowery stem, 
Whate'er enchants them are no snares to them. 
To them the deep recess of dusky groves, 
Or forest where the deer securely roves, 
The fall of waters and the song of birds, 
And hills that echo to the distant herds, 
Are luxuries excelling all the glare 
The world can boast, and her chief favourites share. 
With eager step and carelessly array'd, 
For such a cause the poet seeks the shade, 
From all he sees he catches new delight, 
Pleased fancy claps her pinions at the sight, 
The rising or the setting orb of day, 
The clouds that flit or slowly float away, 


RETIREMENT. 


41 


Nature in all the various shapes she wears, 

Frowning in storms or breathing gentle airs, 

The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, 

Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes, 

All, all alike transport the glowing bard, 

Success in rhyme his glory and reward, 

Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose 

His bright perfections at whose word they rose, 

Next to that Power who form'd thee and sustains, 

Be thou the great inspirer of my strains. 

Still as I touch the lyre, do thou expand 

Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, 

That I may catch a fire but rarely known, 

Give useful light though I should miss renown, 

And poring on thy page, whose every line 

Bears proofs of an intelligence divine, 

May feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays, 

That builds its glory on its Maker's praise. 

Woe to the man whose wit disclaims its use, 

Glittering in vain, or only to seduce, 

Who studies nature with a wanton eye, 

Admires the work, but slips the lesson by ; 

His hours of leisure and recess employs 

In drawing pictures of forbidden joys ; 

Retires to blazon his own worthless name, 

Or shoot the careless with a surer aim. 

The lover too shuns business and alarms, 
Tender idolater of absent charms. 
Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers, 
That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs ; 
'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time, 
And every thought that wanders is a crime. 
In sighs he worships his supremely fair, 
And weeps a sad libation in despair, 
Adores a creature, and devout in vain, 
Wins in return an answer of disdain. 
As woodbine weds the plants within her reach, 
Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech, 
In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays 
Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays, 
But does a mischief while she lends a grace, 
Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace, 
So love that clings around the noblest minds, 
Forbids the advancement of the soul he binds ; 
The suitor's air indeed he soon improves, 
And forms it to the taste of her he loves, 
Teaches his eyes a language, and no less 
Refines his speech and fashions his address ; 
But farewell promises of happier fruits, 
Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits ; 
Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break, 
His only bliss is sorrow for her sake, 
Who will may pant for glory and excel, 
Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell ! 
Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name 
May least offend against so pure a flame, 
Though sage advice of friends the most sincere 
Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear, 
And lovers, of all creatures tame or wild, 
Can least brook management, however mild, 
Yet let a poet (poetry disarms 
The fiercest animals with magic charms) 
Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood, 
And woo and win thee to thy proper good. 
Pastoral images and still retreats, 
Umbrageous walks and solitary seats, 
Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams, 
Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day dreams, 
Are all enchantments in a case like thine, 
Conspire against thy peace with one design, 


Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey, 
And feed the fire that wastes thy powers away. 
Up ! — God has formed thee with a wiser view, 
Not to be led in chains, but to subdue, 
Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first 
Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. 
Woman indeed, a gift he would bestow 
When he design'd a paradise below, 
The richest earthly boon his hands afford, 
Deserves to be beloved, but not adored. 
Post away swiftly to more active scenes, 
Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans, 
Mix with the world, but with its wiser part, 
No longer give an image all thine heart ; 
Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine, 
'Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine. 

Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill 
Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil, 
Gives melancholy up to nature's care, 
And sends the patient into purer air. 
Look where he comes, — in this embower'd alcove, 
Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move : 
Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, 
Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, 
Interpret to the marking eye distress, 
Such as its symptoms can alone express. 
That tongue is silent now, — that silent tongue 
Could argue once, could jest or join the song, 
Could give advice, could censure or commend, 
Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. 
Renounced alike its office and its sport, 
Its brisker and its graver strains fall short, 
Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, 
And like a summer brook are past away. 
This is a sight for pity to peruse 
Till she resemble faintly what she views, 
Till sympathy contract a kindred pain, 
Pierced with the woes that she laments in vain. 
This of all maladies that man infest, 
Claims most compassion, and receives the least ; 
Job felt it when he groan'd beneath the rod, 
And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God, 
And such emollients as his friends could spare, 
Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. 
Blest (rather curst) with hearts that never feel, 
Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd steel, 
With mouths made only to grin wide and eat, 
And minds that deem derided pain a treat ; 
With limbs of British oak and nerves of wire, 
And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire, 
Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy joke, 
On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke. 
But with a soul that ever felt the sting 
Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing : 
Not to molest, or irritate, or raise 
A laugh at its expense, is slender praise ; 
He that has not usurp'd the name of man, 
Does all, and deems too little, all he can, 
To assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part, 
And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart. 
'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, 
Forgery of fancy and a dream of woes, ; 
Man is a harp whose chords elude the sight, 
Each yielding harmony, disposed aright, 
The screws reversed, (a task which if he please 
God in a moment executes with ease) 
Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, 
Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use. 
Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair 
As ever recompensed the peasant's care, 


4-_> 


RETIREMENT. 


Nor soft declivities with tufted hills, 

Nor view of waters turning busy mills, 

Parks in which art preceptress nature weds, 

Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds, 

Nor gales that catch the scent of blooming groves, 

And waft it to the mourner as he roves, 

Can call up life into his faded eye, 

That passes all he sees unheeded by : 

No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, 

No cure for such, till God who makes them heals. 

And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill, 

That yields not to the touch of human skill, 

Improve the kind occasion, understand 

A father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand : 

To thee the day-spring and the blaze of noon, 

The purple evening and resplendent moon, 

The stars, that sprinkled o'er the vault of night 

Seem drops descending in a shower of light, 

Shine not, or undesired and hated shine, 

Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine ; 

Yet seek Him, in his favour life is found, 

All bliss beside, a shadow or a sound : 

Then heaven eclipsed so long, and this dull earth 

Shall seem to start into a second birth ; 

Nature assuming a more lovely face, 

Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, 

Shall be despised and overlook'd no more, 

Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, 

Impart to things inanimate a voice, 

And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice ; 

The sound shall run along the winding vales, 

And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. 

Ye groves, (the statesman at his desk exclaims, 
Sick of a thousand disappointed aims) 
My patrimonial treasure and my pride, 
Beneath your shades your grey possessor hide, 
Receive me languishing for that repose 
The servant of the public never knows. 
Ye saw me once, (ah those regretted days 
When boyish innocence was all my praise !) 
Hour after hour delightfully allot 
To studies then familiar, since forgot, 
And cultivate a taste for ancient song, 
Catching its ardour as I mused along ; 
Nor seldom, as propitious heaven might send, 
What once I valued and could boast, a friend, 
Were witnesses how cordially I press'd 
His undissembling virtue to my breast; 
Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, 
Nor guiltless of corrupting other men, 
But versed in arts that while they seem to stay 
A fallen empire, hasten its decay. 
To the fair haven of my native home, 
The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come ; 
For once I can approve the patriot's voice, 
And make the course he recommends my choice ; 
We meet at last in one sincere desire, 
His wish and mine both prompt me to retire. 
'Tis done; — he stops into the welcome chaise, 
Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays, 
That whirl away from business and debate 
The disenciiinher'd Atlas of the state. 
Ask not the boy, who when the breeze of morn 
I'irst shakes the glittering drops from every thorn, 
Unfolds Ins Hock, then under bank or bush 
Sits linking cherry-stones or platting rush, 
How fail- is freedom? — he was always free: 
To carve his rustic name upon a tree, 
To snare the mole, or with ill-fashion'd hook 
To draw the incautious minnow from the brook, 


Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, 
His flock the chief concern he ever knew : 
She shines but little in his heedless eyes, 
The good we never miss we rarely prize. 
But ask the noble drudge in state affairs, 
Escaped from office and its constant cares, 
What charms he sees in freedom's smile express'd, 
In freedom lost so long, now repossess'd ; [mands, 
The tongue whose strains were cogent as corn- 
Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands, 
Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause, 
Or plead its silence as its best applause. 
He knows indeed that whether dress'd or rude, 
Wild without art, or artfully subdued, 
Nature in every form inspires delight, 
But never mark'd her with so just a sight. 
Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, 
With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er, 
Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream that 
Its cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads, [spreads 
Downs that almost escape the inquiring eye, 
That melt and fade into the distant sky, 
Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd, 
Seem all created since he travel'd last. 
Master of all the enjoyments he design'd, 
No rough annoyance rankling in his mind, 
What early philosophic hours he keeps, 
How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps ! 
Not sounder he that on the mainmast head, 
While morning kindles with a windy red, 
Begins a long look-out for distant land, 
Nor quits till evening-watch his giddy stand, 
Then swift descending with a seaman's haste, 
Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. 
He chooses company, but not the squire's, 
Whose wit is rudeness, whose good breeding tires ; 
Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come, 
Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home ; 
Nor can he much affect the neighbouring peer, 
Whose toe of emulation treads too near, 
But wisely seeks a more convenient friend, 
With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend, 
A man whom marks of condescending grace 
Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place, 
Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws, 
Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause ; 
Some plain mechanic, who without pretence 
To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence, 
On whom he rests well pleased his weary powers, 
And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. 
The tide of life, swift always in its course, 
May run in cities with a brisker force, 
But nowhere with a current so serene, 
Or half so clear as in the rural scene. 
Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss, 
What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss ! 
Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, 
But short the date of all we gather here^ 
Nor happiness is felt, except the true, 
That does not charm the more for being new. 
This observation, as it chanced, not made, 
Or if the thought occurr'd, not duly weigh'd, 
He sighs, — for after all, by slow degrees, 
The spot he loved has lost the power to please ; 
To cross his ambling pony day by day 
Seems at the best but dreaming life away ; 
The prospect, such as might enchant despair, 
He views it not, or sees no beauty there ; 
With aching heart and discontented looks, 
Returns at noon to billiards or to books, 


RETIREMENT. 


43 


But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, 
A secret thirst of his renounced employs ; 
He chides the tardiness of every post, 
Pants to be told of battles won or lost, 
Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, 
'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state, 
Flies to the levee, and received with grace, 
Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. 

Suburban villas, highway-side retreats, 
That dread the encroachment of our growing 

streets, 
Tight boxes neatly sash'd, and in a blaze 
With all a July sun's collected rays, 
Delight the citizen, who gasping there 
Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air. 
sweet retirement, who would baulk the thought 
That could afford retirement, or could not ? 
'Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, — 
The second milestone fronts the garden gate ; 
A step if fair, and if a shower approach 
You find safe shelter in the next stage-coach. 
There prison'd in a parlour snug and small, 
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall, 
The man of business and his friends compress'd, 
Forget their labours, and yet find no rest ; 
But still 'tis rural, — trees are to be seen 
From every window, and the fields are green ; 
Ducks paddle in the pond before the door, 
And what could a remoter scene show more ? 
A sense of elegance we rarely find 
The portion of a mean or vulgar mind, 
And ignorance of better things makes man 
Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can : 
And he that deems his leisure well bestow'd 
In contemplations of a turnpike road, 
Is occupied as well, employs his hours 
As wisely, and as much improves his powers, 
As he that slumbers in pavilions graced 
With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste. 
Yet hence, alas ! insolvencies, and hence 
The unpitied victim of ill-judged expense, 
From all his wearisome engagements freed, 
Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. 

Your prudent grandmammas, ye modern belles, 
Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge Wells, 
When health required it, would consent to roam, 
Else more attach'd to pleasures found at home ; 
But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife, 
Ingenious to diversify dull life, 
In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys, 
Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys, 
And all impatient of dry land, agree 
With one consent to rush into the sea. — 
Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad, 
Much of the power and majesty of God ; 
He swathes about the swelling of the deep, 
That shines and rests, as infants smile and 

sleep ; 
Vast as it is, it answers as it flows 
The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; 
Curling and whitening over all the waste, 
The rising waves obey the increasing blast, 
Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars, 
Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores ; 
Till he that rides the whirlwind checks the rein, 
Then all the world of waters sleeps again. 
Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads, 
Now in the floods, now panting in the meads, 
Votaries of pleasure still, where'er she dwells, 
Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, 


Oh grant a poet leave to recommend, 

(A poet fond of nature and your friend) 

Her slighted works to your admiring view, 

Her works must needs excel who fashion'd you. 

Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride, 

With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side, 

Condemn the prattler for his idle pains, 

To waste unheard the music of his strains, 

And deaf to all the impertinence of tongue, 

That, while it courts, affronts and does you wrong, 

Mark well the finish'd plan without a fault, 

The seas globose and huge, the o'erarching vault, 

Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ'd 

In gathering plenty yet to be enjoy 'd, 

Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise 

Of God, beneficent in all his ways, — 

Graced with such wisdom how would beauty shine ! 

Ye want but that to seem indeed divine. 

Anticipated rents and bills unpaid 
Force many a shining youth into the shade, 
Not to redeem his time, but his estate, 
And play the fool, but at a cheaper rate. 
There hid in loath'd obscurity, removed 
From pleasures left, but never more beloved, 
He just endures, and with a sickly spleen, 
Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene. 
Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme, 
Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime, 
The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong, 
Are musical enough in Thomson's song, 
And Cobham's groves and Windsor's green re- 
treats, 
When Pope describes them, have a thousand 

sweets : 
He likes the country, but in truth must own, 
Most likes it when he studies it in town. 

Poor Jack — no matter who, — for when I blame 
I pity, and must therefore sink the name, — 
Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, 
And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse. 
The estate his sires had own'd in ancient years 
Was quickly distanced, — match'd against a peer's. 
Jack vanish'd, was regretted and forgot ; 
'Tis wild good-nature's never-failing lot. 
At length, when all had long supposed him dead, 
By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead, 
My lord, alighting at his usual place, 
The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face. 
Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise 
He might escape the most observing eyes, 
And whistling as if unconcern' d and gay, 
Curried his nag and look'd another way. 
Convinced at last, upon a nearer view, 
'Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew, 
O'erwhelm'd at once with wonder, grief, and 

j°y> 

He press'd him much to quit his base employ, — 
His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand^ 
Influence, and power were all at his command. 
Peers are not always generous as well-bred ; 
But Granby was, — meant truly what he said. 
Jack bow'd, and was obliged; — confess'd 'twas 

strange 
That so retired he should not wish a change, 
But knew no medium between guzzling beer 
And his old stint, three thousand pounds a year. 

Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe, 
Some seeking happiness not found below, 
Some to comply with humour, and a mind 
To social scenes by nature disinclined, 


44 


RETIREMENT. 


Some sway'd by fashion, some by deep disgust, 
Some self-impoverish'd, and because they must ; 
But few that court Retirement are aware 
Of half the toils they must encounter there. 

Lucrative offices are seldom lost 
For want of powers proportion'd to the post : 
Give even a dunce the employment he desires, 
And he soon finds the talents it requires ; 
A business with an income at its heels 
Furnishes always oil for its own wheels. 
But in his arduous enterprise to close 
His active years with indolent repose, 
He finds the labours of that state exceed 
His utmost faculties, severe indeed. 
'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, 
But not to manage leisure with a grace ; 
Absence of occupation is not rest, 
A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd. 
The veteran steed excused his task at length, 
In kind compassion of his failing strength, 
And turn'd into the park or mead to graze, 
Exempt from future service all his days, 
There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind, 
Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind. 
But when his lord would quit the busy road, 
To taste a joy like that he has bestow'd, 
He proves, less happy than his favour'd brute, 
A life of ease a difficult pursuit. 
Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 
As natural as when asleep to dream ; 
But reveries, (for human minds will act) 
Specious in show, impossible in fact, 
Those flimsy webs that break as soon as wrought, 
Attain not to the dignity of thought ; 
Nor yet the swarms that occupy the brain, 
"Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign, 
Nor such as useless conversation breeds, 
Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. 
Whence, and what are we ? to what end ordain'd ? 
What means the drama by the world sustain'd ? 
Business or vain amusement, care, or mirth, 
Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. 
Is duty a mere sport, or an employ ? 
Life an intrusted talent, or a toy ? 
Is there, as reason, conscience, scripture, say, 
Cause to provide for a great future day, 
When earth's assign'd duration at an end, 
Man shall be summon'd, and the dead attend ? 
The trumpet, — will it sound ? the curtain rise ? 
And show the august tribunal of the skies, 
Where no prevarication shall avail, 
Where eloquence and artifice shall fail, 
The pride of arrogant distinctions fall, 
And conscience and our conduct judge us all? 
Pardon mc, ye that give the midnight oil 
To learned cares or philosophic toil, 
Though I revere your honourable names, 
Your useful labours and important aims, 
And hold the world indebted to your aid, 
Enrich'd with the discoveries ye have made, 
Yet let me stand excused, if I esteem 
A mind employ'd on .so sublime a theme, 
Pushing her bold inquiry to the date 
And outline of the present transient state, 
And after poising her adventurous wings, 
Settling at last upon eternal things, 
Far more intelligent, and better taught 
The strenuous use of profitable thought, 
Than ye when happiest, and enlighten'd most, 
And highest in renown, can justly boast. 


A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear 
The weight of subjects worthiest of her care, 
Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires, 
Must change her nature, or in vain retires. 
An idler is a watch that wants both hands, 
As useless if it goes as when it stands. 
Books therefore, not the scandal of the shelves, 
In which lewd sensualists print out themselves, 
Nor those in which the stage gives vice a blow, 
(With what success let modern manners show ;) 
Nor his, who for the bane of thousands born, 
Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn, 
Skilful alike to seem devout and just, 
And stab religion with a sly side-thrust ; 
Nor those of learn' d philologists, who chase 
A panting syllable through time and space, 
Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark, 
To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark ; 
But such as learning without false pretence, 
The friend of truth, the associate of sound sense, 
And such as in the zeal of good design, 
Strong judgment labouring in the scripture mine, 
All such as manly and great souls produce, 
Worthy to five, and of eternal use ; 
Behold in these what leisure hours demand, 
Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. 
Luxury gives the mind a childish cast, 
And while she polishes, perverts the taste ; 
Habits of close attention, thinking heads, 
Become more rare as dissipation spreads, 
Till authors hear at length, one general cry, 
Tickle and entertain us, or we die. 
The loud demand from year to year the same, 
Beggars invention and makes fancy lame ; 
Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune, 
Calls for the kind assistance of a tune, 
And novels, (witness every month's Review) 
Belie their name, and offer nothing new. 
The mind relaxing into needful sport, 
Should turn to writers of an abler sort, 
Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style 
Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile. 

Friends, (for I cannot stint as some have done, 
Too rigid in my view, that name to one, 
Though one, I grant it in the generous breast, 
Will stand advanced a step above the rest ; 
Flowers by that name promiscuously we call, 
But one, the rose, the regent of them all ;) 
Friends, not adopted with a schoolboy's haste, 
But chosen with a nice discerning taste, 
Well born, well disciplined, who, placed apart 
From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart, 
And (though the world may think the ingredients 

odd) 
The love of virtue, and the fear of God ! 
Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, 
A temper rustic as the life we lead, 
And keep the polish of the manners clean, 
As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene. 
For solitude, however some may rave, 
Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, 
A sepulchre in which the living lie, 
Where all good qualities grow sick and die. 
I praise the Frenchman 1 , his remark was shrewd, — 
How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude ! 
But grant me still a friend in my retreat, 
Whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet. 
Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside 
That appetite can ask, or wealth provide, 


Bruyere. 


MISCELLANIES. 


45 


Can save us always from a tedious day, 

Or shine the dulness of still life away ; 

Divine communion carefully enjoy 'd, 

Or sought with energy, must fill the void. 

Oh sacred art, to which alone life owes 

Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close, 

Scorn'd in a world indebted to that scorn 

For evils daily felt and hardly borne, 

Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands 

Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands, 

And while experience cautions us in vain, 

Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. 

Despondence, self-deserted in her grief, 

Lost by abandoning her own relief ; 

Murmuring and ungrateful discontent, 

That scorns afflictions mercifully meant ; 

Those humours tart as wines upon the fret, 

Which idleness and weariness beget ; 

These and a thousand plagues that haunt the breast, 

Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest, 

Divine communion chases, as the day 

Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of prey. 

See Judah's promised king, bereft of all, 

Driven out an exile from the face of Saul, 

To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies, 

To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies. 

Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice, 

Hear him o'erwhelm'd with sorrow, yet rejoice ; 

No womanish or wailing grief has part, 

No, not a moment, in his royal heart ; 

'Tis manly music, such as martyrs make, 

Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake : 

His soul exults, hope animates his lays, 

The sense of mercy kindles into praise, 

And wilds familiar with the lion's roar 

Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before. 

'Tis love like his that can alone defeat 

The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. 

Religion does not censure or exclude 
Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursued. 
To study culture, and with artful toil 
To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil ; 
To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands 
The grain or herb or plant that each demands ; 
To cherish virtue in an humble state, 
And share the joys your bounty may create ; 
To mark the matchless workings of the power 
That shuts within its seed the future flower, 
Bids these in elegance of form excel, 
In colour these, and those delight the smell, 
Sends Nature forth, the daughter of the skies, 
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes ; 
To teach the canvass innocent deceit, 
Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet ; 
These, these are arts pursued without a crime, 
That leave no stain upon the wing of time. 

Me poetry (or rather notes that aim 
Feebly and faintly at poetic fame) 
Employs, shut out from more important views, 
Fast by the banks of the slow -winding Ouse ; 
Content if thus sequester'd I may raise 
A monitor's, though not a poet's praise, 
And while I teach an art too little known, 
To close life wisely, may not waste my own. 


MISCELLANIES. 


THE DOVES. 

Reasoning at every step he treads, 

Man yet mistakes his way, 
While meaner things whom instinct leads 

Are rarely known to stray. 

One silent eve I wander'd late, 

And heard the voice of love ; 
The turtle thus address'd her mate, 

And soothed the listening dove : 

Our mutual bond of faith and truth, 

No time shall disengage ; 
Those blessings of our early youth 

Shall cheer our latest age. 

While innocence without disguise, 

And constancy sincere, 
Shall fill the circles of those eyes, 

And mine can read them there, 

Those ills that wait on all below 

Shall ne'er be felt by me, 
Or gently felt, and only so, 

As being shared with thee. 

When lightnings flash among the trees, 

Or kites are hovering near, 
I fear lest thee alone they seize, 

And know no other fear. 

'Tis then I feel myself a wife, 

And press thy wedded side, 
Resolved a union form'd for life 

Death never shall divide. 

But oh ! if fickle and unchaste, 
(Forgive a transient thought) 

Thou couldst become unkind at last, 
And scorn thy present lot, 

No need of lightnings from on high, 

Or kites with cruel beak, 
Denied the endearments of thine eye 

This widow'd heart would break. 

Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird, 

Soft as the passing wind ; 
And I recorded what I heard, 

A lesson for mankind. 


A FABLE. 


A raven, while with glossy breast 
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd, 
And on her wicker-work high mounted 
Her chickens prematurely counted, 
(A fault philosophers might blame, 
If quite exempted from the same) 
Enjoy 'd at ease the genial day, 
'Twas April as the bumpkins say, 
The legislature call'd it May: 


40 


MISCELLANIES. 


But suddenly a wind as high 

As ever swept a winter sky, 

Shook the young leaves about her ears, 

And fill'd her with a thousand fears, 

Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, 

And spread her golden hopes below. 

But just at eve the blowing weather 

And all her fears were hush'd together ; 

And now, quoth poor unthinking Raph, 

'Tis over, and the brood is safe ; 

(For ravens, though as birds of omen 

They teach both conjurors and old women 

To tell us what is to befal, 

Can't prophesy themselves at all.) 

The morning came, when neighbour Hodge, 

Who long had mark'd her airy lodge, 

And destined all the treasure there 

A gift to his expecting fair, 

Climb'd like a squirrel to his dray, 

And bore the worthless prize away. 


'Tis Providence alone secures 
In every change both mine and your's. 
Safety consists not in escape 
From dangers of a frightful shape, 
An earthquake may be bid to spare 
The man that's strangled by a hair. 
Fate steals along with silent tread, 
Found oftenest in what least we dread, 
Frowns in the storm with angry brow, 
But in the sunshine strikes the blow. 


A COMPARISON. 

The lapse of time and rivers is the same, 

Both speed their journey with a restless stream, 

The silent pace with which they steal away, 

No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to 

stay, 
Alike irrevocable both when past, 
And a wide ocean swallows both at last. 
Though each resemble each in every part, 
A difference strikes at length the musing heart ; 
Streams never flow in vain ; where streams 

abound, 
How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd ! 
But time that should enrich the nobler mind, 
Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind. 


ANOTHER. 

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade, 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 

Silent and chaste she steals along, 

Far from the world's gay busy throng, 

With gentle yet prevailing force 

Intent upon her destined course, 

Graceful and useful all she does, 

Blessing and blest where'er she goes, 

Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, 

And heaven reflected in her face, 


VERSES, 

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK DURING 

HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF 

JUAN FERNANDEZ. 

I am monarch of all I survey, 

My right there is none to dispute, 

From the centre all round to the sea, 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

solitude ! where are the charms 
That sages have seen in thy face ? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone, 
Never hear the sweet music of speech, — 

I start at the sound of my own. 
The beasts that roam over the plain 

My form with indifference see, 
They are so unacquainted with man, 

Their tameness is shocking to me. 

Society, friendship, and love, 

Divinely bestow'd upon man, 
Oh had I the wings of a dove, 

How soon would I taste you again ! 
My sorrows I then might assuage 

In the ways of religion and truth, 
Might learn from the wisdom of age, 

And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 

Religion ! what treasure untold 

Resides in that heavenly word ! 
More precious than silver and gold, 

Or all that this earth can afford. 
But the sound of the church-going bell 

These valleys and rocks never heard, 
Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell, 

Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport, 

Convey to this desolate shore 
Some cordial endearing report 

Of a land I shall visit no more ! 
My friends, do they now and then send 

A wish or a thought after me ? 
Oh tell me I yet have a friend, 

Though a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 

Compared with the speed of its flight, 
The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the swift winged arrows of light. 
When I think of my own native land, 

In a moment I seem to be there ; 
But alas ! recollection at hand 

Soon hurries me back to despair. 

But the sea-fowl has gone to her nest, 

The beast is laid down in his lair, 
Even here is a season of rest, 

And I to my cabin repair. 
There is mercy in every place, 

And mercy, encouraging thought ! 
Gives even affliction a grace, 

And reconciles man to his lot. 


MISCELLANIES. 


47 


ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD 
THURLOW, ESQ. 

TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND. 


Round Thurlow's head in early youth, 

And in his sportive days, 
Fair science pour'd the light of truth, 

And genius shed his rays. 

See ! with united wonder, cried 
The experienced and the sage, 

Ambition in a boy supplied 
With all the skill of age. 

Discernment, eloquence, and grace 
Proclaim him born to sway 

The balance in the highest place, 
And bear the palm away. 

The praise bestow'd was just and wise 
He sprang impetuous forth 

Secure of conquest, where the prize 
Attends superior worth. 

So the best courser on the plain 
Ere yet he starts is known, 

And does but at the goal obtain 
What all had deem'd his own. 


ODE TO PEACE. 

Come, peace of mind, delightful guest ! 
Return and make thy downy nest 

Once more in this sad heart : 
Nor riches I, nor power pursue, 
Nor hold forbidden joys in view, 

We therefore need not part. 

Where wilt thou dwell if not with me, 
From avarice and ambition free, 

And pleasure's fatal wiles ? 
For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare 
The sweets that I was wont to share, 

The banquet of thy smiles ? 

The great, the gay, shall they partake 
The heaven that thou alone canst make ; 

And wilt thou quit the stream 
That murmurs through the dewy mead, 
The grove and the sequester'd shed, 

To be a guest with them \ 

For thee I panted, thee I prized, 
For thee I gladly sacrificed 

Whate'er I loved before ; 
And shall I see thee start away, 
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say — 

Farewell ! we meet no more ? 


HUMAN FRAILTY. 


Weak and irresolute is man ; 

The purpose of to-day, 
Woven with pains into his plan, 

To-morrow rends away. 

The bow well bent and smart the spring, 

Vice seems already slain, 
But passion rudely snaps the string, 

And it revives again. 


Some foe to his upright intent 

Finds out his weaker part, 
Virtue engages his assent, 

But pleasure wins his heart. 

'Tis here the folly of the wise 

Through all his art we view, 
And while his tongue the charge denies, 

His conscience owns it true. 

Bound on a voyage of awful length 

And dangers little known, 
A stranger to superior strength, 

Man vainly trusts his own. 

But oars alone can ne'er prevail 

To reach the distant coast, 
The breath of heaven must swell the sail, 

Or all the toil is lost. 


THE MODERN PATRIOT. 


Rebellion is my theme all day, 

I only wish 'twould come 
(As who knows but perhaps it may) 

A little nearer home. 

Yon roaring boys who rave and fight 
On the other side the Atlantic, 

I always held them in the right, 
But most so, when most frantic. 

When lawless mobs insult the court, 
That man shall be my toast, 

If breaking windows be the sport, 
Who bravely breaks the most. 

But oh ! for him my fancy culls 
The choicest flowers she bears, 

Who constitutionally pulls 
Your house about your ears. 

Such civil broils are my delight, 

Though some folks can't endure 'em, 

Who say the mob are mad outright, 
And that a rope must cure 'em. 

A rope ! I wish we patriots had 

Such strings for all who need 'em, — 

What ! hang a man for going mad \ 
Then farewell British freedom. 


ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE 
NOTE 

RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA. 

Oh fond attempt to give a deathless lot, 
To names ignoble, born to be forgot ! 
In vain recorded in historic page, 
They court the notice of a future age, 
Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land 
Drop one by one from fame's neglecting hand, 
Lethean gulfs receive them as they fall, 
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all. 

So when a child, as playful children use, 
Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news, 
The flame extinct, he views the roving fire, 
There goes my lady, and there goes the 'squire ; 
There goes the parson, oh ! illustrious spark, 
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk. 


48 


MISCELLANIES. 


REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, 

NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS. 


Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, 
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong ; 

The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, 
To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 

So the. Tongue was the lawyer and argued the cause 
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, 

While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, 
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. 

In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, 
And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, 

That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, 
Which amounts to possession time out of mind. 

Then holding the spectacles up to the court, — 
Your lordship observes they are made with a 
straddle 

As wide as the ridge of the Nose is, in short, 
Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 

Again, would your lordship a moment suppose 
('Tis a case that has happen'd and may be again) 

That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 
Pray who would or who could wear spectacles 
then ? 

On the whole it appears, and my argument shows 
With a reasoning the court will never condemn, 

That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, 
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. 

Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how, 
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes, 

But what were his arguments few people know, 
For the court did not think they were equally 
wise. 

So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone, 
Decisive and clear, without one if or but, — 

That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, 
By daylight or candlelight — Eyes should be shut. 


THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD'S 
LIBRARY, 

TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS. 

BY THE MOB, IN THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780. 

So then — the Vandals of our isle, 

Sworn foes to sense and law, 
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile 

Than ever Roman saw ! 

And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift, 

And many a treasure more, 
The well-judged purchase and the gift 

That graced his letter'd store. 

Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn, 

The loss was his alone ; 
But ages yet to come shall mourn 

The burning of his own. 


ON THE SAME. 

When wit and genius meet their doom 

In all-devouring flame, 
They tell us of the fate of Rome, 

And bid us fear the same. 

O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept, 

They felt the rude alarm, 
Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept 

His sacred head from harm. 

There memory, like the bee that's fed 

From Flora's balmy store, 
The quintessence of all he read 

Had treasured up before. 

The lawless herd, with fury blind 
Have done him cruel wrong ; 

The flowers are gone, — but still we find 
The honey on his tongue. 


the 
LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED ; 

OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED l . 

Thus says the prophet of the Turk ; 
Good mussulman, abstain from pork ! 
There is a part in every swine 
No friend or follower of mine 
May taste, whate'er his inclination, 
On pain of excommunication. 
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge, 
And thus he left the point at large. 
Had he the sinful part express'd, 
They might with safety eat the rest ; 
But for one piece they thought it hard 
From the whole hog to be debarr'd, 
And set their wit at work to find 
What joint the prophet had in mind. 

Much controversy straight arose, 
These choose the back, the belly those ; 
By some 'tis confidently said 
He meant not to forbid the head, 
While others at that doctrine rail, 
And piously prefer the tail. 
Thus, conscience freed from every clog, 
Mahometans eat up the hog. 

You laugh ! — 'tis well, — the tale applied 
May make you laugh on t'other side. 
Renounce the world, the preacher cries ; — 
We do, — a multitude replies. 
While one as innocent regards 
A snug and friendly game at cards ; 
And one, whatever you may say, 
Can see no evil in a play ; 

i It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece 
has already appeared in print, having found its way, 
though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown 
hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the Author's 
privity. 


MISCELLANIES. 


49 


Some love a concert or a race, 
And others, shooting and the chase. 
Reviled and loved, renounced and follow'd, 
Thus bit by bit the world is swallow'd ; 
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free, 
Yet likes a slice as well as he, 
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, 
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. 


THE LILY AND THE ROSE. 


The nymph must lose her female friend 
If more admired than she, — 

But where will fierce contention end 
If flowers can disagree ? 

Within the garden's peaceful scene 

Appear' d two lovely foes, 
Aspiring to the rank of queen, 

The Lily and the Rose. 

The Rose soon redden'd into rage, 

And swelling with disdain, 
Appeal'd to many a poet's page 

To prove her right to reign. 

The Lily's height bespoke command, 

A fair imperial flower, 
She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand, 

The sceptre of her power. 

This civil bickering and debate 
The goddess chanced to hear, 

And flew to save, ere yet too late, 
The pride of the parterre. 

Yours is, she said, the nobler hue, 
And yours the statelier mien, 

And till a third surpasses you, 
Let each be deem'd a queen. 

Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks 

The fairest British fair, 
The seat of empire is her cheeks, 

They reign united there. 


IDEM LATINE REDDITUM. 


Heu inimicitias quoties parit semula forma, 
Qnam raro pulchrae, pulchra placere potest ! 

Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit, 
Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent. 

Hortus ubi dulces preebet tacitosque recessus, 
Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas, 

Hie sibi regales Amaryllis Candida cultus, 
Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa. 

Tra Rosam et meritis qusesita superbia tangunt, 
Hultaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu, 

Dum dbi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum, 
Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat. 

Altior emicat ilia, e t celso vertice nutat, 
Ceu flores inter non l^bitura parem, 

Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus 
Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ip 8a gerat. 


Nee Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixre, 
Cui curse est pictas pandere ruris opes. 

Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tueri, 
Dum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest. 

Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit, 
Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color, 

Et donee vincat qusedam formosior ambas, 
Et tibi reginse nomen, et esto tibi. 

His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham 
Qnalern inter Veneres Anglia sola parit ; 

Hanc penes imperium est, nihil optant amplius, 
Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis. [hujus 


THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. 


A Nightingale that all day long 
Had cheer'd the village with his song, 
Nor yet at eve his note suspended, 
Nor yet when eventide was ended, 
Began to feel, as well he might, 
The keen demands of appetite ; 
When looking eagerly around, 
He spied, far oft" upon the ground, 
A something shining in the dark, 
And knew the Glow-worm by his spark ; 
So stooping down from hawthorn top, 
He thought to put him in his crop ; 
The worm, aware of his intent, 
Harangued him thus right eloquent. — 

" Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, 
" As much as I your minstrelsy, 
You would abhor to do me wrong, 
As much as I to spoil your song ; 
For 't was the self-same power divine 
Taught you to sing, and me to shine, 
That you with music, I with light, 
Might beautify and cheer the night." 
The songster heard his short oration, 
And warbling out his approbation, 
Released him, as my story tells, 
And found a supper somewhere else. 

Hence jarring sectaries may learn, 
Their real interest to discern : 
That brother should not war with brother, 
And worry and devour each other, 
But sing and shine by sweet consent, 
Till life's poor transient night is spent, 
Respecting in each other's case 
The gifts of nature and of grace. 

Those Christians best deserve the name, 
Who studiously make peace their aim ; 
Peace, both the duty and the prize 
Of him that creeps and him that flies. 


VOTUM. 


matutini rores, auraeque salubres, 
nemora, et lsetae rivis felicibus herbse, 
Graminei colles, et amoense in vallibus umbrae ! 
Fata modo dederint quas olim in rure paterno 
Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi, 
Quam vellem ignotus,quod mens mea semper avebat, 
A nte larem proprium placidam expectare senectam, 
Turn demura exactis non infeliciter annis, 
Sortiri taciturn lapidem, aut sub cespite condi. 


MISCELLANIES. 


ON A GOLDFINCH 

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE. 


Time was when I was free as air, 
The thistle's downy seed my fare, 

My drink the morning dew ; 
I perch'd at will on every spray, 
My form genteel, my plumage gay, 

My strains for ever new. 

But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain, 
And form genteel were all hi vain 

And of a transient date, 
For caught and caged and starved to death, 
In dying sighs my little breath 

Soon pass'd the why grate. 

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes, 
And thanks for this effectual close, 

And cure of every ill ! 
More cruelty could none express, 
And I, if you had shown me less, 

Had been your prisoner still. 


THE PINE APPLE AND THE BEE. 


The Pine Apples in triple row 
Were basking hot and all in blow, 
A Bee of most discerning taste 
Perceived the fragrance as he pass'd; 
On eager wing the spoiler came, 
And search'd for crannies in the frame, 
Urged his attempt on every side, 
To every pane his trunk applied, 
But still in vain, the frame was tight 
And only pervious to the light. 
Thus having wasted half the day, 
He trimm'd his flight another way. 

Methinks, I said, in thee I find 
The sin and madness of mankind ; 
To joys forbidden man aspires, 
Consumes his soul with vain desires ; 
Folly the spring of his pursuit, 
And disappointment all the fruit. 
While Cynthio ogles as she passes 
The nymph between two chariot glasses, 
She is the Pine Apple, and he 
The silly unsuccessful Bee. 
The maid who views with pensive air 
The show-glass fraught with glittering ware, 
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets, 
But sighs at thought of enij)ty pockets, 
Like thine her appetite is keen, 
But, ah, the cruel glass between ! 

Our dear delights are often such, 
Exposed to view but not to touch ; 
The sight our foolish heart inflames, 
We long for pine-appleB in frames ; 
With hopeless wish one looks and lingers, 
One breaks the glass and cuts his fingers: 
But they whom truth and wisdom lead, 
Can gather honey from a weed. 


HORACE. 

BOOK II. ODE X. 


Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach, 
So shalt thou live beyond the reach 

Of adverse fortune's power ; 
Not always tempt the distant deep, 
Nor always timorously creep 

Along the treacherous shore. 

He that holds fast the golden mean, 
And lives contentedly between 

The little and the great, 
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, 
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 

Imbittering all his state. 

The tallest pines feel most the power 
Of wintry blast, the loftiest tower 

Comes heaviest to the ground ; 
The bolts that spare the mountain's side, 
His cloud-capt eminence divide 

And spread the ruin round. 

The well-inform'd philosopher 
Rejoices with a wholesome fear, 

And hopes in spite of pain ; 
If winter bellow from the north, 
Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, 

And nature laughs again. 

What if thine heaven be overcast ? 
The dark appearance will not last, 

Expect a brighter sky ; 
The God that strings the silver bow, 
Awakes sometimes the Muses too, 

And lays his arrows by. 

If hindrances obstruct thy way, 
Thy magnanimity display, 

And let thy strength be seen ; 
But oh ! if Fortune fill thy sail 
With more than a propitious gale, 

Take half thy canvas in ! 


A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODE. 


And is this all ? Can reason do no more 

Than bid me shun the deep and dread the shore ? 

Sweet moralist ! afloat on life's rough sea 

The Christian has an art unknown to thee ; 

He holds no parley with unmanly fears, 

Where duty bids he confidently steers, 

Faces a thousand dangers at her call, 

And trusting in his God, surmounts them all. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 


T. THE GLOW-WORM. 

Beneath the hedge or near the stream, 

A worm is known to stray, 
That shows by night a lucid beam, 

Which disappears by day. 
Disputes have been, and still prevail, 

From whence his rays proceed ; 
Some give that honour to his tail, 

And othero to liis head. 


J I 


MISCELLANIES. 51 

But this is sure, — the hand of might 


That kindles up the skies, 

III. THE CRICKET. 

Gives Mm a modicum of light, 
Proportion'd to his size. 


Little inmate, full of mirth, 

Chirping on my kitchen hearth ; 

Perhaps indulgent nature meant 

Wheresoe'er be thine abode, 

By such a lamp bestow'd, 

Always harbinger of good, 

To bid the traveller, as he went, 

Pay me for thy warm retreat, 

Be careful where he trod ; 

With a song more soft and sweet ; 


In return thou shalt receive 

Nor crush a worm, whose useful light 

Such a strain as I can give. 

Might serve, however small, 


To show a stumbling stone by night, 

Thus thy praise shall be express'd, 

And save him from a fall. 

Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 


While the rat is on the scout, 

Whate'er she meant, this truth divine 

And the mouse with curious snout, 

Is legible and plain, 

With what vermin else infest 

'Tis power Almighty bids him shine, 

Every dish, and spoil the best ; 

Nor bids him shine in vain. 

Frisking thus before the fire, 


Thou hast all thine heart's desire. 

Ye proud and wealthy ! let this theme 


Teach humbler thoughts to you, 

Though in voice and shape they be 

Since such a reptile has its gem, 

Form'd as if akin to thee, 

And boasts its splendour too. 

Thou surpassest, happier far, 


Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 


Theirs is but a summer's song, 


Thine endures the winter long, 

II. THE JACKDAW. 

Unimpair'd and shrill and clear, 

There is a bird who by his coat, 

Melody throughout the year. 

And by the hoarseness of his note, 

Neither night nor dawn of day 

Might be supposed a crow ; 

Puts a period to thy play. 

A great frequenter of the church, 

Sing then — and extend thy span 

Where bishop-like he finds a perch, 

Far beyond the date of man ; 

And dormitory too. 

Wretched man, whose years are spent 


In repining discontent, 

Above the steeple shines a plate, 

Lives not, aged though he be, 

That turns and turns, to indicate 

Half a span compared with thee. 

From what point blows the weather ; 


Look up, — your brains begin to swim, 


'Tis in the clouds ; — that pleases him, 


He chooses it the rather. 



IV. THE PARROT. 

Fond of the speculative height, 

In painted plumes superbly drest, 

Thither he wings his airy flight, 

A native of the gorgeous East, 

And thence securely sees 

By many a billow tost, 

The bustle and the raree-show 

Poll gains at length the British shore, 

That occupy mankind below, 

Part of the captain's precious store, 

Secure and at his ease. 

A present to his toast. 

You think no doubt he sits and muses 

Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd 

On future broken bones and bruises, 

To teach him now and then a word, 

If he should chance to fall ; 

As Poll can master it ; 

No ! not a single thought like that 

But 'tis her own important charge 

Employs his philosophic pate, 

To qualify him more at large, 

Or troubles it at all. 

And make him quite a wit. 

He sees that this great roundabout 

" Sweet Poll ! " his doting mistress cries, 

The world, with all its motley rout, 

" Sweet Poll !" the mimic bird replies, 

Church, army, physic, law, 

And calls aloud for sack ; 

Its customs and its businesses 

She next instructs him in the kiss, 

Are no concern at all of his, 

'Tis now a little one like Miss, 

And says, — what says he ? Caw. 

And now a hearty smack. 

Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen 

At first he aims at what he hears,, 

Much of the vanities of men, 

And listening close with both his ears, 

And sick of having seen 'em, 

Just catches at the sound ; 

Would cheerfully these limbs resign 

But soon articulates aloud, 

For such a pair of wings as thine, 

Much to the amusement of the crowd, 

And such a head between 'em. 

And stuns the neighbours round. 

K 2 J 


MISCELLANIES. 


A querulous old woman's voice 
His humorous talent next employs, 

He scolds and gives the lie ; 
And now he sings, and now is sick, 
Here, Sally, Susan, come, come quick, 

Poor Poll is like to die. 

Belinda and her bird ! 'tis rare 

To meet with such a well-match'd pair. 

The language and the tone, 
Each character in every part 
Sustain'd with so much grace and art, 

And both in unison. 

When children first begin to spell, 
And stammer out a syllable, 

We think them tedious creatures ; 
But difficulties soon abate, 
When birds are to be taught to prate, 

And women are the teachers. 


THE SHRUBBERY. 

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. 


Oh happy shades ! to me unblest, 
Friendly to peace, but not to me, 

How ill the scene that offers rest, 
And heart that cannot rest, agree ! 

This glassy stream, that spreading pine, 
Those alders quivering to the breeze, 

Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, 
And please, if anything could please. 

But fixt unalterable care 

Foregoes not what she feels within, 
Shows the same sadness everywhere, 

And slights the season and the scene. 

For all that pleased in wood or lawn, 

While peace possess'd these silent bowers, 

Her animating smile withdrawn, 
Has lost its beauties and its powers. 

The saint or moralist should tread 
This moss-grown alley, musing slow ; 

They seek like me the secret shade, 
But not like me, to nourish woe. 

Me fruitful scones and prospects waste 

Alike admonish not to roam ; 
These tell me of enjoyments past, 

And those of sorrows yet to come. 


THE WINTER NOSEGAY. 

What Nature, alas ! has denied 

To the delicate growth of our Isle, 
Art has in a measure supplied, 

And winter is deck'd with a smile. 
Sec Mary, what beauties I bring 

From the shelter of that sunny shed, 
Where the flowers have the charms of the spring. 

Though abroad they are frozen and dead. 


'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets, 

Where Flora is still in her prime ; 
A fortress to which she retreats, 

From the ci'uel assaults of the clime. 
While earth wears a mantle of snow, 

These pinks are as fresh and as gay 
As the fairest and sweetest that blow 

On the beautiful bosom of May. 

See how they have safely survived 

The frowns of a sky so severe ! 
Such Mary's true love that has lived . 

Through many a turbulent year. 
The charms of the late-blowing rose 

Seem gi'aced with a livelier hue, 
And the winter of sorrow best shows 

The truth of a friend, such as you. 


MUTUAL FORBEARANCE, 

NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE. 


The lady thus address'd her spouse : — 
" What a mere dungeon is this house ! 
By no means large enough ; and was it, 
Yet this dull room and that dark closet, 
Those hangings with their worn-out graces, 
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, 
Are such an antiquated scene, 
They overwhelm me with the spleen." 
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, 
Makes answer quite beside the mark : — ■ 
' No doubt, my dear, I bade him come, 
Engaged myself to be at home, 
And shall expect him at the door 
Precisely when the clock strikes four.' 

" You are so deaf," the lady cried, 
(And raised her voice and frown'd beside) 
" You are so sadly deaf, my dear, 
What shall I do to make you hear ? " 
' Dismiss poor Harry ! ' he replies, 
* Some people are more nice than wise ; 
For one slight trespass all this stir ! 
What if he did ride, whip, and spur ? 
'Twas but a mile, — your favourite horse 
Will never look one hair the worse.' 
" Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing ! " — ■ 
' Child ! I am rather hard of hearing.' — 
" Yes, truly— one must scream and bawl, 
I tell you you can't hear at all." 
Then with a voice exceeding low — 
" No matter if you hear or no." 

Alas ! and is domestic strife, 
That sorest ill of human life, 
A plague so little to be fear'd, 
As to be wantonly incurr'd ; 
To gratify a fretful passion, , 
On every trivial provocation ? 
The kindest and the happiest pair 
Will find occasion to forbear, 
And something every day they five, 
To pity and, perhaps, forgive. 
But if infirmities that fall 
In common to the lot of all, 
A blemish, or a sense impaii'd, 
Are crimes so little to be spared, 
Then farewell all that must create 
The comfort of the wedded state ; 


I 


MISCELLANIES. 


53 


Instead of harmony, 'tis jar 
And tumult and intestine war. 

The love that cheers life's latest stage, 
Proof against sickness and old age, 
Preserved by virtue from declension, 
Becomes not weary of attention, 
But lives, when that exterior grace 
Which first inspired the flame, decays. 
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, 
To faults compassionate or blind, 
And will with sympathy endure 
Those evils it would gladly cure. 
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression 
Shows love to be a mere profession, 
Proves that the heart is none of his, 
Or soon expels him if it is. 


TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. 

AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY. 


The swallows in their torpid state 
Compose their useless wing, 

And bees in hives as idly wait 
The call of early spring. 

The keenest frost that binds the stream, 
The wildest wind that blows, 

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them, 
Secure of their repose : 

But man, all feeling and awake, 

The gloomy scene surveys, 
With present ills his heart must ache, 

And pant for brighter days. 

Old Winter halting o'er the mead, 

Bids me and Mary mourn ; 
But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head, 

And whispers your return. 

Then April with her sister May 
Shall chase him from the bowers, 

And weave fresh garlands every day, 
To crown the smiling hours. 

And if a tear that speaks regret 

Of happier times appear, 
A glimpse of joy that we have met 

Shall shine, and dry the tear. 


TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S CHLOE 
AND EUPHELIA. 


Mercator, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit, 
Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes ; 

Lene sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, 
Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlb'e. 

Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines, 
Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, sume lyram. 

Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit, 
Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram. 


Fila lyrse vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt, 
Et miscent numeris murmura moesta meis, 

Dumque tuse memoro laudes, Euphelia, formae, 
Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chloes. 

Subrubet ilia pudore, et contrahit altera frontem, 
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo ; 

Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona, 
H'eu ! fallendi artem quam didicere parum. 


BOADICEA. 


When the British warrior queen, 
Bleeding from the Roman rods, 

Sought with an indignant mien, 
Counsel of her country's gods, 

Sage beneath a spreading oak 
Sat the Druid, hoary chief, 

Every burning word he spoke 
Full of rage and full of grief : 

" Princess ! if our aged eyes 

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 

'Tis because resentment ties 
All the terrors of our tongues. 

" Rome shall perish, — write that word 
In the blood that she has spilt ; 

Perish hopeless and abhorr'd, 
Deep in ruin as in guilt. 

" Rome for empire far renown'd, 
Tramples on a thousand states, 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,— 
Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates. 

" Other Romans shall arise, 
Heedless of a soldier's name, 

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
Harmony the path to fame. 

a Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land, 

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, 
Shall a wider world command. 

et Regions Caesar never knew, 

Thy posterity shall sway, 
Where his eagles never flew, 

None invincible as they." 

Such the bard's prophetic words, 
Pregnant with celestial fire, 

Bending as he swept the chords 
Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She with all a monarch's pride, 
Felt them in her bosom glow, 

Rush'd to battle, fought and died, 
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud, 

Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 
Empire is on us bestow'd, 

Shame and ruin wait for you ! 


54 


MISCELLANIES. 


HEROISM. 

There was a time when ./Etna's silent fire 

Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire, 

When conscious of no danger from below, 

She tower'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snow. 

No thunders shook with deep intestine sound 

The blooming groves that girdled her around ; 

Her unctuous olives and her purple vines, 

(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines) 

The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured, 

In peace upon her sloping sides matured. 

"When on a day, like that of the last doom, 

A conflagration labouring in her womb, 

She teem'd and heaved with an infernal birth, 

That shook the circling seas and solid earth. 

Dark and voluminous the vapours rise, 

And hang their horrors in the neighbouring skies, 

While through the Stygian veil that blots the 

day, 
In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. 
But oh ! what muse, and in what powers of song, 
Can trace the torrent as it burns along % 
Havoc and devastation in the van, 
It marches o'er the prostrate works of man, 
Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear, 
And all the charms of a Sicilian year. 

Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass, 
See it an uninform'd and idle mass, 
Without a soil to invite the tiller's care, 
Or blade that might redeem it from despair. 
Yet time at length (what will not time achieve?) 
Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. 
Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade, 
And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. 
bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats ! 
charming paradise of short-lived sweets ! 
The self-same gale that wafts the fragrance round 
Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound, 
Again the mountain feels the imprison'd foe, 
Again pours ruin on the vale below, 
Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, 
That only future ages can restore. 

Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, 
Who write in blood the merits of your cause,. 
Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, 
Glory your aim, but justice your pretence, 
Behold in ^Etna's emblematic fires 
The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires ! 

Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain, 
And tells you where ye have a right to reign, 
A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, 
Studious of peace, their neighbours' and their own. 
Ill-fated race ! how deeply must they rue 
Their only crime, vicinity to you ! 
The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad, 
Through the ripe harvest lies their destined road, 
At every step beneath their feet they tread 
The life of multitudes, a nation's bread ; 
Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress 
Before them, and behind a wilderness; 
Famine, and Pestilence her first-born son, 
Attend to finish what the sword begun, 
And echoing praises such as fiends might earn, 
And folly pays, resound at your return. 
A calm succeds ; — but plenty with her train 
Of heartfelt joys, succeeds not soon again, 


And years of pining indigence must show 
What scourges are the gods that rule below. 

Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees, 
(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease) 
Plies all the sinews of industrious toil, 
Gleans up the refuse of the general spoil, 
Rebuilds the towers that smoked upon the plain, 
And the sun gilds the shining spires again. 

Increasing commerce and reviving art 
Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part, 
And the sad lesson must be learn' d once more, 
That wealth within is ruin at the door. 

What are ye monarchs, laurel'd heroes, say, 
But iEtnas of the suffering world ye sway % 
Sweet nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd. robe, 
Deplores the wasted regions of her globe, 
And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar, 
To prove you there, destroyers as ye are. 

Oh place me in some heaven-protected isle, 
Where peace and equity and freedom smile, 
Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, 
No crested warrior dips his plume in blood, 
Where power secures what industry has won, 
Where to succeed is not to be undone, 
A land that distant tyrants hate in vain, 
In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign. 


THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND 
SENSITIVE PLANT. 

An Oyster cast upon the shore 
Was heard, though never heard before, 
Complaining in a speech well worded, 
And worthy thus to be recorded : 

" Ah hapless wretch ! condemn'd to dwell 
For ever in my native shell, 
Ordain'd to move when others please, 
Not for my own content or ease, 
But toss'd and buffeted about, 
Now in the water, and now out. 
'Twere better to be born a stone 
Of ruder shape and feeling none, 
Than with a tenderness like mine, 
And sensibilities so fine ! 
I envy that unfeeling shrub, 
Fast-rooted against every rub." — 
The plant he meant grew not far off, 
And felt the sneer with scorn enough, 
Was hurt, disgusted, mortified, 
And with asperity replied. 

When, cry the botanists, and stare, 
Did plants call'd Sensitive grow there ? 
No matter when — a poet's muse is 
To make them grow just where she ch 

" You shapeless nothing in a dish ! 
You that are but almost a fish, 
I scorn your coarse insinuation, 
And have most plentiful occasion 
To wish myself the rock I view, 
Or such another dolt as you. 
For many a grave and learned clerk, 
And many a gay unletter'd spark, 
With curious touch examines me, 
If I can feel as well as he ; 


MISCELLANIES. 


55 


And when I bend, retire, and shrink, 
Says, well — 'tis more than one would think.- 
Thus life is spent, oh fie upon't ! 
In being touch'd, and crying, Don't ! " 

A poet in his evening walk, 
O'erheard and check'd this idle talk : — 
" And your fine sense (he said) and yours, 
Whatever evil it endures, 
Deserves not, if so soon offended, 
Much to be pitied or commended. 
Disputes though short, are far too long, 
Where both alike are in the wrong ; 
Your feelings in their full amount, 
Are all upon your own account. 

" You in your grotto-work enclosed 
Complain of being thus exposed, 
Yet nothing feel in that rough coat, 
Save when the knife is at your throat, 
Wherever driven by wind or tide, 
Exempt from every ill beside. 

rt And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, 
Who reckon every touch a blemish, 
If all the plants that can be found 
Embellishing the scene around, 
Should droop and wither where they grow, 
You would not feel at all, not you. 
The noblest minds their virtue prove 
By pity, sympathy, and love ; 
These, these are feelings truly fine, 
And prove their owner half divine." 

His censure reach'd them as he dealt it, 
And each by shrinking show'd he felt it. 


TO THE 

REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN. 

Unwin, I should but ill repay 

The kindness of a friend, 
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay 

As ever friendship penn'd, 
Thy name omitted in a page 
That would reclaim a vicious age. 

A union form'd, as mine with thee, 

Not rashly or in sport, 
May be as fervent in degree, 

And faithful in its sort, 
And may as rich in comfort prove, 
As that of true fraternal love. 

The bud inserted in the rind, 

The bud of peach or rose, 
Adorns, though differing in its kind, 

The stock whereon it grows 
With flower as sweet or fruit as fair 
As if produced by nature there. 

Not rich, I render what I may ; 

I seize thy name in haste, 
And place it in this first assay, 

Lest this should prove the last. 
'Tis where it should be, in a plan 
That holds in view the good of man. 

The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, 

Should be the poet's heart ; 
Affection lights a brighter flame 

Than ever blazed by art. 
No muses on these lines attend, 
I sink the poet in the friend. 


THE TASK. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The history of the following production is briefly 
this. A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a 
poem of that kind from the author, and gave him 
the Sofa for a subject. He obeyed ; and having 
much leisure, connected another subject with it ; 
and pursuing the train of thought to which his 
situation and turn of mind led him, brought forth 
at length, instead of the trifle which he at first 
intended, a serious affair, — a Volume. 

In the poem on the subject of Education he 
would be very sorry to stand suspected of having 
aimed his censure at any particular school. His 
objections are such as naturally apply themselves 
to schools in general. If there were not, as for the 
most part there is, wilful neglect in those who 
manage them, and an omission even of such disci- 
pline as they are susceptible of, the objects are yet 
too numerous for minute attention ; and the aching 
hearts of ten thousand parents, mourning under 
the bitterest of all disappointments, attest the truth 
of the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with 
the mischief at large, and not with any particular 
instance of it. 


BOOK I. 


THE SOFA. 

ARGUMENT. 
Historical deduction of seats, from the stool to the Sofa. 
A schoolboy's ramble. A walk in the country. The scene 
described. Rural sounds as well as sights delightful. 
Another walk. Mistake concerning the charms of soli- 
tude corrected. Colonnades commended. Alcove, and 
the view from it. The Wilderness. The Grove. The 
Thresher. The necessity and the benefits of exercise. The 
works of nature superior to and in some instances inimitable 
by art. The wearisomeness of what is commonly called a 
life of pleasure. Change of scene sometimes expedient. 
A common described, and the character of crazy Kate 
introduced. Gipsies. The blessings of civilized life. 
That state most favourable to virtue. The South Sea 
islanders compassionated, but chiefly Omai. His present 
state of mind supposed. Civilized life friendly to virtue, 
but not great cities. Great cities, and London in particu- 
lar, allowed their due praise, hut censured. Fete chain- 
pilre. The book concludes with a reflection on the fatal 
effects of dissipation and effeminacy upon our public 
measures. 


I si no the Sofa. I who lately sang 
Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touch'd with awe 
The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand, 
Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight, 


Now seek repose upon an humbler theme ; 

The theme though humble, yet august and proud 

The occasion, — for the Fair commands the song. 

Time was when clothing, sumptuous or for use, 
Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. 
As yet black breeches were not, satin smooth, 
Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile. 
The hardy chief upon the rugged rock 
Wash'd by the sea, or on the gravelly bank 
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, 
Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. 
Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next 
The birthday of invention, weak at first, 
Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
Joint-stools were then created ; on three legs 
Upborne they stood, — three legs upholding firm 
A massy slab, in fashion square or round. 
On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, 
And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms ; . 
And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 
May still be seen, but perforated sore 
And drill'd in holes the solid oak is found, 
By worms voracious eating through and through. 

At length a generation more refined 
Improved the simple plan, made three legs four, 
Gave them a twisted form vermicular, 
And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuff 'd 
Induced a splendid cover green and blue, 
Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought 
And woven close, or needle-work sublime. 
There might ye see the piony spread wide, 
The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, 
Lap-dog and lambkin with black staring eyes, 
And parrots with twin cherries in their beak. 

Now came the cane from India, smooth and 
bright 
With nature's varnish ; sever'd into stripes 
That interlaced each other, these supplied 
Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced 
The new machine, and it became a chair. 
But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
Distress'd the weary loins that felt no ease ; 
The slippery seat betray'd the sliding part 
That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down,. 
Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 
These for the rich : the rest, whom fate had placed 
In modest mediocrity, content 
With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides 
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth, 
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn, 
Or scarlet crewel in the cushion fixt : 
If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'd 
Than the firm oak of which the frame was form'd. 
No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
Ponderous, and fixt by its own massy weight. 


THE TASK. 


57 


But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say, 

An Alderman of Cripplegate contrived, 

And some ascribe the invention to a priest 

Burly and big and studious of his ease. 

But rude at first, and not with easy slope 

Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs, 

And bruised the side, and elevated high 

Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. 

Long time elapsed or ere our rugged sires 

Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in, 

And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 

'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex : 

Ingenious fancy, never better pleased 

Than when employ'd to accommodate the fair, 

Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised 

The soft settee ; one elbow at each end, 

And in the midst an elbow, it received 

United yet divided, twain at once. 

So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ; 

And so two citizens who take the air 

Close pack'd and smiling in a chaise and one. 

But relaxation of the languid frame 

By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs, 

Was bliss reserved for happier days ; — so slow 

The growth of what is excellent, so hard 

To attain perfection in this nether world. 

Thus first necessity invented stools, 

Convenience next suggested elbow chairs, 

And luxury the accomplished Sofa last. 

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick 
Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he 
Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour 
To sleep within the carriage more secure, 
His legs depending at the open door. 
Sweet sleep enjoys the Curate in his desk, 
The tedious Rector drawling o'er his head, 
And sweet the Clerk below : but neither sleep 
Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead, 
Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour 
To slumber in the carriage more secure, 
Nor sleep enjoy 'd by Curate in his desk, 
Nor yet the dozings of the Clerk are sweet, 
Compared with the repose the Sofa yields. 

Oh may I live exempted (while I live 
Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene) 
From pangs arthritic that infest the toe 
Of libertine excess. The Sofa suits 
The gouty limb, 'tis true ; but gouty limb, 
Though on a Sofa, may I never feel : 
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes 
Of grassy swarth close cropt by nibbling sheep, 
And skirted thick with intertexture firm 
Of thorny boughs ; have loved the rural walk 
O'er hills, through valleys, and by river's brink, 
E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds 
To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames. 
And still remember, nor without regret 
Of hours that sorrow since has much endear'd, 
How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, 
Still hungering pennyless and far from home, 
I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, 
Or blushing crabs, or berries that emboss 
The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. 
Hard fare ! but such as boyish appetite 
Disdains not, nor the palate, undepraved 
By culinary arts, unsavoury deems. 
No Sofa then awaited my return, 
Nor Sofa then I needed. Youth repairs 
His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil 
Incurring short fatigue ; and though our years 


As life declines, speed rapidly away, 
And not a year but pilfers as he goes 
Some youthful grace that age would gladly keep, j 
A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees 
Their length and colour from the locks they spare ; 
The elastic spring of an unwearied foot 
That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence, ' 
That play of lungs inhaling and again 
Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes 
Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me, 
Mine have not pilfer' d yet ; nor yet impair'd 
My relish of fair prospect ; scenes that soothed 
Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find 
Still soothing and of power to charm me still. 
And witness, dear companion of my walks, 
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive 
Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love 
Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth 
And well-tried virtues could alone inspire, — 
Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. 
Thou know'st my praise of nature most sincere, 
And that my raptures are not conjured up 
To serve occasions of poetic pomp, 
But genuine, and art partner of them all. 
How oft upon yon eminence our pace 
Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne 
The ruffling wind scarce conscious that it blew, 
While admiration feeding at the eye, 
And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene. 
Thence with what pleasure have we just discern'd 
The distant plough slow-moving, and beside 
His labouring team, that swerved not from the 
The sturdy swain diminish' d to a boy ! [track, 
Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain, 
Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er, 
Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 
Delighted. There, fast rooted in his bank 
Stand, never overlook'd, our favourite elms 
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; 
While far beyond and overthwart the stream, 
That as with molten glass inlays the vale, 
The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; 
Displaying on its varied side the grace 
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, 
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 
Just undulates upon the listening ear ; 
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote. 
Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd 
Please daily, and whose novelty survives 
Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years : 
Praise justly due to those that I describe. 
Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds 
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds 
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
The dash of ocean on his winding shore, 
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, 
And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. 
Nor less composure waits upon the roar 
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip 
Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall 
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
In matted grass, that with a livelier green 
Betrays the secret of their silent course. 
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, 
But animated nature sweeter still, 
To soothe and satisfy the human ear. 


58 


THE TASK. 


Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 

The livelong night : nor these alone whose notes 

Nice-finger'd art must emulate in vain, 

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 

In still repeated circles, screaming loud, 

The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl 

That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 

Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, 

Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, 

And only there, please highly for their sake. 

Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought 
Devised the weather-house, that useful toy ! 
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains 
Forth steps the man, an emblem of myself; 
More delicate his timorous mate retires. 
When whiter soaks the fields, and female feet 
Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, 
Or ford the rivulets, are best at home, 
The task of new discoveries falls on me. 
At such a season and with such a charge 
Once went I forth, and found, till then unknown, 
A cottage, whither oft we since repair : 
'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but close 
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms 
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen, 
Peeps at the vale below ; so thick beset 
With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
I call'd the low-roof 'd lodge the peasants nest. 
And hidden as it is, and far remote 
From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear 
In village or in town, the bay of curs 
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, 
And infants clamorous whether pleased or pain'd, 
Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine. 
Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge 
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
Vain thought ! the dweller in that still retreat 
Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 
Its elevated site forbids the wretch 
To drink sweet waters of the crystal well ; 
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch, 
And heavy-laden brings his beverage home, 
Far-fetch'd and little worth ; nor seldom waits, 
Dependent on the baker's punctual call, 
To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 
Angry and sad and his last crust consumed. 
So farewell envy of the peasant's nest. 
If solitude make scant the means of life, 
Society for me ! Thou seeming sweet, 
Be still a pleasing object in my view, 
My visit still, but never mine abode. 

Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
Invites us : monument of ancient taste, 
Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. 
Our fathers knew the value of a screen 
From sultry suns, and in their shaded walks 
And long-protracted bowers, enjoyed at noon 
The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
We bear our shades about us ; self-deprived 
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, 
And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
Thanks to Benevolus l ; he spares me yet 
These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines, 
And though himself so polish'd, still reprieves 
The obsolete prolixity of shade. 

Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge 

1 John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Under- 
wood. 


We pass a gulf in which the willows dip 
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
Hence ancle-deep in moss and flowery thyme 
We mount again, and feel at every step 
Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, 
Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil. 
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, 
Disfigures earth, and plotting in the dark 
Toils much to earn a monumental pile, 
That may record the mischiefs he has done. 

The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove 
That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 
The grand retreat from injuries impress'd 
By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
The panels, leaving an obscure rude name 
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
So strong the zeal to immortalize himself 
Beats in the breast of man, that even a few 
Few transient years won from the abyss abhorr'd 
Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, 
And even to a clown. Now roves the eye, 
And posted on this speculative height 
Exults in its command. The sheep-fold here 
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. 
At first, progressive as a stream, they seek 
The middle field ; but scatter'd by degrees 
Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. 
There, from the sun-burnt hay-field homeward 

creeps 
The loaded wain, while lighten'd of its charge 
The wain that meets it passes swiftly by, 
The boorish driver leaning o'er his team 
Vociferous, and impatient of delay. 
Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 
Diversified with trees of every growth 
Alike yet various. Here the grey smooth trunks 
Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine, 
Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 
There lost behind a rising ground, the wood 
Seems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs. 
No tree in all the grove but has its charms, 
Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some, 
And of a wannish grey ; the willow such 
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 
And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm ; 
Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still, 
Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak. 
Some glossy-leaved and shining in the sun, 
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts 
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 
Diffusing odours : nor unnoted pass 
The sycamore, capricious in attire, 
Now green, now tawny, and ere autumn yet 
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. 
O'er these, but far beyond, (a spacious map 
Of hill and valley interposed between) 
The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land, 
Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, 
As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 
■"" Hence the declivity is sharp and short, 
And such the re-ascent ; between them weeps 
A little Naiad her impoverish'd urn 
All summer long, which winter fills again. 
The folded gates would bar my progress now, 
But that the lord 2 of this enclosed demesne, 
Communicative of the good he owns, 
Admits me to a share : the guiltless eye 
Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. 
Refreshing change ! where now the blazing sun ? 

2 See the foregoing note. 


THE TASK. 


59 


By short transition we have lost his glare, 
And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. 
Ye fallen avenues ! once more I mourn 
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
That yet a remnant of your race survives. 
How airy and how light the graceful arch, 
Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
Re-echoing pious anthems ! while heneath 
The chequer'd earth seems restless as a flood 
Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light 
Shot through the houghs, it dances as they dance, 
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, 
And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves 
Play wanton, every moment, every spot, [cheer'd 

And now with nerves new-braced and spirits 
We tread the wilderness, whose well-roll'd walks 
With curvature of slow and easy sweep, — 
Deception innocent, — give ample space 
To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; 
Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 
We may discern the thresher at his task. 
Thump after thump, resounds the constant flail, 
That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff, 
The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 
Of atoms sparkling in the noon-day beam. 
Come hither, ye that press your beds of down 
And sleep not, — see him sweating o'er his bread 
Before he eats it. — 'Tis the primal curse, 
But soften'd into mercy ; made the pledge 
Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. 

By ceaseless action, all that is subsists. 
Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel 
That nature rides upon, maintains her health, 
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 
An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves. 
Its own revolvency upholds the world. 
Winds from all quarters agitate the air, 
And fit the limpid element for use, 
Else noxious : oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams 
All feel the refreshing impulse, and are cleansed 
By restless undulation. Even the oak 
Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm ; 
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel 
The impression of the blast with proud disdain, 
Frowning as if in his unconscious arm 
He held the thunder. But the monarch owes 
His firm stability to what he scorns, 
More fixt below, the more disturb'd above. 
The law by which all creatures else are bound, 
Binds man the lord of all. Himself derives 
No mean advantage from a kindred cause, 
From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. 
The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
When custom bids, but no refreshment find, 
For none they need : the languid eye, the cheek 
Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, 
And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul, 
Reproach their owner with that love of rest 
To which he forfeits even the rest he loves. 
Not such the alert and active. Measure life 
By its true worth, the comforts it affords, 
And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. 
Good health, and its associate in the most, 
Good temper ; spirits prompt to undertake, 
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; 
The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs; 
Even age itself seems privileged in them 
With clear exemption from its own defects. 
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 


The veteran shows, and gracing a grey beard 
With youthful smiles, descends towards the grave 
Sprightly, and old almost without decay. 

Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted most, 
Farthest retires, — an idol, at whose shrine 
Who oftenest sacrifice are favour'd least. 
The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, 
Is nature's dictate. Strange ! there should be 

found 
Who self-imprison'd in their proud saloons, 
Renounce the odours of the open field 
For the unscented fictions of the loom ; 
Who satisfied with only pencil'd scenes, 
Prefer to the performance of a God, 
The inferior wonders of an artist's hand. 
Lovely indeed the mimic works of art, 
But nature's works far lovelier. I admire — 
None more admires — the painter's magic skill, 
Who shows me that which I shall never see, 
Conveys a distant country into mine, 
And throws Italian light on English walls : 
But imitative strokes can do no more 
Than please the eye, sweet nature every sense. 
The air salubrious of her lofty hills, 
The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales 
And music of her woods, — no works of man 
May rival these ; these all bespeak a power 
Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast ; 
'Tis free to all, — 'tis every day renew'd, 
Who scorns it, starves deservedly at home. 
He does not scorn it, who imprison'd long 
In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
To sallow sickness, which the vapours dank 
And clammy of his dark abode have bred, 
Escapes at last to liberty and light. 
His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue, 
His eye relumines its extinguish'd fires, 
He walks, he leaps, he runs, — is wing'd with joy, 
And riots in the sweets of every breeze. 
He does not scorn it, who has long endured 
A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. 
Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed 
With acrid salts ; his very heart athirst 
To gaze at nature in her green array. 
Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd 
With visions prompted by intense desire ; 
Fair fields appear below, such as he left 
Far distant, such as he would die to find, — 
He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. 

The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns : 
The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, 
And sullen sadness that o'ershade, distort, 
And mar the face of beauty, when no cause 
For such immeasurable woe appears, 
These Flora banishes, and gives the fair 
Sweet smiles and bloom less transient than her 
It is the constant revolution stale [own. 

And tasteless, of the same repeated joys, 
That palls and satiates, and makes languid life 
A pedler's pack, that bows the bearer down. 
Health suffers, and the spmts ebb ; the heart 
Recoils from its own choice, — at the full feast 
Is famish'd, — finds no music in the song, 
No smartness in the jest, and wonders why. 
Yet thousands still desire to journey on, 
Though halt and weary of the path they tread. 
The paralytic who can hold her cards 
But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand 
To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort 


tiO 


THE TASK. 


Her mingled suits and sequences, and sits 
Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 
And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 
Others are dragg'd into the crowded room 
Between supporters ; and once seated, sit 
Through downright inability to rise, 
Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. 
These speak a loud memento. Yet even these 
Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he 
That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. 
They love it, and yet loathe it ; fear to die, 
Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. 
Then wherefore not renounce them ? No — the 
The slavish dread of solitude that breeds [dread, 
Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame, 
And their inveterate habits, all forbid. 

Whom call we gay ? That honour has been long 
The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
The innocent are gay ; — the lark is gay 
That dries his feathers saturate with dew 
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 
Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest. 
The peasant too, a witness of his song, 
Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
But save me from the gaiety of those 
Whose head-aches nail them to a noonday bed ; 
And save me too from theirs whose haggard eyes 
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs 
For property stripp'd off by cruel chance ; 
From gaiety that fills the bones with pain, 
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe. 

The earth was made so various, that the mind 
Of desultory man, studious of change, 
And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. 
Prospects however lovely may be seen 
Till half their beauties fade ; the weary sight, 
Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off 
Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. 
Then snug inclosures in the shelter'd vale, 
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye, 
Delight us, happy to renounce awhile, 
Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, 
That such short absence may endear it more. 
Then forests, or the savage rock may please, 
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts 
Above the reach of man : his hoary head 
Conspicuous many a league, the mariner 
Bound homeward, and in hope already there, 
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist 
A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows, 
And at his feet the baffled billows die. 
The common overgrown with fern, and rough 
With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deform 
And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom 
And decks itself with ornaments of gold, 
Yields no unpleasing ramble : there the turf 
Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs 
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense 
With luxury of unexpected sweets. 

There often wanders one, whom better days 
Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 
With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. 
A serving-maid was she, and fell in love 
With one who left her, went to sea and died. 
Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves 
To distant shores, and she would sit and weep 
At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too, 
Delusive most where warmest wishes are, 
Would oft anticipate his glad return, 
And dream of transports she was not to know. 


She heard the doleful tidings of his death, 
And never smiled again. And now she roams 
The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day, 
And there, unless when charity forbids, 
The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, 
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides a gown 
More tatter'd still ; and both but ill conceal 
A bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs. 
She begs an idle pin of all she meets, 
And hoards them in her sleeve ; but needful food, 
Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier 

clothes, 
Though pinch'd with cold, asks never. — Kate is 
I see a column of slow-rising smoke [crazed. 
O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. 
A vagabond and useless tribe there eat 
Their miserable meal. A kettle slung 
Between two poles upon a stick transverse, 
Receives the morsel ; flesh obscene of dog, 
Or vermm, or at best, of cock purloin'd 
From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race ! 
They pick their fuel out of every hedge, 
Which kindled with dry leaves, just saves un- 

quench'd 
The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide 
Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin, 
The vellum of the pedigree they claim. 
Great skill have they in palmistry, and more 
To conjure clean away the gold they touch, 
Conveying worthless dross into its place. 
Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. 
Strange ! that a creature rational, and cast 
In human mould, should brutalize by choice 
His nature, and though capable of arts 
By which the world might profit and himself, 
Self-banish'd from society, prefer 
Such squalid sloth to honourable toil. 
Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft 
They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb 
And vex their flesh with artificial sores, 
Can change their whine into a mirthful note 
When safe occasion offers, and with dance 
And music of the bladder and the bag 
Beguile their woes and make the woods resound. 
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy 
The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; 
And breathing wholesome air, and wandering much, 
Need other physic none to heal the effects 
Of loathsome diet, penury and cold. 

Blest he, though undistinguished from the crowd, 
By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure 
Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside 
His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, 
The manners and the arts of civil life. 
His wants, indeed, are many ; but supply 
Is obvious ; placed within the easy reach 
Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. 
Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil ; 
Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, 
And terrible to sight, as when she springs, 
(If e'er she spring spontaneous) in remote 
And barbarous climes, where violence prevails, 
And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind, 
By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd, 
And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. 
War and the chase engross the savage whole : 
War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant 
The envied tenants of some happier spot, 
The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! 
His hard condition with severe constraint 


THE TASK. 


61 


Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 

Of wisdom, proves a school in which he learns 

Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, 

Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. 

Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, 

And thus the rangers of the western world 

Where it advances far into the deep, 

Towards the Antarctic. Even the favour'd isles 

So lately found, although the constant sun 

Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, 

Can boast but little virtue ; and inert 

Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain 

In manners, victims of luxurious ease. 

These therefore I can pity, placed remote 

From all that science traces, art invents, 

Or inspiration teaches ; and enclosed 

In boundless oceans never to be pass'd 

By navigators, uninform'd as they, 

Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again. 

But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, 

Thee, gentle savage l ! whom no love of thee 

Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, 

Or else vain-glory, prompted us to draw 

Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here 

With what superior skill we can abuse 

The gifts of Providence, and squander life. 

The dream is past. And thou hast found again 

Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, 

And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast 

thou found 
Their former charms ? And having seen our state, 
Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp 
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, 
And heard our music ; are thy simple friends, 
Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights 
As dear to thee as once % And have thy joys 
Lost nothing by comparison with ours ? 
Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude 
And ignorant, except of outward show) 
I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart 
And spiritless, as never to regret 
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. 
Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, 
And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot 
If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. 
I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 
A patriot's for his country. Thou art sad 
At thought of her forlorn and abject state, 
From which no power of thine can raise her up. 
Thus fancy paints thee, and though apt to err, 
Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. 
She tells me too, that duly every morn 
Thou climb'st the mountain top, with eager eye 
Exploring far and wide the watery waste 
For sight of ship from England. Every speck 
Seen in the dim horizon, turns thee pale 
With conflict of contending hopes and fears ; 
But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, 
And sends thee to thy cabin, well-prepared 
To dream all night of what the day denied. 
Alas ! expect it not. We found no bait 
To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, 
Disinterested good, is not our trade. 
We travel far 'tis true, but not for nought ; 
And must be bribed to compass earth again 
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. 

But though true worth and virtue, in the mild 
And genial soil of cultivated life 
Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 
1 Omai. 


Yet not in cities oft, — in proud and gay 

And gain-devoted cities ; thither flow, 

As to a common and most noisome sewer, 

The dregs and fseculence of every land. 

In cities foul example on most minds 

Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds 

In gross and pamper'd cities sloth and lust, 

And wantonness and gluttonous excess. 

In cities, vice is hidden with most ease, 

Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue taught 

By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there 

Beyond the achievement of successful flight. 

I do confess them nurseries of the arts, 

In which they flourish most ; where in the beams 

Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 

Of public note they reach their perfect size. 

Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd 

The fairest capital of all the world, 

By riot and incontinence the worst. 

There touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 

A lucid mirror, in which nature sees 

All her reflected features. Bacon there 

Gives more than female beauty to a stone, 

And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. 

Nor does the chisel occupy alone 

The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; 

Each province of her art her equal care. 

With nice incision of her guided steel 

She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 

So sterile with what charms soe'er she will, 

The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. 

Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye 

With which she gazes at yon burning disk 

Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots ? 

In London. Where her implements exact 

With which she calculates, computes and scans 

All distance, motion, magnitude, and now 

Measures an atom, and now girds a world ? 

In London. Where has commerce such a mart, 

So rich, so throng'd, so drain 'd, and so supplied 

As London, opulent, enlarged, and still 

Increasing London ? Babylon of old 

Not more the glory of the earth, than she 

A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. 

She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two 
That so much beauty would do well to purge ; 
And show this Queen of Cities, that so fair 
May yet be foul, so witty, yet not wise. 
It is not seemly, nor of good report 
That she is slack in discipline, — more prompt 
To avenge than to prevent the breach of law. 
That she is rigid in denouncing death 
On petty robbers, and indulges life 
And liberty, and oft-times honour too 
To peculators of the public gold. 
That thieves at home must hang ; but he that puts 
Into his overgorged and bloated purse 
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, 
That through profane and infidel contempt 
Of holy writ, she has presumed to annul 
And abrogate, as roundly as she may, 
The total ordinance and will of God ; 
Advancing fashion to the post of truth, 
And centering all authority in modes 
And customs of her own, till sabbath rites 
Have dwindled into unrespected forms, 
And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorced. 

God made the country, and man made the town. 
What wonder then, that health and virtue, gifts 


02 


THE TASK. 


That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
That life holds out to all, should most abound 
And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves ? 
Possess ye therefore, ye who borne about 
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
But such as art contrives, — possess ye still 
Your element ; there only ye can shine, 
There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
Our groves were planted to console at noon 
The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 
The moon-beam sliding softly in between 
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, 
Birds warbling all the music. We can spare 
The splendour of your lamps, they but eclipse 
Our softer satellite. Your songs confound 
Our more harmonious notes. The thrush departs 
Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. 
There is a public mischief in your mirth, 
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours 
Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, 
Has made, which enemies could ne'er have done, 
Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
A mutilated structure, soon to fall. 


BOOK II. 


THE TIME-PIECE. 

ARGUMENT. 

Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former 
hook. Peace among the nations recommended on the 
ground of their common fellowship in sorrow. Prodi- 
gies enumerated. Sicilian earthquakes. Man rendered 
obnoxious to these calamities by sin. God the agent in 
them. The philosophy that stops at secondary causes, re- 
proved. Our own late miscarriages accounted for. Sati- 
rical notice taken of our trips to Fontainbleau. But the 
pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformation. The 
Reverend advertiser of engraved sermons. Petit-maitre 
parson. The good preacher. Picture of a theatrical cleri- 
cal coxcomb. Story-tellers and jesters in the pulpit re- 
proved. Apostrophe to popular applause. Retailers of 
ancient philosophy expostulated with. Sum of the whole 
matter. Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity. 
Their folly and extravagance. The mischiefs of profusion. 
Profusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascribed, as 
to its principal cause, to the want of discipline in the 
Universities. 


On for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

Some boundless contiguity of shade, 

Where rumour of oppression and deceit, 

Of unsuccessful or successful war 

Might never reach me more ! My ear is pain'd, 

My soul is sick with every day's report 

Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. 

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, 

It does not feel for man. The natural bond 

Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax 

That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 

He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 

Not coloured like his own, and having power 

To inforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 

Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 

Lands intersected by a narrow frith 

Abhor each other. Mountains interposed, 

Make enemies of nations who had else 


Like kindred drops been mingled into one,. 
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 
And worse than all, and most to be deplored 
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 
With stripes, that mercy with a bleeding heart 
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 
Then what is man ? And what man seeing this, 
And having human feelings, does not blush 
And hang his head, to think himself a man ? 
I would not have a slave to till my ground, 
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. 
No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
Just estimation prized above all price, 
I had much rather be myself the slave 
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
We have no slaves at home. — Then why abroad ? 
And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave 
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free, 
They touch our country and their shackles fall. 
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 
And let it circulate through every vein 
Of all your empire ! that where Britain's power 
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 

Sure there is need of social intercourse, 
Benevolence and peace and mutual aid 
Between the nations, in a world that seems 
To toll the death-bell of its own decease, 
And by the voice of all its elements 
To preach the general doom. 1 When were the 
Let slip with such a warrant to destroy \ [winds 
When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap 
Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ? 
Fire from beneath, and meteors* from above 
Portentous, unexampled, unexplained, 
Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and the old 
And crazy earth has had her shaking fits 
More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. 
Is it a time to wrangle, when the props 
And pillars of our planet seem to fail, 
And Nature 3 with a dim and sickly eye 
To wait the close of all ? But grant her end 
More distant, and that prophecy demands 
A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet ; 
Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak 
Displeasure in his breast who smites the earth 
Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. 
And 'tis but seemly, that where all deserve 
And stand exposed by common peccancy 
To what no few have felt, there should be peace, 
And brethren in calamity should love. 

Alas for Sicily ! rude fragments now 
Lie scatter'd where the shapely column stood. 
Her palaces are dust. In all her streets 
The voice of singing and the sprightly chord 
Are silent. Revelry and dance and show 
Suffer a syncope and solemn pause, 
While God performs upon the trembling stage 
Of his own works, his dreadful part alone. 
How does the earth receive him ? — with what signs 
Of gratulation and delight, her king % 

1 Alluding to the late calamities at Jamaica. 

2 August 18, 1783. 

:i Alluding to the fog that covered both Europe and Asia 
during the whole summer of 1783. 


THE TASK. 


G3 


Pours she not all her choicest fruits ahroad, 
Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, 
Disclosing paradise where'er he treads ? 
She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb 
Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 
And fiery caverns roars beneath his foot. 
The hills move lightly and the mountains smoke, 
For He has touch' d them. From the extremest 
Of elevation down into the abyss, [point 

His wrath is busy and his frown is felt. 
The rocks fall headlong and the valleys rise ; 
The rivers die into offensive pools, 
And charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross 
And mortal nuisance into all the air. 
What solid was, by transformation strange 
Grows fluid ; and the fixt and rooted earth 
Tormented into billows heaves and swells, 
Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl 
Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense 
The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs 
And agonies of human and of brute 
Multitudes, fugitive on every side, 
And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene 
Migrates uplifted, and with all its soil 
Alighting in far distant fields, finds out 
A new possessor, and survives the change. 
Ocean has caught the frenzy, and upwrought 
To an enormous and o'erbearing height, 
Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice 
Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore 
Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, 
Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, 
Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng 
That press'd the beach, and hasty to depart 
Look'd to the sea for safety % They are gone, 
Gone with the refluent wave into the deep, 
A prince with half his people. Ancient towers, 
And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes 
Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume 
Life in the unproductive shades of death, 
Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth, 
And happy in their unforeseen release 
From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy 
The terrors of the day that sets them free. 
Who then that has thee, would not hold thee fast, 
Freedom ! whom they that lose thee, so regret, 
That even a judgment making way for thee, 
Seems, in their eyes, a mercy for thy sake. 

Such evil sin hath wrought ; and such a flame 
Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to earth, 
And in the furious inquest that it makes 
On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. 
The very elements, though each be meant 
The minister of man, to serve his wants, 
Conspire against him. With his breath, he draws 
A plague into his blood, and cannot use 
Life's necessary means, but he must die. 
Storms rise to o'erwhelm him : or if stormy winds 
Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, 
And needing none assistance of the storm, 
Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 
The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, 
Or make his house his grave : nor so content, 
Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, 
And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. 
What then, — were they the wicked above all, 
And we the righteous, whose fast anchor'd isle 
Moved not, while theirs was rock'd like a light skiff, 
The sport of every wave ? No : none are clear, 
And none than we more guilty. But where all 


Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 
Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark, 
May punish, if he please, the less, to warn 
The more malignant. If he spared not them, 
Tremble and be amazed at thine escape, 
Far guiltier England ; lest he spare not thee. 

Happy the man who sees a God employ'd 
In all the good and ill that chequer life ! 
Resolving all events, with their effects 
And manifold results, into the will 
And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 
Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
The least of our concerns, (since from the least 
The greatest oft originate) could chance 
Find place in his dominion, or dispose 
One lawless particle to thwart his plan, 
Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen 
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb 
The smooth and equal course of his affairs. 
This truth, philosophy, though eagle-eyed 
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks, 
And having found his instrument, forgets 
Or disregards, or more presumptuous still, 
Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims 
His hot displeasure against foolish men 
That live an atheist life ; involves the heaven 
In tempests, quits his grasp upon the winds 
And gives them all their fury ; bids a plague 
Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin, 
And putrify the breath of blooming health. 
He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 
Blows mildew from between his shrivel'd lips, 
And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, 
And desolates a nation at a blast. 
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells 
Of homogeneal and discordant springs 
And principles ; of causes, how they work 
By necessary laws their sure effects ; 
Of action and re-action. He has found 
The source of the disease that nature feels, 
And bids the world take heart and banish fear. 
Thou fool ! will thy discovery of the cause 
Suspend the effect or heal it ? Has not God 
Still wrought by means since first he made the 
And did he not of old employ his means [world, 
To drown it ? What is his creation less 
Than a capacious reservoir of means 
Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ? 
Go, dress thine eyes with eye- salve, ask of him 
Or ask of whomsoever he has taught, 
And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still, 
My country ! and while yet a nook is left 
Where English minds and manners may be found, 
Shall be constraint to love thee. Though thy 
Be fickle, and thy year, most part, deform'd [clime 
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, 
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies 
And fields without a flower, for warmer France 
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves 
Of golden fruitage and her myrtle bowers. _ 
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task ; 
But I can feel thy fortunes and partake 
Thy joys and sorrows with as true a heart 
As any thunderer there. And I can feel 
Thy follies too, and with a just disdain 
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 
Reflect dishonour on the land I love. 


64 


THE TASK. 


How, m the name of soldiership and sense, 

Should England prosper, when such things, as 

And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er [smooth 

With odours, and as profligate as sweet, 

Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, 

And love when they should fight : when such as 

Presume to lay their hand upon the ark [these 

Of her magnificent and awful cause ? 

Time was when it was praise and boast enough 

In every clime, and travel where we might, 

That we were born her children ; praise enough 

To fill the ambition of a private man, 

That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, 

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 

Farewell those honours, and farewell with them 

The hope of such hereafter. They have fallen 

Each in his field of glory : one in arms, 

And one in council. Wolfe upon the lap 

Of smiling victory that moment won, 

And Chatham, heart-sick of his country's shame. 

They made us many soldiers. Chatham still 

Consulting England's happiness at home, 

Secured it by an unforgiving frown 

If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, 

Put so much of his heart into his act, 

That his example had a magnet's force, 

And all were swift to follow whom all loved. 

Those suns are set. Oh rise some other such ! 

Or all that we have left is empty talk 

Of old achievements and despair of new. 

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 
Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, 
That no rude savour maritime invade 
The nose of nice nobility. Breathe soft 
Ye clarionets, and softer still ye flutes, 
That winds and waters lull'd by magic sounds 
May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore. 
True, we have lost an empire, — let it pass. 
True, we may thank the perfidy of France 
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown 
With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
And let that pass, — 'twas but a trick of state. 
A brave man knows no malice, but at once 
Forgets in peace the injuries of war, 
And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. 
And shamed as we have been, to the very beard 
Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved 
Too weak for those decisive blows, that once 
Insured us mastery there, we yet retain 
Some small pre-eminence ; we justly boast 
At least superior jockeyship, and claim 
The honours of the turf as all our own. 
Go then, well woi-thy of the praise ye seek, 
And show the shame you might conceal at home, 
In foreign eyes ! — be grooms, and win the plate, 
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown ! — 
'Tis generous to communicate your skill 
To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd ; 
And under such preceptors who can fail? 

There is a pleasure in poetic pains 
Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, 
The expedients and inventions multiform 
To which the mind resorts, in cliase of terms 
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win, — 
To arrest the fleeting images that fill 
The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, 
And force them sit, till he has pencil'd off 
A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; 
Then to dispose his copies with such art 


That each may find its most propitious light, 

And shine by situation, hardly less 

Than by the labour and the skill it cost, 

Are occupations of the poet's mind 

So pleasing, and that steal away the thought 

With such address, from themes of sad import, 

That lost in his own musings, happy man ! 

He feels the anxieties of life, denied 

Their wonted entertainment, all retire. 

Such joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such, 

Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 

Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 

Aware of nothing arduous in the task 

They never undertook, they little note 

His dangers or escapes, and haply find 

There least amusement where he found the most. 

But is amusement all ? studious of song, 

And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 

I would not trifle merely, though the world 

Be loudest in their praise who do no more. 

Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay ? 

It may correct a foible, may chastise 

The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, 

Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch ; 

But where are its sublimer trophies found % 

What vice has it subdued ? whose heart reclaim'd 

By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform ? 

Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed : 

Laugh'd at, he laughs again ; and stricken hard, 

Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales, 

That fear no discipline of human hands. 

The pulpit therefore, (and I name it, fill'd 
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 
With what intent I. touch that holy thing ;) 
The pulpit, (when the satirist has at last, 
Strutting and vapouring in an empty school, 
Spent all his force, and made no proselyte ;) 
I say the pulpit (in the sober use 
Of its legitimate peculiar powers) 
Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall 
The most important and effectual guard, [stand, 
Support, and ornament of virtue's cause. 
There stands the messenger of truth ! there stands 
The legate of the skies ! his theme divine, 
His office sacred, his credentials clear. 
By him, the violated law speaks out 
Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet 
As angels use, the gospel whispers peace. 
He stablishes the strong, restores the weak, 
Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart, 
And arm'd himself in panoply complete 
Of heavenly temper ; furnishes with arms 
Bright as his own, and trains by every rule 
Of holy discipline, to glorious war, 
The sacramental host of God's elect. 
Are all such teachers ? would to heaven all were ! 
But hark, — the Doctor's voice ! — fast wedged be- 
tween 
Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks 
Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 
Than all invective is his bold harangue, 
While through that public organ of report 
He hails the clergy ; and defying shame, 
Announces to the world his own and theirs. 
He teaches those to read, whom schools dismiss'd, 
And colleges, untaught ; sells accent, tone, 
And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer 
The adagio and andante it demands. 
He grinds divinity of other days 
Down into modern use ; transforms old print 


THE TASK. 


65 


To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 
Of gallery critics by a thousand arts. — 
Are there who purchase of the Doctor's ware ? 
Oh name it not in Gath ! — it cannot be, 
That grave and learned Clerks should need such 
He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, [aid. 
Assuming thus a rank unknown before, 
Grand caterer and dry nurse of the church. 
f I venerate the man, whose heart is warm, 
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose 
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof [life 

That he is honest in the sacred cause. 
To such I render more than mere respect, 
Whose actions say that they respect themselves. 
But loose in morals, and in mannei's vain, 
In conversation frivolous, in dress 
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse, 
Frequent in park, with lady at his side, 
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes, 
But rare at home, and never at his books, 
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card ; 
Constant at routs, familiar with a round 
Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor ; 
Ambitious of preferment for its gold, 
And well prepared by ignorance and sloth, 
By infidelity and love o' th' world, 
To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave 
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ; — 
From such apostles, O ye mitred heads, 
Preserve the church ! and lay not careless hands 
On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. 

Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 
Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
His master-strokes, and draw from his design. 
I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 
In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 
And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste, 
And natural in gesture ; much impress'd 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
May feel it too ; affectionate in look, 
And tender in address, as well becomes 
A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
Behold the picture ! — Is it like % — Like whom ? 
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, 
And then skip down again ; pronounce a text, 
Cry, hem ! and reading what they never wrote. 
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, 
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene. 

In man or woman, but far most in man, 
And most of all in man that ministers 
And serves the altar, in my soul I loath 
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn ; 
Object of my implacable disgust. 
What ! — will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
A silly fond conceit of his fair form 
And just proportion, fashionable mien 
And pretty face, in presence of his God ? 
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes 
When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
His noble office, and instead of truth 
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. 
Therefore avaunt ! all attitude and stare 
And start theatric, practised at the glass. 
I seek divine simplicity in him 
Who handles things divine : and all beside, 


Though learn'd with labour, and though much 

admired » 

By curious eyes and judgments ill-inform' d, 
To me is odious as the nasal twang 
Heard at conventicle 1 , where worthy men 
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
Through the prest nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 
Some, decent in demeanour while they preach, 
That task perform'd, relapse into themselves, 
And having spoken wisely, at the close 
Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye, 
Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not. 
Forth comes the pocket mirror. First we stroke 
An eyebrow ; next, compose a straggling lock ; 
Then with an air, most gracefully perform'd, 
Fall back into our seat ; extend an arm 
And lay it at its ease with gentle care, 
With handkerchief in hand, depending low. 
The better hand more busy, gives the nose 
Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye 
With opera-glass to watch the moving scene, 
And recognise the slow-retiring fair. 
Now this is fulsome, and offends me more 
Than in a churchman slovenly neglect 
And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 
May be indifferent to her house of clay, 
And slight the hovel, as beneath her care ; 
But how a body so fantastic, trim, 
And quaint in its deportment and attire, 
Can lodge a heavenly mind, — demands a doubt. 

He that negotiates between God and man, 
As God's ambassador, the grand concerns 
Of judgment and of mercy, should beware 
Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful 
To court a grin, when you should woo a soul ; 
To break a jest, when pity would inspire 
Pathetic exhortation ; and to address 
The skittish fancy with facetious tales, 
When sent with God's commission to the heart. 
So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 
Or merry turn in all he ever wrote, 
And I consent you take it for a text, 
Your only one, till sides and benches fail. 
No : he was serious in a serious cause, 
And understood too well the weighty terms 
That he had ta'en in charge. He would not stoop 
To conquer those by jocular exploits, 
Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 

Oh, popular applause ! what heart of man 
Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms ? 
The wisest and the best feel urgent need 
Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales ; 
But swell'd into a gust, — who then, alas ! 
With all his canvass set, and inexpert 
And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power? 
Praise from the rivel'd lips of toothless, bald 
Decrepitude ; and in the looks of lean 
And craving poverty ; and in the bow 
Respectful of the smutch'd artificer 
Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb 
The bias of the purpose. How much more 
Pour'd forth by beauty splendid and polite, 
In language soft as adoration breathes ? 
Ah spare your idol ! think him human still : 
Charms he may have, but he has frailties too ; 
Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire. 

All truth is from the sempiternal source 
Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome 

1 In the first edition. 

At conventicle heard, where worthy men. 


66 


THE TASK. 


'a 


Drew from the stream below. More favour'd we 

Drink, when we chuse it, at the fountain head. 

To them it flow'd much mingled and defiled 

With hurtful error, prejudice and dreams 

Illusive of philosophy so call'd, 

But falsely. Sages after sages strove 

In vain, to filter off a crystal draught 

Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced 

The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred 

Intoxication and delirium wild. 

In vain they push'd enquiry to the birth 

And spring-time of the world, asked, whence is 

man ? 
Why form'd at all ? And wherefore as he is ? 
Where must he find his Maker ? With what rites 
Adore him % Will He hear, accept, and bless ? 
Or does He sit regardless of his works % 
Has man within him an immortal seed % 
Or does the tomb take all % If he survive 
His ashes, where % and in what weal or woe % 
Knots worthy of solution, which alone 
A Deity could solve. Their answers vague 
And all at random, fabulous and dark, 
Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life 
Defective and unsanction'd, proved too weak 
To bind the roving appetite, and lead 
Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 
'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts, 
Explains all mysteries except her own, 
And so illuminates the path of life 
That fools discover it, and stray no more. 
Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, 
My man of morals, nurtured in the shades 
Of Academus, is this false or true ? 
Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools 1 
If Christ, then why resort at every turn 
To Athens or to Rome for wisdom short 
Of man's occasions, when in Him reside 
Grace, knowledge, comfort, an unfathom'd store ? 
How oft when Paul has served us with a text, 
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully preach'd ! 
Men that, if now alive, would sit content 
And humble learners of a Saviour's worth, 
Preach it who might. Such was their love of 

truth, 
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too. 
And thus it is. The pastor, either vain 
By nature, or by flattery made so, taught 
To gaze at his own splendour, and to exalt 
Absurdly, not his office, but himself ; 
Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn, 
Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach, 
Perverting often by the stress of lewd 
And loose example, whom he should instruct, 
Exposes and holds up to broad disgrace 
The noblest function, and discredits much 
The brightest truths that man has ever seen. 
For ghostly counsel, if it either fall 
Below the exigence, or be not back'd 
With show of love, at least with hopeful proof 
Of some sincerity on the giver's part ; 
Or be dishonour'd in the exterior form 
And mode of its conveyance, by such tricks 
As move derision, or by foppish airs 
And histrionic mummery, that let down 
The pulpit to the level of the stage, 
Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. 
The weak perhaps are moved, but are not taught, 
While prejudice in men of stronger minds 
Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they see. 


relaxation of religion's hold 
Upon the roving and untutor'd heart 
Soon follows, and the curb of conscience snapt, 
The laity run wild. — But do they now ? 
Note their extravagance, and be convinced. 

As nations ignorant of God, contrive 
A wooden one, so we, no longer taught 
By monitors that mother church supplies, 
Now make our own. Posterity will ask 
(If e'er posterity see verse of mine) 
Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence, 
What was a monitor in George's days ? 
My very gentle reader, yet unborn, 
Of whom I needs must augur better things, 
Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world 
Productive only of a race like us, 
A monitor is wood. Plank shaven thin. 
We wear it at our backs. There closely braced 
And neatly fitted, it compresses hard 
The prominent and most unsightly bones, 
And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use 
Sovereign and most effectual to secure 
A form not now gymnastic as of yore, 
From rickets and distortion, else our lot. 
But thus admonish'd we can walk erect, 
One proof at least of manhood ; while the friend 
Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. 
Our habits costlier than Lucullus wore, 
And by caprice as multiplied as his, 
Just please us while the fashion is at full, 
But change with every moon. The sycophant 
That waits to dress us, arbitrates their date, 
Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye ; 
Finds one ill made, another obsolete, 
This fits not nicely, that is ill conceived, 
And making prize of all that he condemns, 
With our expenditure defrays his own. 
Variety's the very spice of life, 
That gives it all its flavour. We have run 
Through every change that fancy at the loom 
Exhausted, has had genius to supply, 
And studious of mutation still, discard 
A real elegance a little used 
For monstrous novelty and strange disguise. 
We sacrifice to dress, till household joys 
And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, 
And keeps our larder lean ; puts out our fires, 
And introduces hunger, frost, and woe, 
Where peace and hospitality might reign. 
What man that lives and that knows how to live, 
Would fail to exhibit at the public shows 
A form as splendid as the proudest there, 
Though appetite raise outcries at the cost ? 
A man of the town dines late, but soon enough 
With reasonable forecast and dispatch, 
To insure a side-box station at half price. 
You think perhaps, so delicate his dress, 
His daily fare as delicate. Alas ! 
He picks clean teeth, and busy as he seems 
With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet. 
The rout is folly's circle which she draws 
With magic wand. So potent is the spell, 
That none decoy'd into that fatal ring, 
Unless by heaven's peculiar grace, escape. 
There we grow early grey, but never wise ; 
There form connexions, and acquire no friend ; 
Solicit pleasure hopeless of success ; 
Waste youth in occupations only fit 
For second childhood, and devote old age 
To sports which only childhood could excuse. 


THE TASK. 


07 


Ther^they are happiest who dissemble best 

Their weai'iness ; and they the most polite 

Who squander time and treasure with a smile, 

Though at their own destruction. She that asks 

Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, 

And hates their coming. They, what can they less ? 

Make just reprisals, and with cringe, and shrug 

And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. 

All catch the frenzy, downward from her Grace, 

Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies 

And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, 

To her who, frugal only that her thrift 

May feed excesses she can ill afford, 

Is hackney'd home unlackey'd, — who in haste 

Alighting, turns the key in her own door, 

And at the watchman's lantern borrowing light, 

Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. 

Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their 

On Fortune's velvet altar offering up [wives, 

Their last poor pittance ; — Fortune most severe 

Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far 

Than all that held their routs in heathen heaven. — 

So fare we in this prison-house the world : 

And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see 

So many maniacs dancing in their chains. 

They gaze upon the links that hold them fast 

With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, 

Then shake them in despair, and dance again. 

Now basket up the family of plagues 
That waste our vitals. Peculation, sale 
Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds 
By forgery, by subterfuge of law, 
By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen 
As the necessities their authors feel ; 
Then cast them closely bundled, every brat 
At the right door. Profusion is its sire. 
Profusion unrestrain'd, with all that's base 
In character has litter'd all the land, 
And bred within the memory of no few, 
A priesthood such as Baal's was of old, 
A people such as never was till now. 
It is a hungry vice : — it eats up all 
That gives society its beauty, strength, 
Convenience, and security, and use; 
Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd 
And gibbeted as fast as catchpole claws 
Can seize the slippery prey : unties the knot 
Of union, and converts the sacred band 
That holds mankind together, to a scourge. 
Profusion, deluging a state with lusts 
Of grossest nature and of worse effects, 
Prepares it for its ruin ; hardens, blinds, 
And warps the consciences of public men 
Till they can laugh at virtue, mock the fools 
That trust them, and in the end disclose a face 
That would have shock'd credulity herself 
Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse, 
Since all alike are selfish — why not they ? 
This does Profusion, and the accursed cause 
Of such deep mischief, has itself a cause. 

In colleges and halls, in ancient days, 
When learning, virtue, piety and truth 
Were precious, and inculcated with care, 
There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head 
Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er, 
Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, 
But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. 
His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile 
Play'd on his lips, and in his speech was heard 
Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. 


The occupation dearest to his heart 

Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke 

The head of modest and ingenuous worth 

That blush'd at its own praise, and press the 

youth 
Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew 
Beneath his care, a thriving vigorous plant ; 
The mind was well inform'd, the passions held 
Subordinate, and diligence was choice. 
If e'er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must, 
That one among so many overleap'd 
The limits of control, his gentle eye 
Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke ; 
His frown was full of terror, and his voice 
Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe 
As left him not, till penitence had won 
Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. 
But Discipline, a faithful servant long, 
Declined at length into the vale of years ; 
A palsy struck his arm, his sparkling eye 
Was quench'd in rheums of age, his voice unstrung 
Grew tremulous, and moved derision more 
Than reverence, in perverse rebellious youth. 
So colleges and halls neglected much 
Their good old friend, and Discipline at length 
O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell sick and died. 
Then study languish'd, emulation slept, 
And virtue fled. The schools became a scene 
Of solemn farce, where ignorance in stilts, 
His cap well lined with logic not his own, 
With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part, 
Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. 
Then compromise had place, and scrutiny 
Became stone-blind, precedence went in truck, 
And he was competent whose purse was so. 
A dissolution of all bonds ensued, 
The curbs invented for the muleish mouth 
Of headstrong youth were broken ; bars and bolts 
Grew rusty by disuse, and massy gates 
Forgot their office, opening with a touch : 
Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade ; 
The tassel'd cap and the spruce band a jest, 
A mockery of the world. What need of these 
For gamesters, jockeys, brothelers impure, 
Spendthrifts and booted sportsmen, oftener seen 
With belted waist and pointers at their heels, 
Than in the bounds of duty ? What was learn'd, 
If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot, 
And such expense as pinches parents blue, 
And mortifies the liberal hand of love, 
Is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports 
And vicious pleasures ; buys the boy a name, 
That sits a stigma on his father's house, 
And cleaves through life inseparably close 
To him that wears it. What can after-games 
Of riper joys and commerce with the world, 
The lewd vain world that must receive him soon, 
Add to such erudition thus acquired 
Where science and where virtue are profess'd ? 
They may confirm his habits, rivet fast 
His folly, but to spoil him is a task 
That bids defiance to the united powers 
Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 
Now, blame we most the nurslings or the nurse? 
The children crook' d and twisted and deform'd 
Through want of care, or her whose winking eye 
And slumbering oscitancy mars the brood? 
The nurse no doubt. Regardless of her charge, 
She needs herself correction ; needs to learn 
That it is dangerous sporting with the world, 


68 


THE TASK. 


With things so sacred as a nation's trust, 
The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. 
All are not such. I had a brother once, — 
Peace to the memory of a man of worth, 
A man of letters, and of manners too ; 
Of manners sweet as virtue always wears, 
When gay good-nature dresses her in smiles. 
He graced a college ' in which order yet 
Was sacred ; and was honour'd, loved and wept 
By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. 
Some minds are temper' d happily, and mist 
With such ingredients of good sense and taste 
Of what is excellent in man, they thirst 
With such a zeal to be what they approve, 
That no restraints can circumscribe them more, 
Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. 
Nor can example hurt them, what they see 
Of vice in others but enhancing more 
The charms of virtue in their just esteem. 
If such escape contagion, and emerge 
Pure from so foul a pool, to shine abroad, 
And give the world their talents and themselves, 
Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth 
Exposed then* inexperience to the snare, 
And left them to an undirected choice. 

See then ! the quiver broken and decay'd 
In which are kept our arrows. Rusting there 
In wild disorder and unfit for use, 
What wonder if discharged into the world 
They shame their shooters with a random flight, 
Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine. 
Well may the church wage unsuccessful war, 
With such artillery arm'd. Vice parries wide 
The undreaded volley with a sword of straw, 
And stands an impudent and fearless mark. 

Have we not track'd the felon home, and found 
His birthplace and his dam ? The country mourns, 
Mourns, because every plague that can infest 
Society, and that saps and worms the base 
Of the edifice that policy has raised, 
Swarms in all quarters : meets the eye, the ear, 
And suffocates the breath at every turn. 
Profusion breeds them. And the cause itself 
Of that calamitous mischief has been found : 
Found too where most offensive, in the skirts 
Of the robed pedagogue. Else, let the arraign'd 
Stand up unconscious and refute the charge. 
So when the Jewish Leader stretch' d his arm 
And waved his rod divine, a race obscene 
Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth 
Polluting Egypt. Gardens, fields, and plains 
Were cover'd with the pest. The streets were 
The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook, [fill'd; 
Nor palaces nor even chambers 'scaped, 
And the land stank, so numerous was the fry. 


BOOK III. 


THE GARDEN. 

ARGUMENT. 
Self-recollection and reproof. Address to domestic hap- 
piness. Some account of myself. The vanity of many of 
their pursuits who are reputed wise. Justification of my 
censures. Divine illumination necessary to the most 
expert philosopher. The question What is truth ? an- 
swercd by othe r questions. Domestic happiness addressed 

1 Bene't College, Cambridge. 


again. Few lovers of the country. My tame hare. Occu- 
pations of a retired gentleman in his garden. Pruning. 
Framing. Greenhouse. Sowing of flower-seeds. The 
country preferable to the town even in the winter. 
Reasons why it is deserted at that season. Ruinous 
effects of gaming and of expensive improvement. Book 
concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis. 


As one who long hi thickets and in brakes 
Entangled, winds now this way and now that 
His devious course uncertain, seeking home ; 
Or havmg long in miry ways been foil'd 
And sore discomfited, from slough to slough 
Plunging, and half despairing of escape, 
If chance at length he find a green-sward smooth 
And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, 
He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed, 
And winds his way with pleasure and with ease ; 
So I, designing other themes, and call'd 
To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due, 
To tell its slumbers and to paint its dreams, 
Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat 
Of academic fame, (howe'er deserved) 
Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. 
But now with pleasant pace, a cleanlier road 
I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, 
Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil, 
If toil await me, or if dangers new. 
. Since pulpits fail, and sounding-boards reflect 
Most part an empty ineffectual sound, 
What chance that I, to fame so little known, 
Nor conversant with men or manners much, 
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope 
Crack the satiric thong ? 'Twere wiser far 
For me, enamour'd of sequester'd scenes 
And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose 
Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, 
My languid limbs when summer sears the plains, 
Or when rough winter rages, on the soft 
And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air 
Feeds a blue flame and makes a cheerful hearth ; 
There undisturb'd by Folly, and apprised 
How great the danger of disturbing her, 
To muse in silence, or at least confine 
Remarks that gall so many, to the few 
My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd 
Is oft-times proof of wisdom, when the fault 
Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss 
Of Paradise that has survived the fall ! 
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure, 
Or tasting, long enjoy thee, too infirm 
Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets 
Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect 
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup ; 
Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms 
She smiles, appearing, as hi truth she is, 
Heaven-born and destined to the skies again. 
Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored, 
That reeling goddess Avith the zoneless waist 
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm 
Of Novelty, her fickle frail support ; 
For thou art meek and constant, hating change, 
And finding in the calm of truth-tied love 
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. 
Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made 
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown, 
Till prostitution elbows us aside 
In all our crowded streets, and senates seem 
Convened for purposes of empire less 
Than to release the adulteress from her bond. 


THE TASK. 


GO 


The adulteress ! what a theme for angry verse, 

What provocation to the indignant heart 

That feels for injured love ! but I disdain 

The nauseous task to paint her as she is, 

Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame. 

No. Let her pass, and charioted along 

In guilty splendour, shake the public ways ! 

The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white ; 

And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch, 

Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd 

And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. 

Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time 

Not to be pass'd ; and she that had renounced 

Her sex's honour, was renounced herself 

By all that prized it ; not for prudery's sake, 

But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 

'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif 

Desirous to return and not received ; 

But was a wholesome rigour in the main, 

And taught the unblemish'd to preserve with care 

That purity, whose loss was loss of all. 

Men too were nice in honour in those days, 

And judged offenders well. And he that sharp'd, 

And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd, 

Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold 

His country, or was slack when she required 

His every nerve in action and at stretch, 

Paid with the blood that he had basely spared 

The price of his default. But now, yes, now, * 

We are become so candid and so fair, 

So liberal hi construction, and so rich 

In christian charity, a good-natured age 1 

Thakthey are safe, sinners of either sex, 

Transgress what laws they may. Well dress'd, 

Well equipaged, is ticket good enough [well bred, 

To pass us readily through every door. 

Hypocrisy, detest her as we may, 

(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet) 

May claim this merit still, that she admits 

The worth of what she mimics with such care, 

And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; 

But she has burnt her mask not needed here, 

Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts 

And specious semblances have lost their use. 

I was a stricken deer that left the herd 
Long since ; with many an arrow deep infixt 
My panting side was charged when I withdrew 
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
There was I found by one who had himself 
Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore 
And in his hands and feet the cruel scars. 
With gentle force soliciting the darts 
He drew them forth, and heal'd and bade me live. 
Since then, with few associates, in remote 
And silent woods I wander, far from those 
My former partners of the peopled scene, 
With few associates, and not wishing more. 
Here much I ruminate, as much I may, 
With other views of men and manners now 
Than once, and others of a life to come. 
I see that all are wanderers, gone astray, 
Each in his own delusions ; they are lost 
In chase of fancied happiness, still wooed 
And never won. Dream after dream ensues, 
And still they dream that they shall still succeed, 
And still are disappointed ; rings the world 
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, 
And add two-thirds of the remainder half, 
And find the total of their hopes and fears 
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay 


As if created only, like the fly 

That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon, 

To sport their season and be seen no more. 

The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, 

And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. 

Some write a narrative of wars and feats 

Of heroes little known, and call the rant 

A history ; describe the man, of whom 

His own coevals took but little note, 

And paint his person, character and views, 

As they had known him from his mother's womb. 

They disentangle from the puzzled skein 

In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up, 

The threads of politic and shrewd design 

That ran through all his purposes, and charge 

His mind with meanings that he never had, 

Or having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore 

The solid earth, and from the strata there 

Extract a register, by which we learn 

That He who made it and reveal'd its date 

To Moses, was mistaken in its age. 

Some more acute and more industrious still 

Contrive creation ; travel nature up 

To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, 

And tell us whence the stars ; why some are fixt, 

And planetary some ; what gave them first 

Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light. 

Great contest follows, and much learned dust 

Involves the combatants, each claiming truth, 

And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend 

The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp, 

In playing tricks with nature, giving laws 

To distant worlds and trifling in their own. 

Is 't not a pity now that tickling rheums 

Should ever tease the lungs and blear the sight 

Of oracles like these ? Great pity too, 

That having wielded the elements, and built 

A thousand systems, each in his own way, 

They should go out in fume and be forgot ? 

Ah ! what is life thus spent ? and what are they 

But frantic who thus spend it % all for smoke, — 

Eternity for bubbles, proves at last 

A senseless bargain. When I see such games 

Play'd by the creatures of a Power who swears 

That he will judge the earth, and call the fool 

To a sharp reckoning that has lived in vain ; 

And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, 

And prove it in the infallible result 

So hollow and so false, — I feel my heart 

Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd, 

If this be learning, most of all deceived. 

Great crimes alarm the conscience, but she sleeps 

While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. 

Defend me therefore common sense, say I, 

From reveries so airy, from the toil 

Of dropping buckets into empty wells, 

And growing old in drawing nothing up ! 

'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, 
Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nose, 
And overbuilt with most impending brows, 
'Twere well could you permit the world to live 
As the world pleases. What's the world to you ? — 
Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk 
As sweet as charity from human breasts. 
I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, 
And exercise all functions of a man. 
How then should I and any man that lives 
Be strangers to each other ? Pierce my vein, 
Take of the crimson stream meandering there, 
And catechise it well. Apply your glass, 


70 


THE TASK. 


Search it, and prove now if it be not blood 
Congenial with thine own. And if it be, 
What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose 
Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art, 
To cut the link of brotherhood, by which 
One common Maker bound me to the kind 1 
True ; I am no proficient, I confess, 
In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift 
And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, 
And bid them hide themselves in the earth beneath; 
I cannot analyse the air, nor catch 
The parallax of yonder luminous point 
That seems half quench'd in the immense abyss : 
Such powers I boast not ; — neither can I rest 
A silent witness of the headlong rage 
Or heedless folly by which thousands die, 
Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. 
God never meant that man should scale the 
heavens 
By strides of human wisdom. In his works, 
Though wondrous, He commands us in his word 
To seek him rather where his mercy shines. 
j The mind indeed, enlighten'd from above, 
Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause 
The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy 
His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 
But never yet did philosophic tube 
Tbat brings the planets home into the eye 
Of observation, and discovers, else 
Not visible, his family of worlds, 
Discover Him that rules them ; such a veil 
: Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth 
: And dark in things divine. Full often too 
| Our wayward intellect, the more we learn 

Of nature, overlooks her Author more, 
i From instrumental causes proud to draw 
[ Conclusions retrograde and mad mistake. 
But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray 
Through all the heart's dark chambers and reveal 
Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light, 
Then all is plain. Philosophy baptized 
In the pure fountain of eternal love 
Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees 
As meant to indicate a God to man, 
Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 
Learning has borne such fruit in other days 
On all her branches. Piety has found 
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 
Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. 
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage ! 
Sagacious reader of the works of God, 
And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, 
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, 
And fed on manna. And such thine in whom 
Our British Themis gloried with just cause, 
Immortal Hale ! for deep discernment praised 
And sound integrity not more, than famed 
For sanctity of manners undefiled. 

All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
Like the fair flower dishevel'd in the wind ; 
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream; 
The man we celebrate must find a tomb, 
And we that worship him, ignoble graves. 
Nothing is proof against the general curse 
Of vanity, that seizes all below. 
The only amaranthine flower on earth 
Is virtue ; the only lasting treasure, truth. 
But what is truth I 'twas Pilate's question put 
To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply. 
And wherefore ? will not God impart his light 


To them that ask it \ — Freely ; — 'tis his joy, 
His glory, and his nature to impart : 
But to the proud, uncandid, insincere 
Or negligent enquirer, not a spark. 
What's that which brings contempt upon a book 
And him that writes it, though the style be neat, 
The method clear, and argument exact ? 
That makes a minister in holy things 
The joy of many and the dread of more, 
His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? 
That while it gives us worth in God's account, 
Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? 
What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy, 
That learning is too proud to gather up, 
But which the poor and the despised of all 
Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? 
Tell me, and I will tell thee, what is truth. 
Oh friendly to the best pursuits of man, 
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, 
Domestic life in rural leisure pass'd ! 
Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets, 
Though many boast thy favours, and affect 
To understand and chuse thee for their own. 
But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss 
Even as his first progenitor, and quits, 
Though placed in paradise, (for earth has still 
Some traces of her youthful beauty left) 
Substantial happiness for transient joy. 
Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse 
The growing seeds of wisdom, that suggest 
By every pleasing image they present 
Reflections such as meliorate the heart, 
Compose the passions and exalt the mind ; 
Scenes such as these, 'tis his supreme delight 
To fill with riot and defile with blood. 
Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes 
We persecute, annihilate the tribes 
That draw the sportsman over hill and dale 
Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares ; 
Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, 
Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye ; 
Could pageantry and dance and feast and song 
Be quell'd in all our summer-month retreats ; 
How many self-deluded nymphs and swains 
Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, 
Would find them hideous nurseries of the spleen, 
And crowd the roads, impatient for the town ! 
They love the country, and none else, who seek 
For their own sake its silence and its shade ; 
Delights which who would leave, that has a heart 
Susceptible of pity, or a mind 
Cultured and capable of sober thought, 
For all the savage din of the swift pack 
And clamours of the field % detested sport, 
That owes its pleasure to another's pain, 
That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks 
Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued 
With eloquence that agonies inspire 
Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ! 
Vain tears, alas ! and sighs that never find 
A corresponding tone in jovial souls. 
Well,— ■-one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare 
Has never heard the sanguinary yell 
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 
Innocent partner of my peaceful home, 
Whom ten long years' experience of my care 
Has made at last familiar, she has lost 
Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, 
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 
Yes, — thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand 


THE TASK. 


71 


That feeds thee : thou may'st frolic on the floor 

At evening, and at night retire secure 

To thy straw-couch, and slumber unalarm'd. 

For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledged 

All that is human in me, to protect 

Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 

If I survive thee I will dig thy grave, 

And when I place thee in it, sighing say, 

I knew at least one hare that had a friend. 

How various his employments, whom the world 
Calls idle, and who justly in return 
Esteems that busy world an idler too ! 
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, 
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home, 
And nature in her cultivated trim 
Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad : — 
Can he want occupation who has these ? 
Will he be idle who has much to enjoy? 
Me therefore, studious of laborious ease, 
Not slothful ; happy to deceive the time, 
Not waste it ; and aware that human life 
Is but a loan to be repaid with use, 
When He shall call his debtors to account, 
From whom are all our blessings, business finds 
Even here : while sedulous I seek to improve, 
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd 
The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack 
Too oft, and much impeded in its work 
By causes not to be divulged in vain, 
To its just point, the service of mankind. 
He that attends to his interior self, 
That has a heart and keeps it, has a mind 
That hungers and supplies it, and who seeks 
A social, not a dissipated life, 
Has business ; feels himself engaged to achieve 
No unimportant, though a silent task. 
A life all turbulence and noise may seem 
To him that leads it, wise and to be praised ; 
But wisdom is a pearl with most success 
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. 
He that is ever occupied in storms, 
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, 
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 

The morning finds the self-sequester'd man 
Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. 
Whether inclement seasons recommend 
His warm but simple home, where he enjoys 
With her who shares his pleasures and his heart, 
Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph 
Which neatly she prepares ; then to his book 
Well chosen, and not sullenly perused 
In selfish silence, but imparted oft 
As aught occurs that she may smile to hear, 
Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 
Or if the garden with its many cares, 
All well repaid, demand him, he attends 
The welcome call, conscious how much the hand 
Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye, 
Oft loitering lazily if not o'erseen, 
Or misapplying his unskilful strength. 
Nor does he govern only or direct, 
But much performs himself ; no works indeed 
That ask robust tough sinews bred to toil, 
Servile employ, — but such as may amuse, 
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. 
Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees 
That meet, (no barren interval between) 
With pleasure more than even their fruits afford, 
Which, save himself who trains them, none can 
These therefore are his own peculiar charge; [feel. 


No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, 
None but his steel approach them. What is weak, 
Distemper'd, or has lost prolific powers 
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand 
Dooms to the knife. Nor does he spare the soft 
And succulent that feeds its giant growth 
But barren, at the expense of neighbouring twigs, 
Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 
With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left 
That may disgrace his art, or disappoint 
Large expectation, he disposes neat 
At measured distances, that air and sun 
Admitted freely may afford their aid, 
And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. 
Hence summer has her riches, autumn hence, 
And hence even winter fills his wither'd hand 
With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own. 1 
Fair recompense of labour well bestow'd 
And wise precaution, which a clime so rude 
Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child 
Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods 
Discovering much the temper of her sire. 
For oft, as if in her the stream of mild 
Maternal nature had reversed its course, 
She brings her infants forth with many smiles, 
But once deliver'd, kills them with a frown. 
He therefore, timely warn'd, himself supplies 
Her want of care, screening and keeping warm 
The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep 
His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft 
As the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild, 
The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam, 
And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. 
To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd 
So grateful to the palate, and when rare 
So coveted, else base and disesteem'd, — 
Food for the vulgar merely, — is an art 
That toiling ages have but just matured, 
And at this moment unessay'd in song. 
Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since 
Their eulogy ; those sang the Mantuan bard, 
And these the Grecian in ennobling strains ; 
And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye 
The solitary shilling. Pardon then, 
Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame ! 
The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers 
Presuming an attempt not less sublime, 
Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste 
Of critic appetite, no sordid fare, 
A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. 
The stable yields a stercoraceous heap 
Impregnated with quick fermenting salts, 
And potent to resist the freezing blast. 
For ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf 
Deciduous, and when now November dark 
Checks vegetation in the torpid plant 
Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins. 
Warily therefore, and with prudent heed, 
He seeks a favour'd spot, that where he builds 
The agglomerated pile, his frame may front 
The sun's meridian disk, and at the back 
Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge 
Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread 
Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe 
The ascending damps ; then leisurely impose 
And lightly, shaking it with agile hand 
From the full fork, the saturated straw. 
What longest binds the closest, forms secure 

The shapely side, that as it rises takes 

1 Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma. "Virg. C. 


72 


THE TASK. 


By just degrees an overhanging breadth, 

Sheltering the base with its projected eaves. 

The uplifted frame compact at every joint, 

And overlaid with clear translucent glass, 

He settles next upon the sloping mount, 

Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure 

From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls : 

He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. 

Thrice must the voluble and restless earth 

Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth [mass 

Slow gathering in the midst, through the square 

Diffused, attain the surface. When behold ! 

A pestilent and most corrosive steam, 

Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast, 

And fast condensed upon the dewy sash, 

Asks egress ; which obtain'd, the overcharged 

And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad 

In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank, 

And purified, rejoices to have lost 

Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 

The impatient fervour which it first conceives 

Within its reeking bosom, threatening death 

To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. 

Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft 

The way to glory by miscarriage foul, 

Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch 

The auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat 

Friendly to vital motion, may afford 

Soft fermentation, and invite the seed. 

The seed selected wisely, plump and smooth 

And glossy, he commits to pots of size 

Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepared 

And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long, 

And drunk no moisture from the dripping clouds. 

These, on the warm and genial earth that hides 

The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, 

He places lightly, and as time subdues 

The rage of fermentation, plunges deep 

In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. 

Then rise the tender germs upstarting quick 

And spreading wide their spongy lobes, at first 

Pale, wan, and livid, but assuming soon, 

If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air 

Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. 

Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves, 

Cautious he pinches from the second stalk 

A pimple, that portends a future sprout, 

And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed 

The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish, 

Prolific all, and harbingers of more. 

The crowded roots demand enlargement now 

And transplantation in an ampler space. 

Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply 

Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers, 

Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit. 

These have their sexes ; and when summer shines, 

The bee transports the fertilizing meal 

From flower to flower, and even the breathing air 

Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. 

Not so when winter scowls : assistant art 

Then acts in nature's office, brings to pass 

The glad espousals, and insures the crop. 

Grudge not, ye rich, (since luxury must have 
His dainties, and the world's more numerous half 
Lives by contriving delicates for you) 
Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares, 
The vigilance, the labour, and the skill 
That day and night are exercised, and hang 
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, 
That ye may garnish your profuse regales 


With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. 
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart 
The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam, 
Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming 
Minute as dust and numberless, oft work [flies 
Dire disappointment that admits no cure, 
And which no care can obviate. It were long, 
Too long to tell the expedients and the shifts 
Which he that fights a season so severe 
Devises, while he guards his tender trust, 
And oft, at last, in vain. The learn'd and wise 
Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song 
Cold as its theme, and like its theme, the fruit 
Of too much labour, worthless when produced. 
Who loves a garden, loves a green-house too. 
Unconscious of a less propitious clime 
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, 
While the winds whistle and the snows descend. 
The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf 
Shines there and flourishes. The golden boast 
Of Portugal and western India there, 
The ruddier orange and the paler lime, 
Peep through their polish' d foliage at the storm, 
And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 
The amomum there with intermingling flowers 
And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts 
Her crimson honours, and the spangled beau 
Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. 
All plants of every leaf that can endure [bite, 
The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd 
Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, 
Levantine regions these ; the Azores send 
Their jessamine, her jessamine remote 
Caffraria ; foreigners from many lands \ 
They form one social shade, as if convened 
By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. 
Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass 
But by a master's hand, disposing well 
The gay diversities of leaf and flower, 
Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, 
And dress the regular yet various scene. 
Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van 
The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still 
Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 
So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, 
A noble show ! while Roscius trod the stage ; 
And so, while Garrick as renown' d as he, 
The sons of Albion, — fearing each to lose 
Some note of nature's music from his lips, 
And covetous of Shakespeare's beauty, seen 
In every flash of his far-beaming eye. 
Nor taste alone and well- contrived display 
Suffice to give the marshal'd ranks the grace 
Of their complete effect. Much yet remains 
Unsung, and many cares are yet behind 
And more laborious ; cares on which depends 
Their vigdur, injured soon, not soon restored. 
The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd 
Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, 
And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots 
Close interwoven, where they meet the vase 
Must smooth be shorn away ; the sapless branch 
Must fly before the knife ; the wither'd leaf 
Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor 
Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else 
Contagion, and disseminating death. 
Discharge but these kind offices, (and who 
Would spare, that loves them, offices like these ?) 
Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased, 
The scent regaled ; each odoriferous leaf, 


THE TASK. 


73 


Each opening blossom freely breathes abroad 
Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 

So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, 
All healthful, are the employs of rural life, 
Reiterated as the wheel of time 
Runs round, still ending, and beginning still. 
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll 
That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd, appears 
A flowery island from the dark green lawn 
Emerging, must be deemed a labour due 
To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. 
Here also grateful mixture of well match'd 
And sorted hues (each giving each relief, 
And by contrasted beauty shining more) 
Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous 

spade, 
May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home, 
But elegance, chief grace the garden shows 
And most attractive, is the fair result 
Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. 
Without it, all is Gothic as the scene 
To which the insipid citizen resorts 
Near yonder heath ; where industry misspent, 
But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task, 
Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and moons 
Of close-ramm'd stones has charged the incumber'd 
And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. [soil, 

He therefore who would see his flowers disposed 
Sightly and in just order, ere he gives 
The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 
Forecasts the future whole ; that when the scene 
Shall break into its preconceived display, 
Each for itself, and all as with one voice 
Conspiring, may attest his bright design. 
Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd 
His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. 
Few self-supported flowers endure the wind 
Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid 
Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied 
Are wedded thus like beauty to old age, 
For interest sake, the living to the dead. 
Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused 
And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, 
Like virtue, thriving most where little seen. 
Some more aspiring catch the neighbour shrub 
With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch 
Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon 
And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 
The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. 
All hate the rank society of weeds 
Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust 
The impoverish'd earth ; an overbearing race, 
That like the multitude made faction-mad 
Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. 

Oh blest seclusion from a jarring world 
Which he, thus occupied, enjoys ! Retreat 
Cannot indeed to guilty man restore 
Lost innocence, or cancel follies past ; 
But it has peace, and much secures the mind 
From all assaults of evil, proving still 
A faithful barrier not o'erleap'd with ease 
By vicious custom, raging uncontrol'd 
Abroad, and desolating public life. 
When fierce temptation seconded within 
By traitor appetite, and arm'd with darts 
Temper'd in hell, invades the throbbing breast, 
To combat may be glorious, and success 
Perhaps may crown us ; but to fly is safe. 
Had I the choice of sublunary good, 
What could I wish, that I possess not here ? 


Health, leisure, means to improve it, friendship? 

peace ; 
No loose or wanton, though a wandering, muse, 
And constant occupation without care. 
Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss ; 
Hopeless indeed that dissipated minds, 
And profligate abusers of a world 
Created fair so much in vain for them, 
Should seek the guiltless joys that I describe, 
Allured by my report : but sure no less 
That self-condemn'd they must neglect the prize, 
And what they will not taste, must yet approve. 
What we admire we praise ; and when we praise 
Advance it into notice, that its worth 
Acknowledged, others may admire it too. 
I therefore recommend, though at the risk 
Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, 
The cause of piety and sacred truth 
And virtue, and those scenes which God ordain'd 
Should best secure them and promote them most ; 
Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 
Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy 'd. 
Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles, 
And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol ; 
Not as the prince in Shushan, when he call'd 
Vain-glorious of her charms his Vashti forth 
To grace the full pavilion. His design 
Was but to boast his own peculiar good, 
Which all might view with envy, none partake. 
My charmer is not mine alone ; my sweets 
And she that sweetens all my bitters too, 
Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form 
And lineaments divine I trace a hand 
That errs not, and find raptures still renew'd, 
Is free to all men, universal prize. 
Strange that so fair a creature should yet want 
Admirers, and be destined to divide 
With meaner objects, even the few she finds. 
Stript of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers, 
She loses all her influence. Cities then 
Attract us, and neglected Nature pines 
Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love. 
But are not wholesome airs, though unperfumed 
By roses, and clear suns though scarcely felt, 
And groves if unharmonious, yet secure 
From clamour, and whose very silence charms, 
To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse 
That metropolitan volcanoes make, 
Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day 
And to the stir of commerce, driving slow, [long, 
And thundering loud, with his ten thousand wheels ? 
They would be, were not madness in the head 
And folly in the heart ; were England now 
What England was, plain, hospitable, kind, 
And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell 
To all the virtues of those better days, 
And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once 
Knew their own masters, and laborious hinds 
That had survived the father, served the son. 
Now the legitimate and rightful Lord 
Is but a transient guest, newly arrived 
And soon to be supplanted. He that saw 
His patrimonial timber cast its leaf, 
Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price 
To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. 
Estates are landscapes, gazed upon awhile, 
Then advertised, and auctioneer'd away, [charged 
The country starves, and they that feed the o'er- 
And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues, 
By a just judgment strip and starve themselves. 


74 


THE TASK. 


The wings that waft our riches out of sight 
Grow on the gamester's elbows, and the alert 
And nimble motion of those restless joints 
That never tire, soon fans them all away. 
Improvement too, the idol of the age, 
Is fed with many a victim. Lo ! he comes, — 
The omnipotent magician, Brown appears. 
Down falls the venerable pile, the abode 
Of our forefathers, a grave whisker'd race, 
But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead, 
But in a distant spot ; where more exposed 
It may enjoy the advantage of the north 
And agueish east, till time shall have transform'd 
Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. 
He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn, 
Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise, 
And streams, as if created for his use, 
Pursue the track of his directing wand, 
Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, 
Now murmuring soft, now roaring in cascades, 
Even as he bids. The enraptured owner smiles. 
'Tis finish'd ! And yet finish'd as it seems, 
Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, 
A mine to satisfy the enormous cost. 
Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth, 
He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplish'd plan 
That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day 
Labour'd, and many a night pursued in dreams, 
Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the 
He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy. [heaven 

And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, 
When having no stake left, no pledge to endear 
Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause 
A moment's operation on his love, 
He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal 
To serve his country. Ministerial grace 
Deals him out money from the public chest ; 
Or if that mine be shut, some private purse 
Supplies his need with an usurious loan, 
To be refunded duly, when his vote, 
Well-managed, shall have earn'd its worthy price. 
Oh innocent compared with arts like these, 
Crape and cock'd pistol and the whistling ball 
Sent through the traveller's temples ! He that finds 
One drop of Heaven's sweet mercy in his cup, 
Can dig, beg, rot, and perish well-content, 
So he may wrap himself in honest rags 
At his last gasp ; but could not for a world 
Fish up his dirty and dependent bread 
From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, 
Sordid and sickening at his own success. 

Ambition, avarice, penury incurr'd 
By endless riot, vanity, the lust 
Of pleasure and variety, dispatch, 
As duly as the swallows disappear, [town. 

The world of wandering knights and 'squires to 
London ingulfs them all. The shark is there 
And the shark's prey; the spendthrift and the leech 
That sucks him : there the sycophant and he 
That with bare-headed and obsequious bows 
Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail 
And groat per diem if his patron frown. 
The levee swarms as if in golden pomp 
Were character'd on every statesman's door, 
'■ Batxeb'd and bankrupt fortunes mended 
These are the charms that sully and eclipse [here." 
The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe 
That lean hard-handed poverty inflicts, 
The hope of better things, the chance to win, 
The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused, 


That at the sound of winter's hoary wing, 
Unpeople all our counties, of such herds 
Of fluttering, loitering, cringing, begging, loose 
And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast 
And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 

Oh thou resort and mart of all the earth, 
Checquer'd with all complexions of mankind, 
And spotted with all crimes ; in whom I see 
Much that I love, and more that I admire, 
And all that I abhor ! thou freckled fair 
That pleases and yet shocks me, I can laugh 
And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, 
Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee ! 
Ten righteous would have saved a city once, 
And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee, — 
That salt preserves thee : more corrupted else, 
And therefore more obnoxious at this hour, 
Than Sodom in her day had power to be, 
For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vain. 


BOOK IV. 

THE WINTER EVENING. 

ARGUMENT. 

The post comes in. The newspaper is read. The world 
contemplated at a distance. Address to Winter. The 
amusements of a rural winter evening compared with the 
fashionable ones. Address to Evening. A brown study. 
Fall of snow in the evening. The Waggoner. A poor 
family piece. The rural thief. Public-houses. The 
multitude of them censured. The farmer's daughter, 
what she was. What she is. The simplicity of country 
manners almost lost. Causes of the change. Desertion of 
the country by the rich. Neglect of magistrates. The 
militia principally in fault. The new recruit, and his 
transformation. Reflection on bodies corporate. The 
love of rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally 
extinguished. 


Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder bridge 

That with its wearisome but needful length 

Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 

Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright ; 

He comes, the herald of a noisy world, [locks, 

With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen 

News from all nations lumbering at his back. 

True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, 

Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 

Is to conduct it to the destined inn, 

And having dropp'd the expected bag — pass on. 

He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, 

Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 

Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some, 

To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 

Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, 

Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 

With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks 

Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, 

Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains 

Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 

His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 

But oh the important budget ! usher'd in 

With such heart-shaking music, who can say 

What are its tidings ? Have our troops awaked ? 

Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd 

Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave? 

Is India free? and does she wear her plumed 


THE TASK. 


75 


And jewel'd turban with a smile of peace, 
Or do we grind her still 1 The grand debate, 
The popular harangue, the tart reply, 
The logic and the wisdom and the wit 
And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ; 
I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free, 
And give them voice and utterance once again. 
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups 
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 
So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
Not such his evening, who with shining face 
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeezed 
And bored with elbow-points through both his sides, 
Out-scolds the ranting actor on the stage. 
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb 
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage, 
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
This folio of four pages, happy work ! 
Which not even critics criticise, that holds 
Inquisitive attention, while I read, 
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, 
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break ; 
What is it but a map of busy life, 
Its fluctuations and its vast concerns ? 
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge 
That tempts ambition. On the summit, see, 
The seals of office glitter in his eyes : 
He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his heels, 
Close at his heels a demagogue ascends, 
And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down 
And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. 
Here rills of oily eloquence in soft 
Meanders lubricate the course they take ; 
The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved 
To engross a moment's notice, and yet begs, 
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, 
However trivial all that he conceives. 
Sweet bashfulness ! it claims, at least, this praise ; 
The dearth of information and good sense 
That it foretels us, always comes to pass. 
Cataracts of declamation thunder here, 
There forests of no meaning spread the page, 
In which all comprehension wanders lost ; 
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there, 
With merry descants on a nation's woes. 
The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
But gay confusion, roses for the cheeks 
And lilies for the brows of faded age, 
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
Heaven, earth, and ocean plunder'd of their sweets, 
Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, 
Sermons and city feasts and favourite airs, 
^Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits, 
And Katterfelto with his hair on end 
At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. 

'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat 
To peep at such a world ; to see the stir 
Of the great Babel and not feel the crowd ; 
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 
Thus sitting and surveying thus at ease 
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
To some secure and more than mortal height, 
That liberates and exempts me from them all. 
It turns submitted to my view, turns round 


With all its generations ; I behold 

The tumult and am still. The sound of war 

Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me, 

Grieves but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 

And avarice that make man a wolf to man, 

Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats 

By which he speaks the language of his heart, 

And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 

He travels and expatiates, as the bee 

From flower to flower, so he from land to land ; 

The manners, customs, policy of all 

Pay contribution to the store he gleans ; 

He sucks intelligence in every clime, 

And spreads the honey of his deep research 

At his return, a rich repast for me. 

He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, 

Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes 

Discover countries, with a kindred heart 

Suffer his woes and share in his escapes ; 

While fancy, like the finger of a clock, 

Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 

Oh Winter ! ruler of the inverted year, 
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fill'd, 
Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 
Than those of age ; thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
A sliding car indebted to no wheels, 
But urged by storms along its slippery way ; 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 
And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold'st the sun 
A prisoner in the yet undawning east, 
Shortening his journey between morn and noon, 
And hurrying him impatient of his stay 
Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and instructive ease, 
And gathering at short notice in one group 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown thee king of intimate delights, 
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours 
Of long uninterrupted evening know. 
No rattling wheels stop short before these gates. 
No powder'd pert proficient in the art 
Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors 
Till the street rings. No stationary steeds 
Cough their own knell, while heedless of the sound 
The silent circle fan themselves, and quake. 
But here the needle plies its busy task, 
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower 
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn 
Unfolds its bosom, buds and leaves and sprigs 
And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, 
Follow the nimble finger of the fair, 
A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers that blow 
With most success when all besides decay. 
The poet's or historian's page, by one 
Made vocal for the amusement of the rest ; 
The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out ; 
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, 
And in the charming strife triumphant still, 
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 
On female industry ; the threaded steel 
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 
The volume closed, the customary rites 
Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal, 


7G 


THE TASK. 


Such as the mistress of the world once found 
Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, 
And under au old oak's domestic shade, 
Enjoy'd, spare feast ! a radish and an egg. 
Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, 
Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 
Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth. 
Nor do we madly, like an impious world, 
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 
That made them an intruder on their joys, 
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 
A jarring note: themes of a graver tone 
Exciting oft our gratitude and love, 
While we retrace with memory's pointing wand 
That calls the past to our exact review, 
The daugers w r e have 'scaped, the broken snare, 
The disappointed foe, deliverance found 
Unlook'd for, life preserved and peace restored, 
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. 
Oh evenings worthy of the Gods ! exclaim'd 
The Sabine bard. Oh evenings, I reply, 
More to be pi'ized and coveted than yours, 
As more illumined and with nobler truths, 
That I and mine and those we love, enjoy. 

Is Winter hideous in a garb like this ? 
Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps, 
The pent-up breath of an unsavoury throng, 
To thaw him into feeling, or the smart 
And snappish dialogue that flippant wits 
Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile ? 
The self-complacent actor when he views 
(Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) 
The slope of faces from the floor to the roof, 
(As if one master-spring control'd them all) 
Relax'd into an universal grin, 
Sees not a countenance there that speaks a joy 
Half so refined or so sincere as ours. 
Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks 
That idleness has ever yet contrived 
To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain, 
To palliate dullness and give time a shove. 
Time as he passes us, has a dove's wing, 
Unsoil'd and swift and of a silken sound. 
But the world's Time is Time in masquerade. 
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged 
With motley plumes, and where the peacock shows 
His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red 
With spots quadrangular of diamond form, 
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, 
And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. 
What should be, and what was an hour-glass once 
Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard mast 
Well does the work of his destructive scythe. 
Thus deck'd he charms a world whom fashion blinds 
To his true worth, most pleased when idle most, 
Whose only happy are their wasted hours. 
Even misses, at whose age their mothers wore 
The back-string and the bib, assume the dress 
Of womanhood, sit pupils in the school 
Of card-devoted time, and night by night 
Placed at some vacant corner of the board, 
Learn every trick, and soon play all the game. 
But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, 
Where shall I find an end, or how proceed ? 
As he that travels far, oft turns aside 
To view some rugged rock or mouldering tower, 
Which seen delights him not; then coming home, 
Describes and prints it, that the world may know 
How far he went for what was nothing worth ; 


So I with brush in hand and pallet spread 
With colours mixt for a far different use, 
Paint cards and dolls, and every idle thing 
That fancy finds in her excursive flights. 

Come evening once again, season of peace, 
Return sweet evening, and continue long ! 
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, 
With matron-step slow-moving, while the night 
Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employ'd 
In letting fall the curtain of repose 
On bird and beast, the other charged for man 
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day ; 
Not sumptuously adorn'd, nor needing aid 
Like homely -featured night, of clustering gems, 
A star or two just twinkling on thy brow 
Suffices thee ; save that the moon is thine 
No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 
With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, 
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 
Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm 
Or make me so. Composure is thy gift. 
And whether I devote thy gentle hours 
To books, to music, or the poet's toil, 
To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit ; 
Or twining silken threads round ivory reels, 
When they command whom man was born to please ; 
I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 

Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze 
With lights by clear reflection multiplied 
From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, 
Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk 
Whole without stooping, towering crest and all, 
My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps 
The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile 
With faint illumination that uplifts 
The shadow to the ceiling, there by fits 
Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. 
Not undelightful is an hour to me 
So spent in parlour twilight ; such a gloom 
Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, 
The mind contemplative, with some new theme 
Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all. 
Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powers, 
That never feel a stupor, know no pause 
Nor need one. I am conscious, and confess 
Fearless, a soul that does not always think. 
Me oft has fancy ludicrous and wild 
Soothed with a waking dream of houses, towers, 
Trees, churches, and strange visages express'd 
In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
I gazed, myself creating what I saw. 
Nor less amused have I quiescent watch'd 
The sooty films that play upon the bars 
Pendulous, and foreboding in the view 
Of superstition, prophesying still 
Though still deceived, some stranger's near ap- 
'Tis thus the understanding takes repose [proach. 
In indolent vacuity of thought, 
And sleeps and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face 
Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask 
Of deep deliberation, as the man 
Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. 
Thus oft reclined at ease, I lose an hour 
At evening, till at length the freezing blast 
That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home 
The recollected powers, and snapping short 
The glassy threads with which the fancy weaves 
Her brittle toys, restores me to myself. 
How calm is my recess ! and how the frost 


THE TASK. 


77 


Raging abroad, arid the rough wind, endear 
The silence and the warmth enjoy 'd within ! 
I saw the woods and fields at close of day 
A variegated show ; the meadows green 
Though faded, and the lands where lately waved 
The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, 
Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share. 
I saw far off the weedy fallows smile 
With verdure not unprofitable, grazed 
By flocks fast feeding, and selecting each 
His favourite herb ; while all the leafless groves 
That skirt the horizon wore a sable hue, 
Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. 
To-morrow brings a change , a total change ! 
Which even now, though silently perform'd 
And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 
Of universal nature undergoes. 
Fast falls a fleecy shower. The downy flakes 
Descending and with never-ceasing lapse 
Softly alighting upon all below, 
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 
Gladly the thickening mantle, and the green 
And tender blade that fear'd the chilling blast, 
Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 

In such a world, so thorny, and where none 
Finds happiness unblighted, or if found, 
Without some thistly sorrow at its side, 
It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
Against the law of love, to measure lots 
With less distinguish'd than ourselves, that thus 
We may with patience bear our moderate ills, 
And sympathise with others suffering more. 
Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks 
In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. 
The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
By congregated loads adhering close 
To the clogg'd wheels ; and in its sluggish pace 
Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, 
While every breath by respiration strong 
Forced downward, is consolidated soon 
Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear 
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
With half-shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and 

teeth 
Presented bare against the storm, plods on. 
One hand secures his hat, save when with both 
He brandishes his pliant length of whip, 
Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. 
Oh happy ! and in my account, denied 
That sensibility of pain with which 
Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou. 
Thy frame robust and hardy, feels indeed 
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. 
The learned finger never need explore 
Thy vigorous pulse ; and the unhealthful east, 
That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone 
Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. 
Thy days roll on exempt from household care ; 
Thy waggon is thy wife ; and the poor beasts 
That drag the dull companion to and fro, 
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. 
Ah treat them kindly ! rude as thou appear'st 
Yet show that thou hast mercy, which the great 
With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, 
Humane as they would seem, not always show. 

Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 
Such claim compassion in a night like this, 
And have a friend in every feeling heart. 
Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long 


They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
111 clad and fed but sparely, time to cool. 
The frugal housewife trembles when she lights 
Her scanty stock of brush-wood, blazing clear 
But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. 
The few small embers left she nurses well, 
And while her infant race with outspread hands 
And crowded knees sit cowering o'er the sparks, 
Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. 
The man feels least, as more inured than she 
To winter, and the current in his veins 
More briskly moved by his severer toil ; 
Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. 
The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw 
Dangled along at the cold fingers' end 
Just when the day declined, and the brown loaf 
Lodged on the shelf half-eaten without sauce 
Of savoury cheese, or butter costlier still, 
Sleep seems their only refuge. For alas ! 
Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, 
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. 
With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care 
Ingenious parsimony takes, but just 
Saves the small inventory, bed and stool, 
Skillet, and old carved chest, from public sale. 
They live, and live without extorted alms 
From grudging hands, but other boast have none 
To soothe their honest pride that scorns to beg, 
Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. 
I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, 
For ye are worthy ; chusing rather far 
A dry but independent crust, hard-earn'd 
And eaten with a sigh, than to endure 
The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
Of knaves in office, partial in the work 
Of distribution ; liberal of their aid 
To clamorous importunity in rags, 
But oft-times deaf to suppliants who would blush 
To wear a tatter'd garb however coarse, 
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth ; 
These ask with painful shyness, and refused 
Because deserving, silently retire. 
But be ye of good courage. Time itself 
Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase, 
And all your numerous progeny well train' d, 
But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, 
And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want 
What conscious of your virtues we can spare, 
Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. 
I mean the man, who, when the distant poor 
Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 

But poverty with most who whimper forth 
Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe, 
The effect of laziness or sottish waste. 
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad 
For plunder ; much solicitous how best 
He may compensate for a day of sloth, 
By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong. 
Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge 
Plash'd neatly, and secured with driven stakes 
Deep in the loamy bank ! Uptorn by strength 
Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 
To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil 
An ass's burthen, and when laden most 
And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away. 
Nor does the boarded hovel better guard 
The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots 
From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave 
Unwrench'd the door however well secured, 
Where chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps 


lii 


THE TASK. 


In unsuspecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perch 

He gives the princely bird with all his wives 

To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, 

And loudly wondering at the sudden change. 

Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse 

Did pity of their sufferings warp aside 

His principle, and tempt him into sin 

For their support, so destitute. But they 

Neglected pine at home, themselves, as more 

Exposed than others, with less scruple made 

His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all. 

Cruel is all he does. , 'Tis quenchless thirst 

Of ruinous ebriety that prompts 

His every actiqn and imbrutes the man. 

Oh for a law to noose the villain's neck 

Who starves his own ; who persecutes the blood 

He gave them in his children's veins, and hates 

And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love. 

Pass where we may, through city or through 
Village or hamlet of this merry land [town, 

Though lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace 
Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff 
Of stale debauch forth issuing from the sties 
That law has licensed, as makes temperance reel. 
There sit involved and lost in curling clouds 
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, 
The lacquey, and the groom. The craftsman there 
Takes a Lethsean leave of all his toil ; 
Smith, cobler, joiner, he that plies the shears, 
And he that kneads the dough ; all loud alike, 
All learned, and all drunk. The fiddle screams 
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd 
Its wasted tones and harmony unheard. 
Fierce the dispute whate'er the theme ; while she, 
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, 
Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand 
Her undecisive scales. In this she lays 
A weight of ignorance, in that, of pride, 
And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound 
The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised 
As ornamental, musical, polite, 
Like those which modern senators employ, 
Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for fame. 
Behold the schools in which plebeian minds, 
Once simple, are initiated m arts 
Which some may practise with politer grace, 
But none with readier skill ! 'Tis here they learn 
The road that leads from competence and peace 
To indigence and rapine ; till at last 
Society, grown weary of the load, 
Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. 
But censure profits little. Vain the attempt 
To advertise in verse a public pest, 
That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds 
His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. 
The excise is fatten'd with the rich result 
Of all this riot.\ And ten thousand casks, 
For ever dribbling out their base contents, 
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, 
Bleed gold for Ministers to sport away. 
Drink and be mad then ! 'Tis your country bids. 
Gloriously drunk obey the important call ; 
Her cause demands the assistance of your throats; 
Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. 

Would I had fallen upon those happier days 
That poets celebrate ! those golden times 
And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, 
And Sydney, warbler of poetic prose. 
Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 


That felt their virtues. Innocence it seems, 

From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves. 

The footsteps of simplicity impress'd 

Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing) 

Then were not all effaced. Then speech profane 

And manners profligate were rarely found, 

Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. 

Vain wish ! those days were never. Airy dreams 

Sat for the picture ; and the poet's hand 

Imparting substance to an empty shade, 

Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 

Grant it. I still must envy them an age 

That favour'd such a dream, in days like these 

Impossible, when virtue is so scarce, 

That to suppose a scene where she presides 

Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. 

No. We are polish'd now. The rural lass, 

Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, 

Her artless manners and her neat attire 

So dignified, that she was hardly less 

Than the fair shepherdess of old romance, 

Is seen no more. The character is lost. 

Her head adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft 

And ribbands streaming gay, superbly raised 

And magnified beyond all human size. 

Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand 

For more than half the tresses it sustains ; 

Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering form 

111 propp'd upon French heels ; she might be 

deem'd 
(But that the basket dangling on her arm 
Interprets her more truly) of a rank 
Too proud for dairy -work or sale of eggs. 
Expect her soon with footboy at her heels, 
No longer blushing for her awkward load, 
Her train and her umbrella all her care. 

The town has tinged the country ; and the stain 
Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe, 
The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs 
Down into scenes still rural, but alas ! 
Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now. 
Time was when in the pastoral retreat 
The unguarded door was safe. Men did not watch 
To invade another's right, or guard their own. 
Then sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscared 
By drunken howlings ; and the chilling tale 
Of midnight murther was a wonder heard 
With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. 
But farewell now to unsuspicious nights 
And slumbers unalann'd. Now, ere you sleep, 
See that your polish'd arms be primed with care, 
And drop the night -bolt. Ruffians are abroad ; 
And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat 
May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 
To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. 
Even daylight has its dangers ; and the walk 
Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious 
Of other tenants than melodious birds [once 

Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 
Lamented change ! to which full many a cause 
Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 
The course of human things from good to ill, 
From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 
Increase of power begets increase of wealth, 
Wealth luxury, and luxury excess ; 
Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague 
That seizes first the opulent, descends 
To the next rank contagious, and in time 
Taints downward all the graduated scale 
Of order, from the chariot to the plough. 


Jl 


THE TASK. 


79 


The rich, and they that have an arm to check 
The license of the lowest in degree, 
Desert their office ; and themselves intent 
On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 
To all the violence of lawless hands 
Resign the scenes their presence might protect. 
Authority herself not seldom sleeps, 
Though resident, and witness of the wrong. 
The plump convivial parson often hears 
The magisterial sword in vain, and lays 
His reverence and his worship both to rest 
On the same cushion of habitual sloth. 
Perhaps timidity restrains his arm ; 
When he should strike, he trembles, and sets free, 
Himself enslaved by terror of the band, 
The audacious convict whom he dares not bind. 
Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure, 
He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove 
Less dainty than becomes his grave outside, 
In lucrative concerns. Examine well 
His milk-white hand. The palm is hardly clean, — 
But here and there an ugly smutch appears. 
Foh ! 'twas a bribe that left it. He has touched 
Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here 
Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, 
Wildfowl or venison, and his errand speeds. 
But faster far and more than all the rest, 
A noble cause, which none who bears a spark 
Of public virtue ever wish'd removed, 
Works the deplored and mischievous effect. 
'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd 
The heart of merit in the meaner class. 
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage 
Of those that bear them, in whatever cause, 
Seem most at variance with all moral good, 
And incompatible with serious thought. 
The clown, the child of nature, without guile, 
Blest with an infant's ignorance of all 
But his own simple pleasures, now and then 
A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair, 
Is balloted, and trembles at the news. 
Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears 
A Bible-oath to be whate'er they please, 
To do he knows not what. The task perform'd, 
That instant he becomes the sergeant's care, 
His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
His awkward gait, his introverted toes, 
Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, 
Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, 
Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff, 
He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, 
Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well. 
He stands erect, his slouch becomes a walk, 
He steps right onward, martial in his air 
His form and movement ; is as smart above 
As meal and larded locks can make him ; wears 
His hat, or his plumed helmet, with a grace ; 
And his three years of heroship expired, 
Returns indignant to the slighted plough. 
He hates the field in which no fife or drum 
Attends him, drives his cattle to a march, 
And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 
'Twere well if his exterior change were all, — 
But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost 
His ignorance and harmless manners too. 
To swear, to game, to drink, to show at home 
By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath-breach, 
The great proficiency he made abroad, 
To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends, 
To break some maiden's and his mother's heart, 


To be a pest where he was useful once, 

Are his sole aim and all his glory now. 

Man in society is like a flower 

Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone • 

His faculties expanded in full bloom 

Shine out ; there only reach their proper use. 

But man, associated and leagued with man 

By regal warrant, or self-join'd by bond 

For interest-sake, or swarming into clans 

Beneath one head for purposes of war, 

Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound 

And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, 

Fades rapidly, and by compression marr'd, 

Contracts defilement not to be endured. 

Hence charter'd boroughs are such public plagues, 

And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 

In all their private functions, once combined, 

Become a loathsome body, only fit 

For dissolution, hurtful to the main. 

Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 

Against the charities of domestic life, 

Incorporated, seem at once to lose 

Their nature, and disclaiming all regard 

For mercy and the common rights of man, 

Build factories with blood, conducting trade 

At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe 

Of innocent commercial justice red. 

Hence too the field of glory, as the world 

Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, 

With all its majesty of thundering pomp, 

Enchanting music and immortal wreaths, 

Is but a school where thoughtlessness is taught 

On principle, where foppery atones 

For folly, gallantry for every vice. 

But slighted as it is, and by the great 
Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret, 
Infected with the manners and the modes 
It knew not once, the country wins me still. 
I never framed a wish, or form'd a plan 
That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss, 
But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd 
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
My very dreams were rural, rural too 
The first-born efforts of my youthful muse, 
Sportive, and jingling her poetic bells 
Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. 
No bard could please me but whose lyre was tuned 
To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats 
Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe 
Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang, 
The rustic throng beneath his favourite beech. 
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms. 
New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd 
The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue 
To speak its excellence ; I danced for joy. 
I marvel'd much that at so ripe an age 
As twice seven years, his beauties had then first 
Engaged my wonder, and admiring still 
And still admiring, with regret supposed 
The joy half lost because not sooner found. 
Thee too enamour' d of the life I loved, 
Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit 
Determined, and possessing it at last 
With transports such as favour'd lovers feel, 
I studied, prized, and wish'd that I had known, 
Ingenious Cowley ! and though now, reclaim'd 
By modern lights from an erroneous taste, 
I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools, 


so 


THE TASK. 


I still revere thee, courtly though retired, 
Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers 
Not unemploy'd, and finding rich amends 
For a lost world in solitude and verse. 
'Tis born with all. The love of Nature's works 
Is an ingredient in the compound, man, 
Infused at the creation of the kind. 
And though the Almighty Maker has throughout 
Discriminated each from each, by strokes 
And touches of his hand with so much art 
Diversified, that two were never found 
Twins at all points, — yet this obtains in all, 
That all discern a beauty in his works, 
And all can taste them : minds that have been 
And tutor'd, with a relish more exact, [form'd 
But none without some relish, none unmoved. 
It is a flame that dies not even there 
Where' nothing feeds it. Neither business, crowds, 
Nor habits of luxurious city life, 
Whatever else they smother of true worth 
In human bosoms, quench it or abate. „ 
The villas with which London stands begirt 
Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads, 
Prove it A breath of unadulterate air, 
The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer 
The citizen, and brace his languid frame ! 
Even in the stifling bosom of the town, 
A garden in which nothing thrives, has charms 
That soothe the rich possessor ; much consoled 
That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint, 
Of nightshade or valerian, grace the well 
He cultivates. These serve him with a hint 
That Nature lives, that sight-refreshing green 
Is still the livery she delights to wear, 
Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole. 
What are the casements lined with creeping herbs, 
The prouder sashes fronted with a range 
Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed 
The Frenchman's darling ' ? are they not all proofs 
That man, immured in cities, still retains 
His inborn inextinguishable thirst 
Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 
By supplemental shifts, the best he may ? 
The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, 
And they that never pass their brick-wall bounds 
| To range the fields and treat their lungs with air, 
j Yet feel the burning instinct ; over head 
Suspend their crazy boxes planted thick 
And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands 
A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there ; 
Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets 
The country, with what ardour he contrives 
A peep at Nature, when he can no more. 

Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease 
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys 
And harmless pleasures, in the throng'd abode 
Of multitudes unknown ; hail, rural life ! 
Address himself who will to the pursuit 
Of honours or emolument or fame, 
I shall not add myself to such a chase, 
Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. 
Some must be great. Great offices will have 
Great talents. And God gives to every man 
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill. 
To the deliverer of an injured land 
He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart 
To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs ; 

1 Mignionette. 


To monarchs dignity, to judges sense, 

To artists ingenuity and skill ; 

To me an unambitious mind, content 

In the low vale of life, that early felt 

A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long 

Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. 


BOOK Y. 


THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 

ARGUMENT. 

A frosty morning. The foddering of cattle. The wood- 
man and his dog. The poultry. Whimsical effects of frost 
at a waterfall. The Empress of Russia's palace of ice. 
Amusements of monarchs. War one of them. Wars, 
whence. And whence monarchy. The evils of it. English 
and French loyalty contrasted. The Bastile, and a prisoner 
there. Liberty the chief recommendation of this country. 
Modern patriotism questionable, and why. The perishable 
nature of the best human institutions. Spiritual liberty 
not perishable. The slavish state of man by nature. 
Deliver him, Deist, if you can. Grace must do it. The 
respective merits of patriots and martyrs stated. Their 
different treatment. Happy freedom of the man whom 
grace makes free. His relish of the works of God. Ad- 
dress to the Creator. 


'Tis morning ; and the sun with ruddy orb 
Ascending, fires the horizon : while the clouds 
That crowd away before the driving wind, 
More ardent as the disk emerges more, 
Resemble most some city in a blaze, 
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, 
And tinging all with his own rosy hue, 
From every herb and every spiry blade 
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 
Mine, spindling into longitude immense, 
In spite of gravity and sage remark 
That I myself am but a fleeting shade, 
Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance 
I view the muscular proportion'd limb 
Transform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, 
As they design'd to mock me, at my side 
Take step for step, and as I near approach 
The cottage, walk along the plaster'd wall, 
Preposterous sight ! the legs without the man. 
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents 
And coarser grass upspearing o'er the rest, 
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad 
And fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. 
The cattle mourn in corners where the fence 
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
Their wonted fodder, not like hungering man 
Fretful if unsupplied, but silent, meek, 
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, 
Deep plunging and again deep plunging oft 
His broad keen knife into the solid mass. 
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, 
With such undeviating and even force 
He severs it away : no needless care, 
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile 


THE TASK. 


81 


Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd 
The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe 
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, 
From morn to eve his solitary task. 
Shaggy and lean and shrewd, with pointed ears 
And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur, 
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
Now creeps he slow, and now with many a frisk 
Wide-scampering snatches up the drifted snow 
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout ; 
Then shakes his powder'd coat and barks for joy. 
Heedless of all his pranks the sturdy churl 
Moves right toward the mark; nor stops for aught 
But now and then with pressure of his thumb 
To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube 
That fumes beneath his nose ; the trailing cloud 
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 
Now from the roost or from the neighbouring pale, 
Where diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side, 
Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call 
The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing 
And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood 
Conscious, and fearful of too deep a plunge. 
The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves 
To seize the fair occasion. Well they eye 
The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved 
To escape the impending famine, often scared 
As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 
Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 
Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, 
Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign'd 
To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 
His wonted strut, and wading at their head 
With well-consider'd steps, seems to resent 
His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd. 
How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 
The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, 
Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? 
Earth yields them nought : the imprison'd worm is 
Beneath the frozen clod : all seeds of herbs [safe 
Lie cover'd close, and berry-bearing thorns 
That feed the thrush, (whatever some suppose) 
Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 
The long protracted rigour of the year 
Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and 
Ten thousand seek an unmolested end, [holes 

As instinct prompts ; self buried ere they die. 
The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, 
Where neither grub nor root nor earth-nut now 
Repays their labour more ; and perch'd aloft 
By the way-side, or stalking in the path, 
Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track, 
Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them, 
Of voided pulse or half digested grain. 
The streams are lost amid the splendid blank 
O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood 
Indurated and fixt, the snowy weight 
Lies undissolved, while silently beneath 
And unperceived the current "steals away. 
Not so, where scornful of a check it leaps 
The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, 
And wantons in the pebbly gulf below. 
No frost can bind it there. Its utmost force 
Can but arrest the light and smoky mist 
That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide. 
And see where it has hung the embroider' d banks 
With forms so various, that no powers of art, 
The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene ! 


Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high 
(Fantastic misarrangement) on the roof [trees 
Large growth of what may seem the sparkling 
And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops 
That trickle down the branches, fast congeal'd, 
Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, 
And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. 
Here grotto within grotto safe defies 
The sun-beam. There emboss' d and fretted wild 
The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain 
The likeness of some object seen before. 
Thus nature works as if to mock at art, 
And in defiance of her rival powers ; 
By these fortuitous and random strokes 
Performing such inimitable feats 
As she with all her rules can never reach. 
Less worthy of applause though more admired, 
Because a novelty, the work of man, 
Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ ! 
Thy most magnificent and mighty freak, 
The wonder of the north. No forest fell 
When thou wouldst build; no quarry sent its stores 
To enrich thy walls: but thou didst hew the floods, 
And make thy marble of the glassy wave. 
In such a palace Aristseus found 
Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale 
Of his lost bees to her maternal ear. 
In such a palace poetry might place 
The armoury of Winter, where his troops 
The gloomy clouds find weapons, arrowy sleet, 
Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail, 
And snow that often blinds the traveller's course, 
And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. 
Silently as a dream the fabric rose. 
No sound of hammer or of saw was there. 
Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts 
Were soon conjoin'd, nor other cement ask'd 
Than water interfused to make them one. 
Lamps gracefully disposed and of all hues 
Illumined every side. A watery light [seem'd 
Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that 
Another moon new-risen, or meteor fallen 
From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene. 
So stood the brittle prodigy, though smooth 
And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound 
Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within 
That royal residence might well befit, 
For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths 
Of flowers that fear'd no enemy but warmth, 
Blush'd on the pannels. Mirror needed none 
Where all was vitreous, but in order due 
Convivial table and commodious seat [there; 

(What seem'd at least commodious seat,) were 
Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august. 
The same lubricity was found in all, 
And all was moist to the warm touch, a scene 
Of evanescent glory, once a stream, 
And soon to slide into a stream again. 
Alas ! 'twas but a mortifying stroke 
Of undesign'd severity, that glanced 
(Made by a monarch) on her own estate, 
On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 
'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 
'Twas durable. As worthless, as it seem'd 
Intrinsically precious, to the foot 
Treacherous and false ; it smiled, and it was cold. 
Great princes have great playthings. Some have 
At hewing mountains into men, and some [play'd 
At building human wonders mountain-high. 


82 


THE TASK. 


Some have amused the dull sad years of life, 
Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad, 
With schemes of monumental fame, and sought 
By pyramids and mausolean pomp, 
Short-lived themselves, to immortalize their hones. 
Some seek diversion in the tented field, 
And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. 
But war's a game, which were their subjects wise, 
Kings should not play at. Nations would do well 
To extort their truncheons from the puny hands 
Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds 
Are gi'atified with mischief, and who spoil 
Because men suffer it, their toy the world.! 
*■ When Babel was confounded, and the great 
Confederacy of projectors wild and vain 
Was split into diversity of tongues, 
Then, as a shepherd separates his flock, 
These to the upland, to the valley those, 
God drave asunder and assign'd their lot 
To all the nations. Ample was the boon 
He gave them, in its distribution fair 
And equal, and he bade them dwell in peace, [sow'd, 
Peace was awhile their care. They plough'd and 
And reap'd their plenty without grudge or strife. 
But violence can never longer sleep 
Than human passions please. In every heart 
Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war ; 
Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. 
Cain had already shed a brother's blood ; 
The deluge wash'd it out, but left unquench'd 
The seeds of murder in the breast of man. 
Soon, by a righteous judgment, in the line 
Of his descending progeny was found 
The first artificer of death ; the shrewd 
Contriver who first sweated at the forge, 
And forced the blunt and yet unbloodied steel 
To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. 
Him, Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times, 
The sword and falchion their inventor claim, 
And the first smith was the first murderer's son. 
His art survived the waters ; and ere long, 
When man was multiplied and spread abroad 
In tribes and clans, and had begun to call 
These meadows and that range of hills his own, 
The tasted sweets of property begat 
Desire of more ; and industry in some 
To improve and cultivate their justdemesne, 
Made others covet what they saw so fair. 
Thus wars began on earth. These fought for spoil, 
And those in self-defence. Savage at first 
The onset, and irregular. At length 
One eminent above the rest, for strength, 
For stratagem, or courage, or for all, 
Was chosen leader. Him they served in war, 
And him in peace for sake of warlike deeds 
Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare ? 
Or who so worthy to control themselves 
As he whose prowess had subdued their foes? 
Thus war affording field for the display 
Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace, 
Which have their exigencies too, and call 
For skill in government, at length made king. 
King was a name too proud for man to wear 
With modesty and weakness ; and the crown, 
So dazzling in their eyes who set it on, 
Was sure to intoxicate the brows it bound. 
It is the abject property of most, 
That being parcel of the common mass, 
And destitute of means to raise themselves, 
They sink and settle lower than they need. 


They know not what it is to feel within 

A comprehensive faculty that grasps 

Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields, 

Almost without an effort, plans too vast 

For their conception, which they cannot move. 

Conscious of impotence, they soon grow drunk 

With gazing, when they see an able man 

Step forth to notice ; and besotted thus 

Build him a pedestal, and say, Stand there, 

And be our admiration and our praise ! 

They roll themselves before him in the dust, 

Then most deserving in their own account 

When most extravagant in his applause, 

As if exalting him they raised themselves. 

Thus by degrees self-cheated of their sound 

And sober judgment that he is but man, 

They demi-deify and fume him so, 

That in due season he forgets it too. 

Inflated and astrutwith self-conceit, 

He gulps the windy diet, and ere long 

Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks 

The world was made in vain if not for him. 

Thenceforth they are his cattle : drudges, born 

To bear his burthens ; drawing in his gears, 

And sweating in his service. His caprice 

Becomes the soul that animates them all. 

He deems a thousand or ten thousand lives 

Spent in the purchase of renown for him, 

An easy reckoning, and they think the same. 

Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings 

Were burnish'd into heroes, and became 

The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp, 

Storks among frogs, that have but croak' d and died. 

Strange that such folly as lifts bloated man 

To eminence fit only for a god, 

Should ever drivel out of human lips 

Even in the cradled weakness of the world ! 

Still stranger much, that when at length mankind 

Had reach' d the sinewy firmness of their youth, 

And could discriminate and argue well 

On subjects more mysterious, they were yet 

Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear 

And quake before the gods themselves had made. 

But above measure strange, that neither proof 

Of sad experience, nor examples set 

By some whose patriot virtue has prevail'd, 

Can even now, when they are grown mature 

In wisdom, and with philosophic deeps 

Familiar, serve to emancipate the rest ! 

Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 

To reverence what is ancient and can plead 

A course of long observance for its use, 

That even servitude, the worst of ills, 

Because deliver'd down from sire to son, 

Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing. ^ 

But is it fit, or can it bear the shock 

Of rational discussion, that a man, 

Compounded and made up like other men 

Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust 

.And folly in as ample measure meet 

As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules, 

Should be a despot absolute, and boast 

Himself the only freeman of his land? 

Should when he pleases, and on whom he will, 

Wage war, with any or with no pretence 

Of provocation given or wrong sustain'd, 

And force the beggarly last doit, by means 

That his own humour dictates, from the clutch 

Of poverty, that thus he may procure 

His thousand. , weary of penurious life, 


THE TASK. 


83 


A splendid opportunity to die ? 

Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old 

Jotham ascribed to his assembled trees 

In politic convention) put your trust 

I' th' shadow of a bramble, and reclined 

In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch, 

Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway, 

Where find ye passive fortitude ? Whence springs 

Your self-denying zeal that holds it good 

To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang 

His thorns with streamers of continual praise ? 

We too are friends to loyalty. We love 

The king who loves the law, respects his bounds, 

And reigns content within them. Him we serve 

Freely and with delight, who leaves us free. 

But recollecting still that he is man, 

We trust him not too far. King though he be, 

And king in England too, he may be weak 

And vain enough to be ambitious still, 

May exercise amiss his proper powers, 

Or covet more than freemen chuse to grant : 

Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, 

To administer, to guard, to adorn the state, 

But not to warp or change it. We are his, 

To serve him nobly in the common cause, 

True to the death, but not to be his slaves. 

Mark now the difference, ye that boast your love 

Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. 

We love the man ; the paltry pageant you. 

We the chief patron of the commonwealth ; 

You the regardless author of its woes. 

We for the sake of liberty, a king ; 

You chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake. 

Our love is principle, and has its root 

In reason, is judicious, manly, free ; 

Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod, 

And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. 

Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, 

Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, 

I would not be a king to be beloved 

Causeless, and daub'd with undiscerning praise, 

Where love is mere attachment to the throne, 

Not to the man who fills it as he ought. 

Whose freedom is by sufferance, and at will 
Of a superior, he is never free. 
Who lives, and is not weary of a life 
Exposed to manacles, deserves them well. 
The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd 
And forced to abandon what she bravely sought, 
Deserves at least applause for her attempt, 
And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 
Not often unsuccessful ; power usurp'd 
Is weakness when opposed ; conscious of wrong, 
'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. 
But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought 
Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 
All that the contest calls for ; spirit, strength, 
The scorn of danger, and united hearts, 
The surest presage of the good they seek 1 . 

Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more 
To France, than all her losses and defeats 
Old or of later date, by sea or land, 
Her house of bondage worse than that of old 
Which God avenged on Pharaoh, — the Bastile. 
Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts, 

i The author hopes that he shall not he censured for un- 
necessary warmth upon so interesting a suhject. He is 
aware that it is hecome almost fashionahle to stigmatize 
such sentiments as no hetter than empt^ declamation. 
But it is an ill symptom, and peculiar to ntodern times. 


Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair, 

That monarchs have supplied from age to age 

With music such as suits their sovereign ears, 

The sighs and groans of miserable men ! 

There's not an English heart that would not leap 

To hear that ye were fallen at last, to know 

That even our enemies, so oft employ'd 

In forging chains for us, themselves were free. 

For he that values liberty, confines 

His zeal for her predominance within 

No narrow bounds : her cause engages him 

Wherever pleaded ; 'tis the cause of man. 

There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, 

Immured though unaccused, condemn'd untried, 

Cruelly spared, and hopeless of escape. 

There like the visionary emblem seen 

By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, 

And filleted about with hoops of brass, 

Still lives, though all its pleasant boughs are gone. 

To count the hour-bell and expect no change ; 

And ever as the sullen sound is heard, 

Still to reflect that though a joyless note 

To him whose moments all have one dull pace, 

Ten thousand rovers in the world at large 

Account it music ; that it summons some 

To theatre, or jocund feast or ball ; 

The wearied hireling finds it a release 

From labour ; and the lover that has chid 

Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke 

Upon his heart-strings trembling with delight : — 

To fly for refuge from distracting thought 

To such amusements as ingenious woe 

Contrives, hard-shifting and without her tools ; — 

To read engraven on the mouldy walls, 

In staggering types, his predecessor's tale, 

A sad memorial, and subjoin his own : — 

To turn purveyor to an overgorged 

And bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest 

Is made familiar, watches his approach, 

Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend : — 

To wear out time in numbering to and fro 

The studs that thick emboss his iron door, 

Then downward and then upward, then aslant 

And then alternate, with a sickly hope 

By dint of change to give his tasteless task 

Some relish, till the sum exactly found 

In all directions, he begins again : — 

Oh comfortless existence ! hemm'd around 

With woes, which who that suffers, would not 

And beg for exile, or the pangs of death % [kneel 

That man should thus encroach on fellow man, 

Abridge him of his just and native rights, 

Eradicate him, tear him from his hold 

Upon the endearments of domestic life 

And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, 

And doom him for perhaps a heedless word 

To barrenness and solitude and tears, 

Moves indignation ; makes the name of king, 

(Of king whom such prerogative can please) 

As dreadful as the Manichean God, 

Adored through fear, strong only to destroy. 

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume, 
And we are weeds without it. All constraint, 
Except what wisdom lays on evil men, 
Is evil ; hurts the faculties, impedes 
Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 
The eyesight of discovery, and begets 
In those that suffer it, a sordid mind 
Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit 


84 


THE TASK. 



To be the tenant of man's noble form 

Thee therefore still, blame-worthy as thou art, 

With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed 

By public exigence till annual food 

Fails for the craving hunger of the state, 

Thee I account still happy, and the chief 

Among the nations, seeing thou art free ! 

My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is rude, 

Replete with vapours, and disposes much 

All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine ; 

Thine unadulterate manners are less soft 

And plausible than social life requires, 

And thou hast need of discipline and art 

To give thee what politer France receives 

From nature's bounty, — that humane address 

And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 

In converse, either starved by cold reserve, 

Or flush 'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl ; 

Yet being free, I love thee : for the sake 

Of that one feature, can be well content, 

Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 

To seek no sublunary rest beside. 

But once enslaved, farewell ! I could endure 

Chains nowhere patiently, and chains at home 

Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 

Then what were left of roughness in the grain 

Of British natures, wanting its excuse 

That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 

And shock me. I should then with double pain 

Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime ; 

And if I must bewail the blessing lost 

For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, 

I would at least bewail it under skies 

Milder, among a people less austere, 

In scenes which, having never known me free, 

Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 

Do I forebode impossible events, 

And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven grant I 

But the age of virtuous politics is past, [may ! 

And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 

Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 

And we too wise to trust them. He that takes 

Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 

Design'd by loud declaimers on the part 

Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust, 

Incurs derision for his easy faith 

And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough. 

For when was public virtue to be found 

Where private was not ? Can he love the whole 

Who loves no part ? he be a nation's friend, 

Who is in truth the friend of no man there ? 

Can he be strenuous in his country's cause, 

Who slights the charities for whose dear sake 

That country, if at all, must be beloved ? 

'Tis therefore, sober and good men are sad 
For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 
And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts 
So loose to private duty, that no brain, 
Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes, 
Can dream them trusty to the general weal. 
Such were not they of old, whose temper' d blades 
Dispersed the shackles of usurp'd controul, 
And hew'd them link from link. Then Albion's 
Were sons indeed. They felt a filial heart [sons 
Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs, 
And shining each in his domestic sphere, 
Shone brighter still, once call'd to public view. 
'Tis therefore, many whose sequester'd lot 
Forbids their interference, looking on 
Anticipate perforce some dire event ; 


And seeing the old castle of the state, 
That promised once more firmness, so assail'd 
That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake, 
Stand motionless, expectants of its fall. 
All has its date below. The fatal hour 
Was register'd in heaven ere time began. 
We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works 
Die too. The deep foundations that we lay, 
Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. 
We build with what we deem eternal rock ; 
A distant age asks where the fabric stood, 

nd in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain, 
The undiscoverable secret sleeps. 

But there is yet a liberty unsung 
By poets, and by senators unpraised, 
Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the power 
Of earth and hell confederate take away : 
A liberty, which persecution, fraud, 
Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind ; 
Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. 
'Tis liberty of heart derived from heaven, 
Bought with His blood who gave it to mankind, 
And seal'd with the same token. It is held 
By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure 
By the unimpeachable and awful oath 
And promise of a God. His other gifts 
All bear the royal stamp that speaks them his, 
And are august, but this transcends them all. 
His other works, this visible display 
Of all-creating energy and might, 
Are grand no doubt, and worthy of the Word 
That finding an interminable space 
Unoccupied, has fill'd the void so well, 
And made so sparkling what was dark before. 
But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, 
Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 
Might well suppose the artificer divine 
Meant it eternal, had he not himself 
Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is, 
And still designing a more glorious far, 
Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. 
These therefore are occasional, and pass ; 
Form'd for the confutation of the fool 
Whose lying heart disputes against a God ; 
That office served, they must be swept away. 
Not so the labours of his love : they shine 
In other heavens than these that we behold, 
And fade not. There is paradise that fears 
No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends 
Large prelibation oft to saints below. 
Of these the first in order, and the pledge 
And confident assurance of the rest, 
Is liberty ; a flight into His arms 
Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way ; 
A clear escape from tyrannising lust, 
And full immunity from penal woe. 

Chains are the portion of revolted man, 
Stripes and a dungeon ; and his body serves 
The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, 
Opprobrious residence, he finds them all. 
Propense his heart to idols, he is held 
In silly dotage on created things, 
Careless of their Creator. And that low 
And sordid gravitation of his powers 
To a vile clod, so draws him with such force 
Resistless from the centre he should seek, 
That he at last forgets it. All his hopes 
Tend downward ; his ambition is to sink, 
To reach a depth profounder still, and still 
Profounder, in the fathomless abyss 


THE TASK. 


85 


Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. 

But ere he gain the comfortless repose 

He seeks, an acquiescence of his soul 

In heaven-renouncing exile, he endures — 

What does he not ? from lusts opposed in vain, 

And self-reproaching conscience. He foresees 

The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, 

Fortune and dignity ; the loss of all 

That can ennoble man, and make frail life, 

Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, 

Far worse than all the plagues with which his sins 

Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes 

Ages of hopeless misery ; future death, 

And death still future : not an hasty stroke 

Like that which sends him to the dusty grave, 

But unrepealable enduring death. 

Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears ; 

What none can prove a forgery, may be true, 

What none but bad men wish exploded, must. 

That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud 

Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst 

Of laughter his compunctions are sincere, 

And he abhors the jest by which he shines. 

Remorse begets reform. His master-lust 

Falls first before his resolute rebuke, [ensues, 

And seems dethroned and vanquish'd. Peace 

But spurious and short-lived, the puny child 

Of self-congratulating Pride, begot 

On fancied Innocence. Again he falls, 

And fights again ; but finds his best essay 

A presage ominous, portending still 

Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. 

Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd 

So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, 

Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now 

Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause, 

Perversely, which of late she so condemn'd ; 

With shallow shifts and old devices, worn 

And tatter'd in the service of debauch, 

Covering his shame from his offended sight. 

- " Hath God indeed given appetites to man, 

And stored the earth so plenteously with means 

To gratify the hunger of his wish, 

And doth he reprobate and will he damn 

The use of his own bounty ? making first 

So frail a kind, and then enacting laws 

So strict, that less than perfect must despair ? 

Falsehood ! which whoso but suspects of truth, 

Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. 

Do they themselves, who undertake for hire 

The teacher's office, and dispense at large 

Their weekly dole of edifying strains, 

Attend to their own music \ have they faith 

In what with such solemnity of tone 

And gesture they propound to our belief ? 

Nay, — conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice 

Is but an instrument on which the priest 

May play what tune he pleases. In the deed, 

The unequivocal authentic deed, 

We find sound argument, we read the heart." 

Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong 
To excuses in which reason has no part) 
Serve to compose a spirit well inclined 
To live on terms of amity with vice, 
And sin without disturbance. Often urged 
(As often as libidinous discourse 
Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes 
Of theological and grave import) 
They gain at last his unreserved assent ; 
Till harden'd his heart's temper in the forge 


Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, 

He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing 

Or nothing much, his constancy in ill ; [moves, 

Vain tampering has but foster'd his disease, 

'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. 

Haste now, philosopher, and set him free ! 

Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear 

Of rectitude and fitness ; moral truth 

How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, 

Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps 

Directly to the first and only fair. 

Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the powers 

Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise ; 

Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, 

And with poetic trappings grace thy prose 

Till it out-mantle all the pride of verse. — 

Ah, tinkling cymbal and high-sounding brass 

Smitten in vain ! such music cannot charm 

The eclipse that intercepts truth's heavenly beam, 

And chills and darkens a wide-wandering soul. 

The still small voice is wanted. He must speak 

Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect, 

Who calls for things that are not, and they come. 

Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change 
That turns to ridicule the turgid speech 
And stately tone of moralists, who boast, 
As if, like him of fabulous renown, 
They had indeed ability to smooth 
The shag of savage nature, and were each 
An Orpheus and omnipotent in song. 
But transformation of apostate man 
From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, 
Is work for Him that made him. He alone, 
And He, by means in philosophic eyes 
Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves 
The wonderj; humanizing what is brute 
In the lost kind, extracting from the lips 
Of asps their venom, overpowering strength 
By weakness, and hostility by love. 

Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause 
Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as they deserve, 
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge 
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic Muse, 
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn, 
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass, 
To guard them, and to immortalize her trust. 
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, 
To those who, posted at the shrine of truth, 
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood 
Well spent in such a strife may earn indeed, 
And for a time insure to his loved land 
The sweets of liberty and equal laws ; 
But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize, 
And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed 
In confirmation of the noblest claim, 
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, 
To walk with God, to be divinely free, 
To soar, and to anticipate the skies. 
Yet few remember them. They lived unknown 
Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, 
And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew 
— No marble tells us whither. With their names 
No bard embalms and sanctifies his song ; 
And history, so warm on meaner themes, 
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 
The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire, 
But gives the glorious sufferers little praise \. 

1 See Hume. 


86 


THE TASK. 


He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, 
And all are slaves heside. There's not a chain 
That hellish foes confederate for his harm 
Can wind around him, hut he casts it off 
With as much ease as Samson his green withes. 
•-He looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature, and though poor perhaps, compared 
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, 
Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
And the resplendent rivers ; his to enjoy 
With a propriety that none can feel, 
But who with filial confidence inspired 
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 
And smiling say — My Father made them all. 
Are they not his by a peculiar right, 
And by an emphasis of interest his, 
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, 
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love 
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world 
So clothed with beauty, for rebellious man ? 
Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
In senseless riot ; but ye will not find 
In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, 
A liberty like his, who imimpeach'd 
Of usurpation and to no man's wrong, 
Appropriates nature as his Father's work, 
And has a richer use of yours, than ye. 
He is indeed a freeman : free by birth 
Of no mean city, plann'd or e'er the hills 
Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea 
With all his roaring multitude of waves. 
His freedom is the same in every state ; 
And no condition of this changeful life 
So manifold in cares, whose every day 
Brings its own evil Avith it, makes it less. 
For he has wings that neither sickness, pain, 
Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 
No nook so narrow but he spreads them there 
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds 
His body bound, but knows not what a range 
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain, 
And that to bind him is a vain attempt 
Whom God delights in, and in whom He dwells. 

Acquaint thyself with God, if thou wouldst taste 
His works. Admitted once to his embrace, 
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before ; 
Thine eye shall be instructed, and thine heart 
Made pure, shall relish with divine delight 
Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. 
Brutes graze the mountain-top with faces prone 
And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
It yields them ; or recumbent on its brow, 
Ruminate becdloss of the scene outspread 
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
From inland regions to the distant main. 
Man views it and admires, but rests content 
With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
But not its Autlior. Uneoncern'd, who form'd 
The paradise lie sees, Ik; finds it such, 
And such well-pleased to find it, asks no more. 
Not so the mind that has been touch'd from heaven, 
A nil in the school of sacred wisdom taught 
To read His wonders, in whose thought the world, 
Fair as it is, existed ere it was. 
Not for its own sake merely, hut for His 
.Much more who fashioned it, he gives it praise; 
Praise that from earth resulting as it ought 


To earth's acknowledged sovereign, finds at once 

Its only just proprietor in Him. 

The soul that sees him, or receives sublimed 

New faculties, or learns at least to employ 

More worthily the powers she own'd before ; 

Discerns in all things, what with stupid gaze 

Of ignorance till then she overlook'd, 

A ray of heavenly light gilding all forms 

Terrestrial, in the vast and the minute 

The unambiguous footsteps of the God 

Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, 

And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. 

Much conversant with heaven, she often holds 

With those fair ministers of light to man 

That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, 

Sweet conference ; enquires what strains were they 

With which heaven rang, when every star, in haste 

To gratulate the new-created earth, 

Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God 

Shouted for joy : — " Tell me, ye sliming hosts 

That navigate a sea that knows no storms 

Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, 

If from your elevation, whence ye view 

Distinctly scenes invisible to man, 

And systems of whose birth no tidings yet 

Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race 

Favour'd as ours, transgressors from the womb 

And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, 

And to possess a brighter heaven than yours % 

As one who long detain'd on foreign shores 

Pants to return, and when he sees afar 

His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks 

From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 

Radiant with joy towards the happy land ; 

So I with animated hopes behold, 

And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, 

That show like beacons in the blue abyss 

Ordain' d to guide the embodied spirit home 

From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 

Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires 

That give assurance of their own success, 

And that infused from heaven, must thither tend." 

So reads he nature whom the lamp of truth 
Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word ! 
Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost 
With intellects bemazed in endless doubt, 
But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built, 
With means that were not till by thee employ'd, 
Worlds that had never been hadst thou in strength 
Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power 
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
That hear not, or receive not their report. 
In vain thy creatures testify of thee 
Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed 
A teaching voice ; but 'tis the praise of thine 
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn, 
And with the boon gives talents for its use. 
Till Thou art heard, imaginations vain 
Possess the heart, and fables false as hell, 
Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death 
The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. 
We give to Chance, blind Chance, ourselves as blind, 
The glory of thy work, which yet appears 
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, 
Challenging human scrutiny, and proved 
Then skilful most when most severely judged. 
But Chance is not ; or is not where thou reign'st: 
Thy Providence forbids that fickle power 
(If power she be that works but to confound) 


THE TASK. 


87 


To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 

Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 

Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 

Gods such as guilt makes welcome, Gods that sleep, 

Or disregard our follies, or that sit 

Amused spectators of this bustling stage. 

Thee we reject, unable to abide 

Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure, 

Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause 

For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. 

Then we are free : then liberty like day 

Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heaven 

Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 

A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not 

Till thou hast touch'd them ; 'tis the voice of song, 

A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works, 

Which he that hears it with a shout repeats, 

And adds his rapture to the general praise. 

In that blest moment, Nature throwing wide 

Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 

The Author of her beauties, who retired 

Behind his own creation, works unseen 

By the impure, and hears his power denied. 

Thou art the source and centre of all minds, 

Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! 

From thee departing, they are lost and rove 

At random, without honour, hope, or peace. 

From thee is all that soothes the life of man, 

His high endeavour, and his glad success, 

His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 

But oh thou bounteous Giver of all good, 

Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! 

Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor ; 

And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 


BOOK VI. 


THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 


ARGUMENT. 

Bells at a distance. Their effect. A fine noon in 
winter. A sheltered walk. Meditation better than books. 
Our familiarity with the course of nature makes it appear 
less wonderful than it is. The transformation that spring 
effects in a shrubbery described. A mistake concerning the 
course of nature corrected. God maintains it by an unre- 
mitted act. The amusements fashionable at this hour of 
the day reproved. Animals happy, a delightful sight. 
Origin of cruelty to animals. That it is a great crime 
proved from Scripture. That proof illustrated by a tale. 
A line drawn between the lawful and the unlawful de- 
struction of them. Their good and useful properties in- 
sisted on. Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the 
author on animals. Instances of man's extravagant praise 
of man. The groans of the creation shall have an end. A 
view taken of the restoration of all things. An Invocation 
and an Invitation of Him who shall bring it to pass. The 
retired man vindicated from the charge of uselessness. 
Conclusion. 


There is in souls a sympathy with sounds, 
And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased 
With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave. 
Some chord in unison with what we hear 
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies. 
How soft the music of those village bells 
Falling at intervals upon the ear 


In cadence sweet ! now dying all away, 

Now pealing loud again and louder still, 

Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on. 

With easy force it opens all the cells 

Where memory slept. Wherever I have heard 

A kindred melody, the scene recurs, 

And with it all its pleasures and its pains. 

Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, 

That in a few short moments I retrace 

(As in a map the voyager his course) 

The windings of my way through many years. 

Short as in retrospect the journey seems, 

It seem'd not always short ; the rugged path 

And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn 

Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length. 

Yet feeling present evils, while the past 

Faintly impress the mind, or not at all, 

How readily we wish time spent revoked, 

That we might try the ground again, where once 

(Through inexperience as we now perceive) 

We miss'd that happiness we might have found. 

Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend 

A father, whose authority, in show 

When most severe, and mustering all its force, 

Was but the graver countenance of love ; 

Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower, 

And utter now and then an awful voice, 

But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 

Threatening at once and nourishing the plant. 

We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand 

That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age allured 

By every gilded folly, we renounced 

His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent 

That converse which we now in vain regret. 

How gladly would the man recal to life 

The boy's neglected sire ! a mother too, 

That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, 

Might he demand them at the gates of death. 

Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed 

The playful humour ; he could now endure, 

(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears) 

And feel a parent's presence no restraint. 

But not to understand a treasure's worth 

Till time has stolen away the slighted good, 

Is cause of half the poverty we feel, 

And makes the world the wilderness it is. 

The few that pray at all pray oft amiss, 

And seeking grace to improve the prize they hold 

Would urge a wiser suit, than asking more. 

The night was winter in his roughest mood, 
The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 
Upon the southern side of the slant hills, 
And where the woods fence off the northern blast, 
The season smiles, resigning all its rage 
And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
The dazzling splendour of the scene below. 
Again the harmony comes o'er the vale, 
And through the trees I view the embattled tower 
Whence all the music. I again perceive 
The soothing influence of the wafted strains, 
And settle in soft musings as I tread 
The walk still verdant under oaks and elms, 
Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
The roof, though moveable through all its length 
As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed, 
And intercepting in their silent fall 
The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 
No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
The redbreast warbles still, but is content 


83 


THE TASK. 


With slender notes and more than half snppress'd. 
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light 
From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 
From many a twig the pendent drops of ice, 
That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. 
Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, 
Charms more than silence. Meditation here 
May think down hours to moments. Here the 
May give a useful lesson to the head, [heart 

And learning wiser grow without his books. 
Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 
Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
In heads replete with thoughts of other men, 
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, 
The mere materials with which wisdom builds, 
Till smooth'd and squared and fitted to its place, 
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much ; 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 
Books are not seldom talismans and spells, 
By which the magic art of shrewder wits 
Holds an unthinking multitude enthralled. 
Some to the fascination of a name 
Surrender judgment hood-wink'd. Some the style 
Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds 
Of error, leads them by a tune entranced. 
While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 
The insupportable fatigue of thought, 
And swallowing therefore without pause or choice 
The total grist unsifted, husks and all. 
But trees, and rivulets whose rapid course 
Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, 
And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs, 
And lanes in which the primrose ere her time 
Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn 
Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth, [root, 
Not shy as in the world, and to be won 
By slow solicitation, seize at once 
The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. 
What prodigies can power divine perform 
More grand, than it produces year by year, 
And all in sight of inattentive man ! 
Familiar with the effect we slight the cause, 
And in the constancy of nature's course, 
The regular return of genial months, 
And renovation of a faded world, 
See nought to wonder at. Should God again, 
As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
Of the undeviating and punctual sun, 
How would the world admire ! But speaks it less 
An agency divine to make him know 
His moment when to sink and when to rise, 
Age after age, than to arrest his course? 
All we behold is miracle, but seen 
So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
Where now the vital energy that moved, 
While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph 
Through the imperceptible meandering veins 
Of leaf and flower? It sleeps ; and the icy touch 
Of unprolific winter has impress'd 
A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 
But let the months go round, a few short months, 
And all shall be restored. These naked shoots, 
Barren as lances, among which the wind 
Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, 
Shall put their graceful foliage on again, 
And more aspiring and with ampler spread 
Shall boast new charms, and more than they have 
Then, each in its peculiar honours clad [lost. 


Shall publish even to the distant eye 

Its family and tribe. Laburnum rich 

In streaming gold ; syringa ivory pure ; 

The scented and the scentless rose ; this red 

And of an humbler growth, the other tall, 1 

And throwing up into the darkest gloom 

Of neighbouring cypress or more sable yew 

Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf 

That the wind severs from the broken wave ; 

The lilac various in array, now white, 

Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 

With purple spikes pyramidal, as if 

Studious of ornament, yet unresolved [all ; 

Which hue she most approved, she chose them 

Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan, 

But well compensating their sickly looks 

With never-cloying odours, early and late ; 

Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 

Of flowers like flies clothing her slender rods 

That scarce a leaf appears; mezereon too, 

Though leafless, well attired and thick beset 

With blushing wreaths investing every spray ; 

Althaea with the purple eye ; the broom, 

Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd, 

Her blossoms ; and luxuriant above all 

The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, 

The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf 

Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 

The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars. 

These have been, and these shall be in their day ; 

And all this uniform uncolour'd scene 

Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, 

And flush into variety again. 

From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, 

Is Nature's progress when she lectures man 

In heavenly truth ; evincing as she makes 

The grand transition, that there lives and works 

A soul in all things, and that soul is God. 

The beauties of the wilderness are his, 

That make so gay the solitary place 

Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms 

That cultivation glories in, are his. 

He sets the bright procession on its way, 

And marshals all the order of the year. 

He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, 

And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case 

Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ 

Uninjured, with inimitable art, 

And ere one flowery season fades and dies 

Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 

Some say that in the origin of things, 
When all creation started into birth, 
The infant elements received a law 
From which they swerve not since ; that under 
Of that controlling ordinance they move, [force 
And need not his immediate hand, who first 
Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. 
Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 
The encumbrance of his own concerns, and spare 
The great Artificer of all that moves 
The stress of a continual act, the pain 
Of unremitted vigilance and care, 
As too laborious and severe a task. 
So man, the moth, is not afraid it seems 
To span Omnipotence, and measure might 
That knows no measure, by the scanty rule 
And standard of his own, that is to-day, 
And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. 
But how should matter occupy a charge, 


1 The guelder-rose. 


THE TASK. 


89 


Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 

So vast in its demands, unless impell'd 

To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, 

And under pressure of some conscious cause ? 

The Lord of all, himself through all diffused, 

Sustains and is the life of all that lives. 

Nature is but a name for an effect 

Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire 

By which the mighty process is maintain'd, 

Who sleeps not, is not weary ; in whose sight 

Slow-circling ages are as transient days ; 

Whose work is without labour, whose designs 

No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts, 

And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 

Him blind antiquity profaned, not served, 

With self-taught rites and under various names, 

Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, 

And Flora and Vertumnus ; peopling earth 

With tutelary goddesses and gods 

That were not, and commending as they would 

To each some province, garden, field, or grove. 

But all are under One. One spirit — His 

Who bore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, 

Rules universal nature. Not a flower 

But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain, 

Of his unrival'd pencil. He inspires 

Their balmy odours and imparts their hues, 

And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes 

In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, 

The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 

Happy who walks with him ! whom what he finds 

Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, 

Or what he views of beautiful or grand 

In nature, from the broad majestic oak 

To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, 

Prompts with remembrance of a present God. 

His presence who made all so fair, perceived, 

Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene 

Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 

Though winter had been none had man been true, 

And earth be punish' d for its tenant's sake, 

Yet not in vengeance ; as this smiling sky 

So soon succeeding such an angry night, 

And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 

Recovering fast its liquid music, prove. 

Who then that has a mind well strung and tuned 
To contemplation, and within his reach 
A scene so friendly to his favourite task, 
Would waste attention at the chequer'd board, 
His host of wooden warriors to and fro 
Marching and counter-marching, with an eye 
As fixt as marble, with a forehead ridged 
And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand 
Trembling, as if eternity were hung 
In balance on his conduct of a pin 1 
Nor envies he aught more their idle sport 
Who pant with application misapplied 
To trivial toys, and pushing ivory balls 
Across the velvet level, feel a joy 
Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds 
Its destined goal of difficult access. 
Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon 
To Miss, the mercer's plague, from shop to shop 
Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks 
The polish'd counter, and approving none ; 
Or promising with smiles to call again ; 
Nor him, who by his vanity seduced 
And soothed into a dream that he discerns 
The difference of a Guido from a daub, 
Frequents the crowded auction : station'd there 


As duly as the Laugford of the show, 
With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, 
And tongue accomplish'd in the fulsome cant 
And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease, 
Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls, 
He notes it in his book, then raps his box, 
Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate 
That he has let it pass, — but never bids. 

Here unmolested, through whatever sign 
The sun proceeds, I wander : neither mist, 
Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me, 
Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. 
Even in the spring and play -time of the year 
That calls the unwonted villager abroad 
With all her little ones, a sportive train, 
To gather king-cups in the yellow mead, 
And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick 
A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook, 
These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, 
Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, 
Scarce shuns me ; and the stock-dove unalarm'd 
Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends 
His long love-ditty for my near approach. 
Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm 
That age or injury has hollow'd deep, 
Where on his bed of wool and matted leaves 
He has outslept the winter, ventures forth 
To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, 
The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play. 
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, [brush 
Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his 
And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, 
With all the prettiness of feign"d alarm, 
And anger insignificantly fierce. 

The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
For human fellowship, as being void 
Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike 
To love and friendship both, that is not pleased 
With sight of animals enjoying life, 
Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 
The bounding fawn that darts across the glade 
When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, 
And spirits buoyant with excess of glee ; 
The horse, as wanton and almost as fleet, 
That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, 
Then stops and snorts, and throwing high his heels 
Starts to the voluntary race again ; 
The very kine that gambol at high noon, 
The total herd receiving first from one 
That leads the dance, a summons to be gay, 
Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth 
Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent 
To give such act and utterance as they may 
To ecstacy too big to be suppress'd ; — 
These, and a thousand images of bliss, 
With which kind nature graces every scene 
Where cruel man defeats not her design, 
Impart to the benevolent, who wish 
All that are capable of pleasure pleased, 
A far superior happiness to theirs, 
The comfort of a reasonable joy. 

Man scarce had risen, obedient to His call 
Who form'd him, from the dust his future grave, 
When he was crown'd as never king was since. 
God set the diadem upon his head, 
And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood 
The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd, 
All happy and all perfect in their kind, 
The creatures, summon'd from their various haunts 
To see their sovereign, and confess his sway. 


i»0 


THE TASK. 


Vi 


ast was his empire, absolute liis power, 
Or bounded only by a law whose force 
'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel 
And own, the law of universal love. 
He ruled with meekness, they obeyed with joy. 
No ci'uel purpose lurk'd within his heart, 
And no distrust of his intent in theirs. 
So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, 
Where kindness on his part who ruled the whole 
Begat a tranquil confidence in all, 
And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. 
But sin marr'd all ; and the revolt of man, 
That source of evils not exhausted yet, 
Was punish' d with revolt of his from him. 
Garden of God, how terrible the change 
Thy groves and lawns then witness'd ! every heart, 
Each animal of every name, conceived 
A jealousy and an instinctive fear, 
And conscious of some danger, either fled 
Precipitate the loathed abode of man, 
Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort, 
As taught him too to tremble in his turn. 
Thus harmony and family accord 
Were driven from Paradise ; and in that hour 
The seeds of cruelty that since have swell'd 
To such gigantic and enormous growth, 
Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. 
Hence date the persecution and the pain 
That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, 
Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, 
To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, 
Or his base gluttony, are causes good 
And just in his account, why bird and beast 
Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed 
With blood of their inhabitants impaled. 
Earth groans beneath the burthen of a war 
Waged with defenceless innocence, while he, 
Not satisfied to prey on all around, 
Adds tenfold bitterness to death, by pangs 
Needless, and first torments ere he devours. 
Now happiest they that occupy the scenes 
The most remote from his abhorr'd resort, 
Whom once as delegate of God on earth 
They fear'd, and as his perfect image loved. 
The wilderness is theirs with all its caves, 
Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains 
Unvisited by man. There they are free, 
And howl and roar as likes them, uncoiitroll'd, 
Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. 
Woe to the tyrant if he dare intrude 
Within the confines of their wild domain ; 
j The lion tells him — I am monarch here, — 
I And if lie spares him, spares him on the terms 

Of royal mercy, and through generous scorn 
I To rend a victim trembling at his foot. 
In measure as by force of instinct drawn, 
Or by necessity constrain'd, they live 
Dependent upon man, those in his fields, 
These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. 
They prove too often at how dear a rate 
He sells protection. Witness, at his foot 
The spaniel dying for some venial fault, 
Under dissection of the knotted scourge. 
Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 
Driven to the slaughter, goaded as he runs 
To madness, while the savage at his heels 
Laughs at the frantic sufferer's fury spent 
Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. 
He too is witness, noblest of the train 
That wait on man, the flight-perfoi'ming horse: 


With unsuspecting readiness he takes 
His murderer on his back, and push'd all day 
With bleeding sides and flanks that heave for life 
To the far-distant goal, arrives and dies. 
So little mercy shows who needs so much ! 
Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, 
Denounce no doom on the delinquent % None. 
He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts 
(As if barbarity were high desert) 
The inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise 
Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose 
The honours of his matchless horse his own. 
But many a crime deem'd innocent on earth 
Is register'd in heaven, and these, no doubt, 
Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. 
Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, 
But God will never. When he charged the Jew 
To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise, 
And when the bush-exploring boy that seized 
The young, to let the parent bird go free, 
Proved he not plainly that his meaner works 
Are yet his care, and have an interest all, 
All, in the universal Father's love ? 
On Noah, and in him on all mankind 
The charter was conferr'd by which we hold 
The flesh of animals in fee, and claim 
O'er all we feed on, power of life and death. 
But read the instrument, and mark it well. 
The oppression of a tyrannous control 
Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield 
Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous through sin, 
Feed on the slain but spare the living brute. 

The Governor of all, himself to all 
So bountiful, in whose attentive ear 
The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp 
Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs 
Of hunger unassuaged, has interposed, 
Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite 
The injurious trampler upon nature's law 
That claims forbearance even for a brute. 
He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart ; 
And prophet as he was, he might not strike 
The blameless animal, without rebuke, 
On which he rode : her opportune offence 
Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died. 
He sees that human equity is slack 
To interfere, though in so just a cause, 
And makes the task his own ; inspiring dumb 
And helpless victims with a sense so keen 
Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, 
And such sagacity to take revenge, 
That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man. 
An ancient, not a legendary tale, 
By one of sound intelligence rehearsed, 
(If such, who plead for Providence, may seem 
In modern eyes) shall make the doctrine clear. 

Where England stretch'd towards the setting sun, 
Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, 
Dwelt young Misagathus : a scorner he 
Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, 
Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. 
He journey'd, and his chance was as he went, 
To join a traveller of far different note, 
Evander, famed for piety, for years 
Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 
Fame had not left the venerable man 
A stranger to the manners of the youth, 
Whose face too was familiar to his view. 
Their way was on the margin of the land, 
O'er the green summit of the rocks whose base 


THE TASK. 


91 


Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 
The charity that warm'd his heart was moved 
At sight of the man-monster. With a smile 
Gentle, and affable, and full of grace, 
As fearful of offending whom he wish'd 
Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths 
Not harshly thunder'd forth or rudely press'd, 
But like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. 
"And dost thou dream," the impenetrable man 
Exclaim'd, " that me, the lullabies of age 
And fantasies of dotards, such as thou, 
Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me ? 
Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave 
Need no such aids as superstition lends 
To steel their hearts agamst the dread of death !" 
He spoke, and to the precipice at hand 
Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, 
And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought 
Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. 
But though the felon on his back could dare 
The dreadful leap, more rational his steed 
Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round, 
Or e'er his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge, 
Baffled his rider, saved against his will. 
The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd 
By medicine well applied, but without grace 
The heart's insanity admits no cure. 
Enraged the more by what might have reform' d 
His horrible intent, again he sought 
Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd, 
With sounding whip and rowels dyed in blood. 
But still in vain. The providence that meant 
A longer date to the far nobler beast, 
Spared yet again the ignobler for his sake. 
And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere 
Incurable obduracy evinced, 

His rage grew cool ; and pleased perhaps to have 
So cheaply the renown of that attempt, [earn'd 
With looks of some complacence he resumed 
His road, deriding much the blank amaze 
Of good Evander, still where he was left 
Fixt motionless, and petrified with dread. 
So on they fared ; discourse on other themes 
Ensuing, seem'd to obliterate the past, 
And tamer far for so much fury shown, 
(As is the course of rash and fiery men) 
The rude companion smiled as if transform'd. 
But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, 
An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. 
The impious challenger of power divine 
Was now to learn, that Heaven, though slow to 
Is never with impunity defied. [wrath, 

His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, 
Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, 
Unbidden, and not now to be control'd, 
Rush'd to the cliff, and having reach'd it, stood. 
At once the shock unseated him. He flew 
Sheer o'er the craggy barrier, and immersed 
Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 
The death he had deserved, and died alone. 
So God wrought double justice ; made the fool 
The victim of his own tremendous choice, 
And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 

I would not enter on my list of friends 
(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine 
Yet wanting sensibility) the man [sense, 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
That crawls at evening in the public path, 
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd, 


Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 

The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, 

And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes 

A visitor unwelcome into scenes 

Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 

The chamber, or refectory, may die : 

A necessary act incurs no blame. 

Not so when, held within their proper bounds 

And guiltless of offence, they range the air, 

Or take their pastime in the spacious field. 

There they are privileged ; and he that hunts 

Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong, 

Disturbs the economy of nature's realm, 

Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode. 

The sum is this : if man's convenience, health, 

Or safety interfere, his rights and claims 

Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 

Else they are all — the meanest things that are, 

As free to live and to enjoy that life, 

As God was free to form them at the first, 

Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. 

Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons 

To love it too. The spring-time of our years 

Is soon dishonour'd and defiled in most 

By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 

To check them. But alas ! none sooner shoots, 

If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth, 

Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. 

Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule 

And righteous limitation of its act, 

By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man ; 

And he that shows none, being ripe in years, 

And conscious of the outrage he commits, 

Shall seek it, and not find it in his turn. 

Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more 
By our capacity of grace divine, 
From creatures that exist but for our sake, 
Which having served us, perish, we are held 
Accountable, and God, some future day, 
Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 
Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust. 
Superior as we are, they yet depend 
Not more on human help, than we on theirs. 
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given 
In aid of our defects. In some are found 
Such teachable and apprehensive parts, 
That man's attainments in his own concerns, 
Match'd with the expertness of the brutes in theirs, 
Are oft-times vanquish'd and thrown far behind. 
Some show that nice sagacity of smell, 
And read with such discernment in the port 
And figure of the man, his secret aim, 
That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 
But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
To quadruped instructors, many a good 
And useful quality, and virtue too, 
Rarely exemplified among ourselves ; 
Attachment never to be wean'd, or changed 
By any change of fortune, proof alike 
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect ; 
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
Can move or warp, and gratitude for small 
And trivial favours, lasting as the life, 
And glistening even in the dying eye. 

Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms 
Wins public honour ; and ten thousand sit 
Patiently present at a sacred song, 
Commemoration-mad ; content to hear 
(Oh wonderful effect of music's power !) 


, 


92 


THE TASK. 


Messiah's eulogy, for Handel's sake. 

But less, methiuks, than sacrilege might serve — 

(For was it less? What heathen would have dared 

To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, 

And hang it up in honour of a man ?) 

Much less might serve, when all that we design 

Is but to gratify an itching ear, 

And give the day to a musician's praise. 

Remember Handel ? who that was not born ' 

Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, 

Or can, the more than Homer of his age ? 

Yes — we remember him. And while we praise 

A talent so divine, remember too 

That His most holy book from whom it came 

Was never meant, was never used before 

To buckram out the memory of a man. 

But hush ! — the muse perhaps is too severe, 

And with a gravity beyond the size 

And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed 

Less impious than absurd, and owing more 

To want of judgment than to wrong design. 

So in the chapel of old Ely House, 

When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, 

Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, 

The simple clerk but loyal, did announce, 

And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, 

Sung to the praise and glory of King George. 

— Man praises man ; and Garrick's memory next, 

When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 

The idol of our worship while he lived, 

The god of our idolatry once more, 

Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go 

In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. 

The theatre, too small, shall suffocate 

Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits 

Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 

Ungratified. For there some noble lord 

Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch, 

Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, 

And strut and storm and straddle, stamp and stare, 

To show the world how Garrick did not act. 

For Garrick was a worshipper himself ; 

He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites 

And solemn ceremonial of the day, 

And call'd the world to worship on the banks 

Of Avon famed in song. Ah ! pleasant proof 

That piety has still in human hearts 

Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. 

The mulberry tree was hung with blooming wreaths, 

The mulberry tree stood centre of the dance, 

The mulberry tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs, 

And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry tree 

Supplied such relics as devotion holds 

Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 

So 'twas a hallow'd time. Decorum reign'd, 

And mirth without offence. No few return'd 

Doubtless much edified, and all refresh'd. 

•4-Man praises man. The rabble all alive, 

From tippling-benches, cellars, stalls, and sties, 

Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, 

A pompous and slow-moving pageant comes. 

Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, 

To gaze in his eyes and bless him. Maidens wave 

Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy ; 

While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 

The gilded equipage, and turning loose 

His .steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. 

Why ? what has charm'd them ? Hath he saved 

the state ? 
No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No. 


Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, 
That finds out every crevice of the head 
That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs 
Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is neai', 
And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 
Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, 
And dedicate a tribute, in its use 
And just direction sacred, to a thing 
Doom'd to the dust, or lodged already there. 
Encomium in old time was poets' work ; 
But poets having lavishly long since 
Exhausted all materials of the art, 
The task now falls into the public hand. 
And I, contented with an humble theme, 
Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down 
The vale of nature, where it creeps and winds 
Among her lovely works, with a secure 
And unambitious course, reflecting clear 
If not the virtues yet the worth of brutes. 
And I am recompensed, and deem the toils 
Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine 
May stand between an animal and woe, 
And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. 

The groans of nature in this nether world, 
Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. 
Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung 
Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, 
The time of rest, the promised sabbath comes. 
Six thousand years of sorrow have well nigh 
Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course 
Over a sinful world. And what remains 
Of this tempestuous state of human things, 
Is merely as the working of a sea 
Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest. 
For He whose car the winds are, and the clouds 
The dust that waits upon his sultry march, 
When sin hath moved him and his wrath is hot, 
Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend 
Propitious, in his chariot paved with love, 
And what his storms have blasted and defaced 
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 

Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch : 
Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
To meaner music, and not suffer loss. 
But when a poet, or when one like me, 
Happy to rove among poetic flowers, 
Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, 
Such is the impulse and the spur he feels 
To give it praise proportion'd to its worth, 
That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems 
The labour, were a task more arduous still. 

Oh scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, 
Scenes of accomplish'd bliss ! which who can see, 
Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? 
Rivers of gladness water all the earth, 
And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach 
Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 
Laughs with abundance ; and the land once lean, 
Or fertile only in its own disgrace, 
Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. 
The various seasons woven into one, 
And that one season an eternal spring, 
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, 
For there is none to covet, all are full. 
The lion and the libbard and the bear 
Graze with the fearless flocks. All bask at noon 
Together, or all gambol in the shade 


THE TASK. 


93 


Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. 

Antipathies are none. No foe to man 

Lurks in the serpent now ; the mother sees 

And smiles to see her infant's playful hand 

Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, 

To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 

The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 

All creatures worship man, and all mankind 

One Lord, one Father. Error has no place ; 

That creeping pestilence is driven away ; 

The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart 

No passion touches a discordant string, 

But all is harmony and love. Disease 

Is not. The pure and uncontaminate blood 

Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 

One song employs all nations, and all cry 

« "Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us ! " 

The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 

Shout to each other ; and the mountain tops 

From distant mountains catch the flying joy, 

Till nation after nation taught the strain, 

Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. 

Behold the measure of the promise fill'd, 

See Salem built, the labour of a God ! 

Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 

All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 

Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands 

Flows into her, unbounded is her joy, 

And endless her increase. Thy rams are there 

Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar l there ; 

The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 

And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there. 

Praise is in all her gates. Upon her walls, 

And in her streets, and in her spacious courts 

Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 

Kneels with the native of the farthest west, 

And ^Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand 

And worships. Her report has travel'd forth 

Into all lands. From every clime they come 

To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 

O Sion ! an assembly such as earth 

Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see. 

Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were 
Perfect, and all must be at length restored, [once 
So God has greatly purposed ; who would else 
In his dishonour'd works himself endure 
Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. 
Haste then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, 
Ye slow-revolving seasons ! We would see 
(A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 
A world that does not dread and hate his laws, 
And suffer for its crime : would learn how fair 
The creature is that God pronounces good, 
How pleasant in itself what pleases him. 
Here every drop of honey hides a sting ; 
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers, 
And even the joy that haply some poor heart 
Derives from heaven, pure as the fountain is, 
Is sullied in the stream ; taking a taint 
From touch of human lips, at best impure. 
Oh for a world in principle as chaste 
As this is gross and selfish ! over which 
Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway, 
That govern all things here, shouldering aside 
The meek and modest truth, and forcing her 
To seek a refuge from the tongue of strife 

1 Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael and progeni- 
tors of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded 
to, may be reasonably considered as representatives of the 
Gentiles at large. 


In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men, 
Where violence shall never lift the sword, 
Nor cunning justify the proud man's wrong, 
Leaving the poor no remedy but tears : 
Where he that fills an office, shall esteem 
The occasion it presents of doing good 
More than the perquisite : where law shall speak 
Seldom, and never but as wisdom prompts 
And equity; not jealous more to guard 
A worthless form, than to decide aright : 
Where fashion shall not sanctify abuse, 
Nor smooth good-breeding (supplemental grace) 
With lean performance ape the work of love. 

Come then, and added to thy many crowns 
Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, 
Thou who alone art worthy ! it was thine 
By ancient covenant ere nature's birth, 
And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, 
And overpaid its value with thy blood. 
Thy saints proclaim thee King ; and in their hearts 
Thy title is engraven with a pen 
Dipt in the fountain of eternal love. 
Thy saints proclaim thee King ; and thy delay 
Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 
The dawn of thy last advent long-desired, 
Would creep into the bowels of the hills, 
And flee for safety to the falling rocks. 
The very spirit of the world is tired 
Of its own taunting question ask'd so long, 
" Where is the promise of your Lord's approach % " 
The infidel has shot his bolts away, 
Till his exhausted quiver yielding none, 
He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd, 
And aims them at the shield of truth again. 
The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, 
That hides divinity from mortal eyes, 
And all the mysteries to faith proposed 
Insulted and traduced, are cast aside 
As useless, to the moles and to the bats. 
They now are deem'd the faithful, and are praised, 
Who constant only in rejecting thee, 
Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal, 
And quit their office for their error's sake. 
Blind and in love with darkness ! yet even these 
Worthy, compared with sycophants, who knee 
Thy name, adoring, and then preach thee man. 
So fares thy church. But how thy church may 
fare [preach, 

The world takes little thought; who will may 
And what they will. All pastors are alike 
To wandering sheep, resolved to follow none. 
Two gods divide them all, Pleasure and Gain. 
For these they live, they sacrifice to these, 
And in their service wage perpetual war [hearts, 
With conscience and with thee. Lust in their 
And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth 
To prey upon each other ; stubborn, fierce, 
High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. 
Thy prophets speak of such ; and noting down 
The features of the last degenerate times, 
Exhibit every lineament of these. 
Come then, and added to thy many crowns 
Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest, 
Due to thy last and most effectual work, 
Thy word fulfill'd, the conquest of a world ! 

He is the happy man, whose life even now 
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ; 
Who doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state 
Is pleased with it, and were he free to chuse, [fruit 
Would make his fate his choice ; whom peace, the 


94 


AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 


Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, 

Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one 

Content indeed to sojourn while he must 

Below the skies, hut having there his home. 

The world o'erlooks him in her busy search 

Of objects more illustrious in her view ; 

And occupied as earnestly as she, 

Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. 

She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not ; 

He seeks not hex-s, for he has proved them vain. 

He cannot skim the ground like summer birds 

Pursuing gilded flies, and such he deems 

Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. 

Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, 

Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from 

She makes familiar with a heaven unseen, [earth 

And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. 

Not slothful he, though seeming unemploy'd, 

And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams 

Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird 

That flutters least is longest on the wing. 

Ask him indeed what trophies he has raised, 

Or what achievements of immortal fame 

He purposes, and he shall answer — None. 

His warfare is within. There unfatigued 

His fervent spirit labours. There he fights, 

And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, 

And never- withering wreaths, compared with which 

The laurels that a Csesar reaps are weeds. 

Perhaps the self-approving haughty world, 

(That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks 

Scarce deigns to notice him, or if she see 

Deems him a cipher in the works of God) 

Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, 

Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes 

Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring 

And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, 

When Isaac like, the solitary saint 

Walks forth to meditate at eventide, 

And think on her, who thinks not for herself. 

Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns 

Of little worth, and idler in the best, 

If author of no mischief and some good, 

He seek his proper happiness by means 

That may advance, but cannot hinder thine. 

Nor though he tread the secret path of life, 

Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease, 

Account him an incumbrance on the state, 

Receiving benefits, and rendering none. 

His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere 

Shine with his fair example, and though small 

His influence, if that influence all be spent 

In soothing sorrow and in quenching strife, 

In aiding helpless indigence, in works 

From which at least a grateful few derive 

Some taste of comfort in a world of woe, 

Then let the supercilious great confess 

He serves his country ; recompenses well 

The state beneath the shadow of whose vine 

He sits secure, and in the scale of life 

Holds no ignoble, though a slighted place. 

The man whose virtues are more felt than seen, 

Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ; 

But he may boast what few that win it can, 

That if his country stand not by his skill, 

At least his follies have not wrought her fall. 

Polite refinement offers him in vain 

Her golden tube, through which a sensual world 

Draws gross impurity, and likes it well, 

The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. 


Not that he peevishly rejects a mode 

Because that world adopts it ; if it bear 

The stamp and clear impression of good sense, 

And be not costly more than of true worth, 

He puts it on, and for decorum sake 

Can wear it even as gracefully as she. 

She judges of refinement by the eye, 

He by the test of conscience, and a heart 

Not soon deceived, aware that what is base 

No polish can make sterling, and that vice 

Though well perfumed and elegantly dress'd, 

Like an unburied carcass trick'd with flowers, 

Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter far 

For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. 

So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, 

More golden than that age of fabled gold 

Renown'd in ancient song ; not vex'd with care 

Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approved 

Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. 

So glide my life away ! and so at last 

My share of duties decently fulfill'd, 

May some disease, not tardy to perform 

Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke, 

Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat 

Beneath the turf that I have often trod. 

It shall not grieve me, then, that once when call'd 

To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse, 

I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, 

With that light task ; but soon to please her more 

Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, 

Let fall the unfinish'd wreath, and roved for fruit; 

Roved far and gather'd much : some harsh, 'tis true, 

Pick'd from the thorns and briars of reproof, 

But wholesome, well-digested ; grateful some 

To palates that can taste immortal truth, 

Insipid else, and sure to be despised. 

But all is in His hand whose praise I seek. 

In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, 

If He regard not, though divine the theme. 

'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 

And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre 

To charm His ear, whose eye is on the heart, 

Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, 

Whose approbation — prosper even mine. 


AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

Dear Joseph, — five-and-twenty years ago — 
Alas ! how time escapes — 'tis even so ; — 
With frequent intercourse and always sweet 
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat 
A tedious hour, — and now we never meet. 
As some grave gentleman in Terence says, 
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days) 
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings, — 
Strange fluctuation of all human things I 
True. Changes will befal, and friends may part, 
But distance only cannot change the heart : 
And were I call'd to prove the assertion true, 
One proof should serve, a reference to you. 

Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life, 
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife, 
We find the friends we fancied we had won, 
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none ? 
Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch ? 
No. Gold they seem'd, but they were never such. 
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe 
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge, 


TIROCINIUM. 


95 


Dreading a negative, and overawed 

Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. 

u Go, fellow ! — whither V — turning short about — 

*' Nay. Stay at home ; — you're always going out." 

" 'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end." — 

"For what *" — "An please you, sir, to see a friend." 

"A friend ?" Horatio cried, and seem'd to start, — 

" Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart — 

And fetch my cloak, for though the night be raw 

I'll see him too — the first I ever saw." 

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, 

And was his plaything often when a child ; 

But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close, 

Else he was seldom bitter or morose : 

Perhaps his confidence just then betray' d, 

His grief might prompt him with the speech he made ; 

Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth, 

The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. 

Howe'er it was, his language in my mind 

Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. 

But not to moralize too much, and strain 


To prove an evil of which all complain, 
(I hate long arguments, verbosely spun) 
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
Once on a time, an Emperor, a wise man, 
No matter where, in China or Japan, 
Decreed that whosoever should offend 
Against the well-known duties of a friend, 
Convicted once, should ever after wear 
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare ; 
The punishment importing this, no doubt, 
That all was naught within, and all found out. 
O happy Britain ! we have not to fear 
Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; 
Else could a law like that which I relate, 
Once have the sanction of our triple state, 
Some few that I have known in days of old 
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, 
Might traverse England safely to and fro, 
An honest man, close-button'd to the chin, 
Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within. 


TIROCINIUM; 

OR, 

A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 


Kz<pakaiov 8t) iraiSeias opOr) Tpotpr), 

PLATO. 

ApXW TroAireias cnraaris, vecav rpocpa. 

DIOG. LAERT. 


TO THE 

REV. WILLIAM CAWTHOBNE UNWIN, 

RECTOR OF STOCK IN ESSEX, 

THE TUTOR OF HIS TWO SONS, 
THE FOLLOWING POEM, 

RECOMMENDING PRIVATE TUITION IN PREFERENCE TO AN 

EDUCATION AT SCHOOL, 

IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 

WILLIAM COWPER. 

Olney, Nov. 6, 1784. 


It is not from his form, in which we trace 
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace, 
That man, the master of this globe, derives 
His right of empire over all that lives. 
That form indeed, the associate of a mind 
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind, 
That form, the labour of Almighty skill, 
Framed for the service of a free-born will, 
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, 
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. 
Hers is the state, the splendour and the throne, 
An intellectual kingdom, all her own. 
For her, the memory fills her ample page 
With truths pour'd down from every distant age, 
For her amasses an unbounded store, 
The wisdom of great nations, now no more, 


Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil, 
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil, 
When copiously supplied then most enlarged, 
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged. 
For her, the fancy roving unconfined, 
The present Muse of every pensive mind, 
Works magic Avonders, adds a brighter hue 
To nature's scenes, than nature ever knew ; 
At her command, winds rise and waters roar, 
Again she lays them slumbering on the shore ; 
With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies, 
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. 
For her, the judgment, umpire in the strife, 
That grace and nature have to wage through 

life, 
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, 
Appointed sage preceptor to the will, 
Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice 
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. 

Why did the fiat of a God give birth 
To yon fair sun and his attendant earth, 
And when descending he resigns the skies, 
Why takes the gentler moon her turn to rise, 
Whom ocean feels through all his countless waves, 
And owns her power on every shore he laves ? 
Why do the seasons still enrich the year, 
Fruitful and young as in their first career ? 
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, 
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze : 
Summer in haste the thriving charge receives 
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, 
Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews 
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues ; — 
'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, 
Power misemploy'd, munificence misplaced, 


06 


TIROCINIUM. 


Had not its Author dignified the plan, 
And crown'd it with the majesty of man. 
Thus forni'd, thus placed, intelligent, and taught, 
Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought, 
The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws 
Finds in a soher moment time to pause, 
To press the important question on his heart, 
" Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art ? " 
If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, 
The next mere dust and ashes in the grave, 
Endued with reason only to descry 
His crimes and follies with an aching eye, 
With passions, just that he may prove with pain 
The force he spends against their fury, vain ; 
And if soon after having burnt by turns 
With every lust with which frail nature burns, 
His being end where death dissolves the bond, 
i The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond, 
Then he, of all that nature has brought forth, 
Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, 
And useless while he lives, and when he dies, 
Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. 

Truths that the learn 'd pursue with eager 
thought, 
Are not important always as dear-bought, 
Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, 
A childish waste of philosophic pains ; 
But truths on which depends our main concern, 
That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, 
Shine by the side of every path we tread 
With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 
'Tis true, that if to trifle life away 
Down to the sunset of their latest day, 
Then perish on futurity's wide shore, 
Like fleeting exhalations, found no more, 
Were all that heaven required of human kind, 
And all the plan their destiny design'd, 
What none could reverence all might justly blame, 
And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. 
But reason heard, and nature well perused, 
At once the dreaming mind is disabused, 
If all we find possessing earth, sea, air, 
Reflect his attributes who placed them there, 
Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd 
Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing Mind, 
'Tis plain, the creature whom he chose to invest 
With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, 
Received his nobler nature, and was made 
Fit for the power in which he stands array'd, 
That first or last, hereafter if not here, 
He too might make his Author's wisdom clear, 
Praise him on earth, or obstinately dumb 
Suffer his justice in a world to come. 
This once believed, 'twere logic misapplied 
To prove a consequence by none denied, 
That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 
Betimes into the mould of heavenly truth, 
That taught of God they may indeed be wise, 
Nor ignorantly wandering miss the skies. 

In early days the conscience has in most 
A quickness, which in later life is lost, 
Preserved from guilt by salutary fears, 
Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears. 
Too careless often as our years proceed, 
What friends we sort with, or what books we 

read, 
Our parents yet exert a prudent care 
To feed our infant minds with proper fare, 
And wisely store the nursery by degrees 
With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease. 


Neatly secured from being soil'd or torn 
Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, 
A book (to please us at a tender age 
'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page) 
Presents the prayer the Saviour deign'd to teach, 
Which children use, and parsons — when they 
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next, [preach. 
Through moral narrative, or sacred text, 
And learn with wonder how this world began, 
Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom 'd man: 
Points, which unless the Scripture made them plain, 
The wisest heads might agitate in vain. 

thou, whom borne on fancy's eager wing 
Back to the season of life's happy spring, 

1 pleased remember, and while memory yet 
Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget, 
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail, 
Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple 

style 
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile, 
Witty, and well employ'd, and like thy Lord 
Speaking in parables his slighted word, — 
I name thee not, lest so despised a name 
Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame, 
Yet even in transitory life's late day 
That mingles all my brown with sober gray, 
Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road 
And guides the Progress of the soul to God. 
'Twere well with most, if books that could engage 
Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age ; 
The man approving what had charm'd the boy, 
Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy, 
And not with curses on his art who stole 
The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. 
The stamp of artless piety impress'd 
By kind tuition on his yielding breast, 
The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw, 
Regards with scorn, though once received with awe, 
And warp'd into the labyrinth of lies 
That babblers, called philosophers, devise, 
Blasphemes his creed as founded on a plan 
Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man. 
Touch but his nature in its ailing part, 
Assert the native evil of his heart, 
His pride resents the charge, although the proof 1 
Rise hi his forehead, and seem rank enough ; 
Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross 
As God's expedient to retrieve his loss, 
The young apostate sickens at the view, 
And hates it with the malice of a Jew. 

How weak the barrier of mere nature proves 
Opposed against the pleasures nature loves ! 
While self -betray' d, and wilfully undone, 
She longs to yield, no sooner woo'd than won. 
Try now the merits of this blest exchange 
Of modest truth for wit's eccentric range. 
Time was, he closed as he began the day 
With decent duty, not ashamed to pray ; 
The practice was a bond upon his heart, 
A pledge he gave for a consistent part, 
Nor could he dare presumptuously displease 
A power confess'd so lately on his knees. 
But now, farewell all legendary tales, 
The shadows fly, philosophy prevails, 
Prayer to the winds and caution to the waves, 
Religion makes the free by nature slaves ; 
Priests have invented, and the world admired 
What knavish priests promulgate as inspired, 


» See 2 Chron. xxvi. 19. 


TIROCINIUM. 


07 


'Till reason, now no longer overawed, 

Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud, 

And common sense diffusing real day, 

The meteor of the gospel dies away. 

Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth 

Learn from expert enquirers after truth, 

Whose only care, might truth presume to speak, 

Is not to find what they profess to seek. 

And thus well tutor'd only while we share 

A mother's lectures and a nurse's care, 

And taught at schools much mythologic stuff, 1 

But sound religion sparingly enough, 

Our early notices of truth disgraced 

Soon lose their credit, and are all effaced. 

Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, 
Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once, 
That in good time, the stripling's finish' d taste 
For loose expense and fashionable waste 
Should prove your ruin, and his own at last \ 
Train him in public with a mob of boys, 
Childish in mischief only and in noise. 
Else of a mannish growth, and five in ten, 
In infidelity and lewdness, men. 
There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, 
That authors are most useful, pawn'd or sold; 
That pedantry is all that schools impart, 
But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart ; 
There waiter Dick with Bacchanalian lays 
Shall win his heart and have his drunken praise, 
His counsellor and bosom friend shall prove, 
And some street-pacing harlot his first love. 
Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong, 
Detain their adolescent charge too long. 
The management of Tiros of eighteen 
Is difficult, their punishment obscene. 
The stout tall Captain, whose superior size 
The minor heroes view with envious eyes, 
Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix 
Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. 
His pride that scorns to obey or to submit, 
With them is courage, his effrontery wit ; 
His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, 
Robbery of gardens, quarrels in the streets, 
His hair-breadth 'scapes,and all his daring schemes, 
Transport them, and are made their favourite 

themes. 
In little bosoms such achievements strike 
A kindred spark ; they burn to do the like. 
Thus half accomplish'd, ere he yet begin 
To show the peeping down upon his chin, 
And as maturity of years comes on, 
Made just the adept that you design'd your son, 
To insure the perseverance of his course, 
And give your monstrous project all its force, 
Send him to college. If he there be tamed, 
Or in one article of vice reclaim'd, 
Where no regard of ord'nances is shown, 
Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own. 
Some sneaking virtue lurks in him no doubt, 
Where neither strumpet's charms nor drinking- 
Nor gambling practices can find it out. [bout, 

Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too, 
Ye nurseries of our boys, we owe to you. 

1 The author begs leave to explain ; sensible that with- 
out such knowledge, neither the ancient poets nor histori- 
ans can be tasted or indeed understood, he does not mean 
to censure the pains that are taken to instruct a school- 
boy in the religion of the heathen, but merely that neglect 
of Christian culture which leaves him shamefully ignorant 
of his own. 


Thoughfrom ourselves the mischief more proceeds, 

For public schools 'tis public folly feeds. 

The slaves of custom and establish'd mode, 

With pack-horse constancy we keep the road 

Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, 

True to the jingling of our leader's bells. 

To follow foolish precedents, and wink 

With both our eyes, is easier than to think, 

And such an age as ours baulks no expense 

Except of caution and of common sense ; 

Else, sure, notorious fact and proof so plain 

Would turn our steps into a wiser train. 

I blame not those who with what care they can 

O'erwatch the numerous and unruly clan, 

Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare 

Promise a work of which they must despair. 

Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, 

An ubiquarian presence and controul, 

Elisha's eye, that when Gehazi stray'd 

Went with him, and saw all the game he play'd? 

Yes, ye are conscious ; and on all the shelves 

Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves. 

Or if by nature sober, ye had then, 

Boys as ye were, the gravity of men, 

Ye knew at least, by constant proofs address'd 

To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. 

But ye connive at what ye cannot cure, 

And evils not to be endured, endure, 

Lest power exerted, but without success, 

Should make the little ye retain, still less. 

Ye once were justly famed for bringing forth 

Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth, 

And in the firmament of fame still shines 

A glory, bright as that of all the signs, 

Of poets raised by you, and statesmen and divines. 

Peace to them all ! those brilliant times are fled, 

And no such lights are kindling in their stead. 

Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays 

As set the midnight riot in a blaze, 

And seem, if judged by their expressive looks, 

Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books. 

Say, Muse, (for education made the song, 
No Muse can hesitate or linger long) 
What causes move us, knowing as we must 
That these Menageries all fail their trust, 
To send our sons to scout and scamper there, 
While colts and puppies cost us so much care ? 

Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, 
We love the play-place of our early days. 
The scene is touching, and the heart is stone 
That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. 
The wall on which we tried our graving skill, 
The very name we carved subsisting still, 
The bench on which we sat while deep-employ" d, 
Though mangled, hack'd and hew'd, not yet 

destroy 'd: 
The little ones unbutton'd, glowing hot, 
Playing our games, and on the very spot, 
As happy as we once, to kneel and draw 
The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw, 
To pitch the ball into the grounded hat, 
Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat ; 
The pleasing spectacle at once excites 
Such recollection of our own delights, 
That viewing it, we seem almost to obtain 
Our innocent sweet simple years again. 
This fond attachment to the well-known place 
Whence first we started into life's long race, 
Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, 
We feel it even in age, and at our latest day. 


98 


TIROCINIUM. 


Hark ! how the sire of chits, whose future share 

Of classic food begins to he his care, 

With his own likeness placed on either knee, 

Indulges all a father's heart-felt glee, 

And tells them as he strokes their silver locks, 

That they must soon learn Latin and to box ; 

Then turning, he regales his listening wife 

With all the adventures of his early life, 

His skill in coachmanship or driving chaise, 

In bilking tavern bills and spouting plays. 

What shifts he used detected in a scrape, 

How he was flogg'd, or had the luck to escape, 

What sums he lost at play, and how he sold 

Watch, seals, and all — till all his pranks are told. 

Retracing thus his frolics, ('tis a name 

That palliates deeds of folly and of shame) 

He gives the local bias all its sway, 

Resolves that where he play'd his sons shall play, 

And destines their bright genius to be shown 

Just in the scene where he display'd his own. 

The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught 

To be as bold and forward as he ought ; 

The rude will scuffle through with ease enough, 

Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. 

Ah happy designation, prudent choice, 

The event is sure, expect it and rejoice ! 

Soon see your wish fulfill'd in either child, 

The pert made perter, and the tame made wild. 

The great indeed, by titles, riches, birth, 
Excused the encumbrance of more solid worth, 
Are best disposed of where, with most success 
They may acquire that confident address ; 
Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, 
That scorn of all delights but those of sense, 
Which though in plain plebeians we condemn, 
With so much reason all expect from them. 
But families of less illustrious fame, 
Whose chief distinction is their spotless name, 
Whose heirs, their honours none, their income 

small, 
Must shine by true desert, or not at all, 
What dream they of, that with so little care 
They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure there? 
They dream of little Charles or William graced 
With wig prolix, down-flowing to his waist ; 
They see the attentive crowds his talents draw, 
They hear him speak — the oracle of law. 
The father who designs his babe a priest, 
Dreams him episcopally such at least, 
And while the playful jockey scours the room 
Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom, 
In fancy sees him more superbly ride 
In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side. 
Events improbable and strange as these, 
Which only a parental eye foresees, 
A public school shall bring to pass with ease. 
But how ? resides such virtue in that air 
As must create an appetite for prayer ? 
And will it breathe into him all the zeal 
That candidates for such a prize should feel, 
To take the lead and be the foremost still 
In all true worth and literary skill ? 
" Ah blind to bright futurity, untaught 
The knowledge of the world, and dull of thought ! 
Church-ladders are not always mounted best 
By learned Clerks and Latinists profess'd. 
The exalted prize demands an upward look, 
Not to be found by poring on a book. 
Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, 
Is more than adequate to all I seek ; 


Let erudition grace him or not grace, 

I give the bauble but the second place ; 

His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend, 

Subsist and centre in one point — a friend. 

A friend, whate'er he studies or neglects, 

Shall give him consequence, heal all defects ; 

His intercourse with peers and sons of peers, — 

There dawns the splendour of his future years ! 

In that bright quarter his propitious skies 

Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise. 

Your Lordship and your Grace, what school can 

A rhetoric equal to those parts of speech ? [teach 

What need of Homer's' verse, or Tully's prose, 

Sweet interjections ! if he learn but those? 

Let reverend churls his ignorance rebuke, 

Who starve upon a dog's-ear'd Pentateuch, 

The parson knows enough who knows a Duke." — 

Egregious purpose ! worthily begun 

In barbarous prostitution of your son ; 

Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace 

A scrivener's clerk or footman out of place, 

And ending, if at last its end be gain'd, 

In sacrilege, in God's own house profaned. 

It may succeed ; and if his sins should call 

For more than common punishment, it shall. 

The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth 

Least qualified in honour, learning, worth, 

To occupy a sacred, awful post, 

In which the best and worthiest tremble most. 

The royal letters are a thing of course, 

A king that would might recommend his horse, 

And Deans no doubt, and Chapters, with one voice, 

As bound in duty, would confirm the choice. 

Behold your Bishop ! well he plays his part, 

Christian in name, and infidel in heart, 

Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, 

A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man ; 

Dumb as a senator, and as a priest 

A piece of mere church-furniture at best ; 

To live estranged from God his total scope, 

And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. 

But fair although and feasible it seem, 

Depend not much upon your golden dream ; 

For Providence, that seems concern'd to exempt 

The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt, 

In spite of all the wrigglers into place, 

Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace ; 

And therefore 'tis, that, though the sight be rare, 

We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. 

Besides, school-friendships are not always found, 

Though fair in promise, permanent and sound. 

The most disinterested and virtuous minds 

In early years connected, time unbinds ; 

New situations give a different cast 

Of habit, inclination, temper, taste, 

And he that seem'd our counterpart at first, 

Soon shows the strong similitude reversed. 

Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm, 

And make mistakes for manhood to refox-m. 

Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown, 

Whose scent and hues are rather guess'd than 

known. 
Each dreams that each is just what he appears, 
But learns his error in maturer years, 
When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd, 
Shows all its rents and patches to the world. 
If therefore, even when honest in design, 
A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 
'Twere wiser sure to inspire a little heart 
With just abhorrence of so mean a part, 


TIROCINIUM. 


99 




Than set your son to work at a vile trade 
For wages so unlikely to be paid. 

Our public hives of puerile resort 
That are of chief and most approved report, 
To such base hopes in many a sordid soul 
Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. 
A principle, whose proud pretensions pass 
Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glass, 
That with a world not often over-nice 
Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice, 
Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, 
Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride, 
Contributes most perhaps to enhance their fame, 
And Emulation is its specious name. 
Boys once on fire with that contentious zeal 
Feel all the rage that female rivals feel, 
The prize of beauty in a woman's eyes 
Not brighter than in theirs the scholar's prize. 
The spirit of that competition burns 
"With all varieties of ill by turns, 
Each vainly magnifies his own success, 
Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less, 
Exults in his miscarriage if he fail, 
Deems his reward too great if he prevail, 
And labours to surpass him day and night, 
Less for improvement, than to tickle spite. 
The spur is powerful, and I grant its force ; 
It pricks the genius forward in its course, 
Allows short time for play, and none for sloth, 
And felt alike by each, advances both ; 
But judge where so much evil intervenes, 
The end, though plausible, not worth the means. 
Weigh, for a moment, classical desert 
Against a heart depraved and temper hurt, 
Hurt too perhaps for life, for early wrong 
Done to the nobler part affects it long, 
And you are staunch indeed in learning's cause, 
If you can crown a discipline that draws 
Such mischiefs after it, with much applause. 

Connexion form'd for interest, and endear'd 
By selfish views, thus censured and cashier'd, 
And emulation, as engendering hate, 
Doom'd to a no less ignominious fate, 
The props of such proud seminaries fall, 
The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. 
Great schools rejected then, as those that swell 
Beyond a size that can be managed well, 
Shall royal institutions miss the bays, 
And small academies win all the praise 1 
Force not my drift beyond its just intent, 
I praise a school as Pope a government ; 
So take my judgment in his language dress'd, 
" Whate'er is best administer'd, is best." 
Few boys are born with talents that excel, 
But all are capable of living well. 
Then ask not, whether limited or large, 
But watch they strictly or neglect their charge % 
If anxious only that their boys may learn, 
While morals languish, a despised concern ; 
The great and small deserve one common 

blame, 
Different in size, but in effect the same. 
Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast, 
Though motives of mere lucre sway the most. 
Therefore, in towns and cities they abound, 
For there the game they seek is easiest found ; 
Though there, in spite of all that care can do, 
Traps to catch youth are most abundant too. 
If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain, 
Keen in pursuit, and vigorous to retain, 


Your son come forth a prodigy of skill, 

As wheresoever taught, so form'd, he will, 

The pedagogue, with self-complacent air, 

Claims more than half the praise as his due share ; 

But if with all his genius he betray, 

Not more intelligent than loose and gay, 

Such vicious habits as disgrace his name, 

Threaten his health, his fortune, and his fame, 

Though want of due restraint alone have bred 

The symptoms that you see with so much dread, 

Unenvied there, he may sustain alone 

The whole reproach, the fault was all his own. 

Oh 'tis a sight to be with joy perused 
By all whom sentiment has not abused, 
New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace 
Of those who never feel in the right place, 
A sight surpass'd by none that we can show, 
Though Vestris on one leg still shine below, 
A father blest with an ingenuous son, 
Father and friend and tutor all in one. 
How ? turn again to tales long since forgot, 
iEsop and Phsedrus and the rest ? — why not ? 
He will not blush that has a father's heart, 
To take in childish plays a childish part, 
But bends his sturdy back to any toy 
That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy ; 
Then why resign into a stranger's hand 
A task as much within your own command, 
That God and nature and your interest too 
Seem with one voice to delegate to you ? 
Why hire a lodging in a house unknown 
For one whose tenderest thoughts all hover round 

your own? 
This second weaning, needless as it is, 
How does it lacerate both your heart and his ! 
The indented stick that loses day by day 
Notch after notch, till all are smooth'd away, 
Bears witness, long ere his dismission come, 
With what intense desire he wants his home. 
But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof 
Bid fair enough to answer in the proof, 
Harmless and safe and natural as they are, 
A disappointment waits him even there : 
Arrived, he feels an unexpected change, 
He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange, 
No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease 
His favourite stand between his father's knees, 
But seeks the corner of some distant seat, 
And eyes the door, and watches a retreat, 
And least familiar where he should be most, 
Feels all his happiest privileges lost. 
Alas, poor boy ! — the natural effect 
Of love by absence chill'd into respect. 
Say, what accomplishments at school acquired 
Brings he to sweeten fruits so undesired ? 
Thou well deservest an alienated son, 
Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge — none ; 
None that in thy domestic snug recess, 
He had not made his own with more address, 
Though some perhaps that shock thy feeling 

mind, 
And better never learn'd, or left behind. 
Add too, that thus estranged thou canst obtain 
By no kind arts his confidence again, 
That here begins with most that long complaint 
Of filial frankness lost, and love grown faint, 
Which, oft neglected in life's waning years, 
A parent pours into regardless ears. 

Like caterpillars dangling under trees 
By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, 


100 


TIROCINIUM. 


Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace 

The boughs in which are bred the unseemly race, 

While every worm industriously weaves 

And winds his web about the rivel'd leaves ; 

So numerous are the follies that annoy 

The mind and heart of every sprightly boy, 

Imaginations noxious and perverse, 

Which admonition can alone disperse. 

The encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand, 

Patient, affectionate, of high command, 

To check the procreation of a breed 

Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 

'Tis not enough that Greek or Roman page 

At stated hours his freakish thoughts engage, 

Even in his pastimes he requires a friend 

To warn, and teach him safely to unbend, 

O'er all his pleasures gently to preside, 

Watch his emotions and controul their tide, 

And levying thus, and with an easy sway, 

A tax of profit from his very play, 

To impress a value not to be erased 

On moments squander'd else, and running all to 

waste. 
And seems it nothing in a father's eye 
That unimproved those many moments fly ? 
And is he well content, his son should find 
No nourishment to feed his growing mind 
But conjugated verbs, and nouns declined ? 
For such is all the mental food purvey'd 
By public hackneys in the schooling trade, 
Who feed a pupil's intellect with store 
Of syntax truly, but with little more, 
Dismiss their cares when they dismiss their flock, 
Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. 
Perhaps a father blest with any brains 
Would deem it no abuse or waste of pains, 
To improve this diet at no great expense, 
With savoury truth and wholesome common sense, 
To lead his son for prospects of delight 
To some not steep though philosophic height, 
Thence to exhibit to his wondering eyes 
Yon circling worlds, their distance, and their size, 
The moons of Jove and Saturn's belted ball, 
And the harmonious order of them all ; 
To show him in an insect or a flower, 
Such microscopic proofs of skill and power, 
As hid from ages past, God now displays 
To combat atheists with in modern days ; 
To spread the earth before him, and commend, 
With designation of the finger's end 
Its various parts to his attentive note, 
Thus bringing home to him the most remote ; 
To teach his heart to glow with generous flame 
Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame, 
And more than all, with commendation due 
To set some living worthy in his view, 
Whose fair example may at once inspire 
A wish to copy what he must admire. 
Such knowledge gain'd betimes, and which appears, 
Though solid, not too weighty for his years, 
Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport, 
When health demands it, of athletic sort, 
Would make him what some lovely boys have been, 
And more than one perhaps that I have seen, 
An evidence and reprehension both 
Of the mere school-boy's lean and tardy growth. 

Art thou a man professionally tied, 
With all thy faculties elsewhere applied, 
Too busy to intend a meaner care 
Than how to enrich thyself, and next, thine heir j 


Or art thou (as though rich, perhaps thou art) 

But poor in knowledge, having none to impart, — 

Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad, 

His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad, 

Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then 

Heard to articulate like other men, 

No jester, and yet lively in discourse, 

His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force, 

And his address, if not quite French in ease, 

Not English stiff, but frank and form'd to please, 

Low in the world because he scorns its arts, 

A man of letters, manners, morals, parts, 

Unpatronised, and therefore little known, 

Wise for himself and his few friends alone, 

In him, thy well-appointed proxy see, 

Armed for a work too difficult for thee, 

Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth, 

To form thy son, to strike his genius forth, 

Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye to prove 

The force of discipline when back'd by love, 

To double all thy pleasure in thy child, 

His mind inform'd, his morals undefiled. 

Safe under such a wing, the boy shall show 

No spots contracted among grooms below, 

Nor taint his speech with meannesses design'd 

By footman Tom for witty and refined. 

There, — in his commerce with the liveried herd 

Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fear'd. 

For since (so fashion dictates) all who claim 

A higher than a mere plebeian fame, 

Find it expedient, come what mischief may, 

To entertain a thief or two in pay, 

And they that can afford the expense of more, 

Some half a dozen, and some half a score, 

Great cause occurs to save him from a band 

So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand ; 

A point secured, if once he be supplied 

With some such Mentor always at his side. 

Are such men rare \ perhaps they would abound 

Were occupation easier to be found, 

Were education, else so sure to fail, 

Conducted on a manageable scale, 

And schools that have outlived all just esteem 

Exchanged for the secure domestic scheme. 

But having found him, be thou duke or earl, 

Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl, 

And as thou wouldst the advancement of thine 

heir 
In all good faculties beneath his care, 
Respect, as is but rational and just, 
A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. 
Despised by thee, what more can he expect 
From youthful folly, than the same neglect ? 
A flat and fatal negative obtains 
That instant, upon all his future pains ; 
His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend, 
And all the instructions of thy son's best friend 
Are a stream choked, or trickling to no end. 
Doom him not then to solitary meals, 
But recollect that he has sense, and feels, 
And, that possessor of a soul refined, 
An upright heart and cultivated mind, 
His post not mean, his talents not unknown, 
He deems it hard to vegetate alone. 
And if admitted at thy board he sit, 
Account him no just mark for idle wit, 
Offend not him whom modesty restrains 
From repartee, with jokes that he disdains: 
Much less transfix his feelings with an oath, 
Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth, — 




TIROCINIUM. 


101 


And trust me, his utility may reach 
To more than he is hired or bound to teach, 
Much trash unutter'd and some ills undone, 
Through reverence of the censor of thy son. 

But if thy table be indeed unclean, 
Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene, 
And thou a wretch, whom, following her old plan, 
The world accounts an honourable man, 
Because forsooth thy courage has been tried, 
And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side, 
Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove 
That any thing but vice could win thy love ; 
Or hast thou a polite, card-playing wife, 
Chain'd to the routs that she frequents, for life, 
Who, just when industry begins to snore, 
Flies, wing'd with joy, to some coach -crowded door, 
And thrice in every winter throngs thine own 
With half the chariots and sedans in town, 
Thyself meanwhile e'en shifting as thou may'st, 
Not very sober though, nor very chaste ; 
Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank, 
If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank, 
And thou at best, and in thy soberest mood, 
A trifler, vain, and empty of all good ? 
Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none, 
Hear nature plead, show mercy to thy son. 
Saved from his home, where every day brings forth 
Some mischief fatal to his future worth, 
Find him a better in a distant spot, 
Within some pious pastor's humble cot, 
Where vile example (yours I chiefly mean, 
The most seducing and the oftenest seen) 
May never more be stamp'd upon his breast, 
Not yet perhaps incurably impress'd. 
Where early rest makes early rising sure, 
Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure, 
Prevented much by diet neat and plain, 
Or if it enter, soon starved out again ; 
i Where all the attention of his faithful host, 
J Discreetly limited to two at most, 
| May raise such fruits as shall reward his care, 
! And not at last evaporate in air. 
j Where stillness aiding study, and his mind 
; Serene, and to his duties much inclined, 
Not occupied in day-dreams, as at home, 
Of pleasures past or follies yet to come, 
His virtuous toil may terminate at last 
In settled habit and decided taste. 
But whom do I advise ? the fashion-led, 
The incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead, 
Whom care and cool deliberation suit 
Not better much than spectacles a brute ; 
Who if their sons some slight tuition share, 
Deem it of no great moment, whose, or where, 
Too proud to adopt the thoughts of one unknown, 
And much too gay to have any of their own. 
j But courage, man ! methought the Muse replied, 
I Mankind are various, and the world is wide ; 

The ostrich, silliest of the feather'd kind, 
i And form'd of God without a parent's mind, 
| Commits her eggs, incautious, to the dust, 
j Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust ; 
And while on public nurseries they rely, 
Not knowing, and too oft not caring why, 
Irrational in what they thus prefer, 
No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. 
But all are not alike. Thy warning voice 
May here and there prevent erroneous choice, 
And some perhaps, who, busy as they are, 
Yet make their progeny their dearest care, 


Whose hearts will ache once told what ills may 
Their offspring left upon so wild a beach, [reach 
Will need no stress of argument to enforce 
The expedience of a less adventurous course. 
The rest will slight thy counsel, or condemn ; 
But they have human feelings. Turn to them. 

To you then, tenants of life's middle state, 
Securely placed between the small and great, 
Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains 
Two thirds of all the virtue that remains, 
Who wise yourselves, desire your sons should learn 
Your wisdom and your ways — to you I turn. 
Look round you on a world perversely blind, 
See what contempt is fallen on human kind ; 
See wealth abused, and dignities misplaced, 
Great titles, offices, and trusts disgraced, 
Long lines of ancestry renown'd of old, 
Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold ; 
See Bedlam's closeted and handcuff'd charge 
Surpass'd in frenzy by the mad at large ; 
See great commanders making war a trade, 
Great lawyers, lawyers without study made ; 
Churchmen, in whose esteem their blest employ 
Is odious, and their wages all their joy, 
Who far enough from furnishing their shelves 
With gospel lore, turn infidels themselves ; 
See womanhood despised, and manhood shamed 
With infamy too nauseous to be named, 
Fops at all corners, lady-like in mien, 
Civeted fellows, smelt ere they are seen, 
Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue 
On fire with curses and with nonsense hung, 
Now flush'd with drunkenness, now with whore- 
dom pale, 
Their breath a sample of last night's regale ; 
See volunteers in all the vilest arts 
Men well endow'd, of honourable parts, 
Design'd by nature wise, but self-made fools ; 
All these, and more like these, were bred at schools. 
And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will, 
That though school-bred, the boy be virtuous still, 
Such rare exceptions shining in the dark, 
Prove rather than impeach the just remark, 
As here and there a twinkling star descried 
Serves but to show how black is all beside. 
Now look on him whose very voice in tone 
Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own, 
And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red, 
And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head, 
And say, My boy, the unwelcome hour is come, 
When thou, transplanted from thy genial home, 
Must find a colder soil and bleaker air, 
And trust for safety to a stranger's care ; 
What character, what turn thou wilt assume 
From constant converse with I know not whom, 
Who there will court thy friendship, with what 

views, 
And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt chuse, 
Though much depends on what thy choice shall be, 
Is all chance-medley and unknown to me. 
Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids, 
And while the dreadful risk foreseen, forbids, 
Free too, and under no constraining force, 
Unless the sway of custom warp thy course, 
Lay such a stake upon the losing side, 
Merely to gratify so blind a guide ? 
Thou canst not : Nature pulling at thine heart 
Condemns the unfatherly, the imprudent part. 
Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tenderest plea, 
Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea, 


102 


JOHN GILPIN. 


Nor say, go thither, conscious that there lay 
A brood of asps, or quicksands in his way ; 
Then only govern'd by the self-same rule 
Of natural pity, send him not to school. 
No — Guard him better : Is he not thine own, 
Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone ? 
And hopest thou not ('tis every father's hope) 
That since thy strength must with thy years elope, 
And thou wilt need some comfort to assuage 
Health's last farewell, a staff of thine old age, 
That then, in recompense of all thy cares, 
Thy child shall show respect to thy grey hairs, 
Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft, 
And give thy life its only cordial left ? 
Aware then how much danger intervenes, 
To compass that good end, forecast the means. 
His heart, now passive, yields to thy command ; 
Secure it thine. Its key is in thine hand. 
If thou desert thy charge and throw it wide, 
Nor heed what guests there enter and abide, 
Complain not if attachments lewd and base 
Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place. 
But if thou guard its sacred chambers sure 
From vicious inmates and delights impure, 
Either his gratitude shall hold him fast, 
And keep him warm and filial to the last, 
Or if he prove unkind, (as who can say 
But being man, and therefore frail, he may) 


One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart, 
Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. 
Oh barbarous ! would'st thou with a Gothic 

hand 
Pull down the schools — what ! — all the schools i' 

the land? 
Or throw them up to livery -nags and grooms ? 
Or turn them into shops and auction rooms ? 
— A captious question, Sir, and yours is one, 
Deserves an answer similar, or none. 
Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ 
( Apprised that he is such) a careless boy, 
And feed him well, and give him handsome pay, 
Merely to sleep, and let them run astray ? 
Survey our schools and colleges, and see 
A sight not much unlike my simile. 
From education, as the leading cause, 
The public character its colour draws, 
Thence the prevailing manners take their cast, 
Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. 
And though I would not advertise them yet, 
Nor write on each — This Building to be let, 
Unless the world were all prepared to embrace 
A plan well worthy to supply their place, 
Yet backward as they are, and long have been, 
To cultivate and keep the morals clean, 
(Forgive the crime) I wish them, I confess, 
Or better managed, or encouraged less. 


THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN, 

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN. 


John Gilpin was a citizen 

Of credit and renown, 
A train-band Captain eke was he 

Of famous London town. 

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, 
Though wedded we have been 

These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
No holiday have seen. 

To-morrow is our wedding-day, 

And we will then repair 
Unto the Bell at Edmonton, 

All in a chaise and pair. 

My sister and my sister's child, 

Myself and children three 
Will fill the chaise, so you must ride 

On horseback after we. 

He soon replied, I do admire 

Of womankind but one, 
And you are she, my dearest dear, 

Therefore it shall be done. 

I am a linen-draper bold, . 

As all the world doth know, 
And my good friend the Callender 

Will lend his horse to go. 


Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said ; 

And for that wine is dear, 
We will be furnish'd with our own, 

Which is both bright and clear. 

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife : 

O'erjoy'd was he to find 
That though on pleasure she was bent, 

She had a frugal mind. 

The morning came, the chaise was brought, 

But yet was not allow'd 
To drive up to the door, lest all 

Should say that she was proud ; 

So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, 

Where they did all get in, 
Six precious souls, and all agog 

To dash through thick and thin. 

Smack Avent the whip, round went the wheels, 

Were never folk so glad, 
The stones did rattle underneath 

As if Cheapside were mad. 

John Gilpin at his horse's side 

Seized fast the flowing mane, 
And up he got in haste to ride, 

But soon came down again : 


JOHN GILPIN. 


103 


For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, 

His journey to begin, 
When turning round his head he saw 

Three customers come in ; 

So down he came, for loss of time 
Although it grieved him sore, 

Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 
Would trouble him much more. 

'Twas long before the customers 

Were suited to their mind, 
When Betty screaming came down stairs, 

« The wine is left behind." 

Good lack ! quoth he, yet bring it me, 

My leathern belt likewise, 
In which I bear my trusty sword 

When I do exercise. 

Now Mistress Gilpin, careful soul ! 

Had two stone bottles found, 
To hold the liquor that she loved, 

And keep it safe and sound. 

Each bottle had a curling ear, 
Through which the belt he drew, 

And hung a bottle on each side 
To make his balance tyue. 

Then over all, that he might be 

Equipp'd from top to toe, 
His long red cloak well brush'd and neat 

He manfully did throw. 

Now see him mounted once again 

Upon his nimble steed, 
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones 

With caution and good heed. 

But finding soon a smoother road 

Beneath his well-shod feet, 
The snorting beast began to trot, 

Which gall'd him in his seat. 

So, Fair and softly ! John he cried; 

But John he cried in vain, 
That trot became a gallop soon, 

In spite of curb and rein. 

So stooping down, as needs he must 

Who cannot sit upright, 
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands 

And eke with all his might. 

His horse, who never in that sort 

Had handled been before, 
What thing upon his back had got 

Did wonder more and more. 

Away went Gilpin neck or nought, 

Away went hat and wig, 
He little dreamt when he set out 

Of running such a rig. 

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 

Like streamer long and gay, 
Till loop and button failing both, 

At last it flew away. 


Then might all people well discern 

The bottles he had slung, 
A bottle swinging at each side, 

As hath been said or sung. 

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, 

Up flew the windows all, 
And every soul cried out, Well done ! 

As loud as he could bawl. 

Away went Gilpin — who but he ? 

His fame soon spread around — 
He carries weight, he rides a race, 

'Tis for a thousand pound ! 

And still as fast as he drew near, 

'Twas wonderful to view 
How in a trice the turnpike-men 

Their gates wide open threw. 

And now as he went bowing down 

His reeking head full low, 
The bottles twain behind his back 

Were shatter'd at a blow. 

Down ran the wine into the road 

Most piteous to be seen, 
Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 

As they had basted been. 

But still he seem'd to carry weight, 

With leathern girdle braced, 
For all might see the bottle necks 

Still dangling at his waist. 

Thus all through merry Islington 

These gambols he did play, 
And till he came unto the Wash 

Of Edmonton so gay. 

And there he threw the wash about 

On both sides of the way, 
Just like unto a trundling mop, 

Or a wild-goose at play. 

At Edmonton his loving wife 

From the balcony spied 
Her tender husband, wondering much 

To see how he did ride. 

Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! — Here's the house — 

They all at once did cry, 
The dinner waits and we are tired : 

Said Gilpin — So am I. 

But yet his horse was not a whit 

Inclined to tarry there, 
For why ? his owner had a house 

Full ten miles off, at Ware. 

So like an arrow swift he flew 

Shot by an archer strong, 
So did he fly — which brings me to 

The middle of my song. 

Away went Gilpin, out of breath, 

And sore against his will, 
Till at his friend's the Calender's 

His horse at last stood still. 


104 JOHN GILPIN. 

The Callender, amazed to see 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

His neighbour in such trim, 

Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; 

Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, 

He lost them sooner than at first, 

And thus accosted him : 

For why ? they were too big. 

What news ? what news ? your tidings tell, 

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 

Tell me you must and shall — 

Her husband posting down 

Say why bare-headed you are come, 

Into the country far away, 

Or why you come at all : 

She pull'd out half a crown ; 

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit 

And thus unto the youth she said 

And loved a timely joke, 

That drove them to the Bell, 

And thus unto the Callender 

This shall be yours when you bring back 

In merry guise he spoke : 

My husband safe and well. 

I came because your horse would come ; 

The youth did ride, and soon did meet 

And if I well forebode, 

John coming back amain, 

My hat and wig will soon be here, 

Whom in a trice he tried to stop 

They are upon the road. 

By catching at his rein. 

The Callender, right glad to find 

But not performing what he meant, 

His friend in merry pin, 

And gladly would have done, 

Return'd him not a single word, 

The frighted steed he frighted more, 

But to the house went in ; 

And made him faster run. 

Whence straight he came with hat and wig, 

Away went Gilpin, and away 

A wig that flow'd behind, 

Went post-boy at his heels, 

A. hat not much the worse for wear, 

The post-boy's horse right glad to miss 

Each comely in its kind. 

The lumbering of the wheels. 

He held them up, and in his turn 

Six gentlemen upon the road 

Thus show'd his ready wit, 

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 

My head is twice as big as yours, 

With post-boy scampering in the rear, 

They therefore needs must fit. 

They raised the hue and cry : 

But let me scrape the dirt away 

Stop thief ! stop thief ! a highwayman ! 

That hangs upon your face ; 

Not one of them was mute, 

And stop and eat, for well youjnay 

And all and each that pass'd that way, 

Be in a hungry case. 

Did join in the pursuit. 

Said John, It is my wedding-day, 

And now the turnpike gates again 

And all the world would stare, 

Flew open in short space, 

If wife should dine at Edmonton 

The toll-men thinking as before 

And I should dine at Ware. 

That Gilpin rode a race. 

So turning to his horse, he said, 
I am in haste to dine, 

And so he did, and won it too ! 
For he got first to town, 

'Twas for your pleasure you came here, 

Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 

You shall go back for mine. 

He did again get down. 

Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast ! 

Now let us sing, Long live the king, 

For which he paid full dear ; 

And Gilpin long live he, 

For while he spake, a braying ass 

And when he next doth ride abroad, 

Did sing most loud and clear ; 

May I be there to see ! 

Whereat his horse did snort as he 


Had heard a lion roar, 


And gallop'd off with all his might 


As he had done before. 



ANTI-THELYPHTHORA. 


105 


ANTI-THELYPHTHORA. 

A TALE, IN VERSE. 


Ah miser, 
Quanta labor as in Charybdi ! 

Hor. lib. i. Ode 27- 


Airy del Castro was as bold a knight 

As ever earn'd a lady's love in fight. 

Many he sought, but one above the rest 

His tender heart victoriously impress'd : 

In fairy-land was born the matchless dame, 

The land of dreams, Hypothesis her name. 

There Fancy nursed her in ideal bowers, 

And laid her soft in amaranthine flowers ; 

Delighted with her babe, the enchantress smiled, 

And graced with all her gifts the favourite child. 

Her woo'd Sir Airy, by meandering streams, 

In daily musings and in nightly dreams ; 

With all the flowers he found, he wove in haste 

Wreaths for her brow, and girdles for her waist ; 

His time, his talents, and his ceaseless care 

All consecrated to adorn the fair ; 

No pastime but with her he deign'd to take, 

And, — if he studied, studied for her sake. 

And, for Hypothesis was somewhat long, 

Nor soft enough to suit a lover's tongue, 

He call'd her Posy, with an amorous art, 

And graved it on a gem, and wore it next his heart. 

But she, inconstant as the beams that play 
On rippling waters in an April day, 
With many a freakish trick deceived his pains, 
To pathless wilds and unfrequented plains 
Enticed him from his oaths of knighthood far, 
Forgetful of the glorious toils of war. 
'Tis thus the tenderness that love inspires 
Too oft betrays the votaries of his fires ; 
Borne far away on elevated wings, 
They sport like wanton doves in airy rings, 
And laws and duties are neglected things. 

Nor he alone address'd the wayward fair ; 
Full many a knight had been entangled there. 
But still, whoever woo'd her or embraced, 
On every mind some mighty spell she cast. 
Some she would teach (for she was wondrous wise, 
And made her dupes see all things with her eyes) 
That forms material, whatsoe'er we dream, 
Are not at all, or are not what they seem ; 
That substances and modes of every kind 
Are mere impressions on the passive mind ; 
And he that splits his cranium, breaks at most 
A fancied head against a fancied post : 
Others, that earth, ere sin had drown'd it all, 
Was smooth and even as an ivory ball ; 
That all the various beauties we survey, 
Hills, vallies, rivers, and the boundless sea, 
Are but departures from the first design, 
Effects of punishment and wrath divine. 
She tutor' d some in Daedalus's art, 
And promised they should act his wildgoose part, 


On waxen pinions soar without a fall, 
Swift as the proudest gander of them all. 

But fate reserved Sir Airy to maintain 
The wildest project of her teeming brain ; 
That wedlock is not rigorous as supposed, 
But man, within a wider pale enclosed, 
May rove at will, where appetite shall lead, 
Free as the lordly bull that ranges o'er the mead ; 
That forms and rites are tricks of human law, 
As idle as the chattering of a daw ; 
That lewd incontinence, and lawless rape, 
Are marriage in its true and proper shape ; 
That man by faith and truth is made a slave, 
The ring a bauble, and the priest a knave. 

Fair fall the deed ! the knight exulting cried, 
Now is the time to make the maid a bride ! 

'Twas on the noon of an autumnal day, 
October hight, but mild and fair as May ; 
When scarlet fruits the russet hedge adorn, 
And floating films envelop every thorn ; 
When gently as in June, the rivers glide, 
And only miss the flowers that graced their side ; 
The linnet twitter'd out his parting song, 
With many a chorister the woods among ; 
On southern banks the ruminating sheep 
Lay snug and warm ; — 'twas summer's farewell 
Propitious to his fond intent there grew [peep. 
An arbour near at hand of thickest yew, 
With many a boxen bush, close dipt between, 
And phillyrea of a gilded green. 

But what old Chaucer's merry page befits, 
The chaster muse of modern days omits. 
Suffice it then in decent terms to say, 
She saw, — and turn'd her rosy cheek away. 
Small need of prayer-book or of priest, I ween, 
Where parties are agreed, retired the scene, 
Occasion prompt, and appetite so keen. 
Hypothesis (for with such magic power 
Fancy endued her in her natal hour) 
From many a steaming lake and reeking bog, 
Bade rise in haste a dank and drizzling fog, 
That curtain'd round the scene where they reposed, 
And wood and lawn in dusky folds enclosed. 

Fear seized the trembling sex ; in every grove 
They wept the wrongs of honourable love. 
In vain, they cried, are hymeneal rites, 
Vain our delusive hope of constant knights ; 
The marriage bond has lost its power to bind, 
And flutters loose, the sport of every wind. 
The bride, while yet her bride's attire is on, 
Shall mourn her absent lord, for he is gone, 
Satiate of her, and weary of the same, 
To distant wilds, in quest of other game. 


106 


ANTT-THELYPHTHORA. 


Ye fair Circassians ! all your lutes employ, 

Seraglios sing, and harems dance for joy ! 

For British nymphs whose lords were lately true, 

Nymphs quite as fair, and happier once than you, 

Honour, esteem, and confidence forgot, 

Feel all the meanness of your slavish lot. 

curst Hypothesis ! your hellish arts 

Seduce our husbands, and estrange their hearts. — 

Will none arise ? no knight who still retains 

The blood of ancient worthies in his veins, 

To assert the charter of the chaste and fair, 

Find out her treacherous heart, and plant a dagger 

there ! 
A knight — (can he that serves the fair do less) 
Starts at the call of beauty in distress ; 
And he that does not, whatsoe'er occurs, 
Is recreant, and unworthy of his spurs 1 . 

Full many a champion, bent on hardy deed, 
Call'd for his arms and for his princely steed. 
So swarm'd the Sabine youth, and grasp'd the 

shield, 
When Roman rapine, by no laws withheld, 
Lest Rome should end with her first founders' lives, 
Made half their maids, sans ceremony, wives. 
But not the mitred few, the soul their charge, 
They left these bodily concerns at large J 
Forms or no forms, pluralities or pairs, 
Right reverend sirs ! was no concern of theirs. 
The rest, alert and active as became 
A courteous knighthood, caught the generous 

flame; 
One was accoutred when the cry began, 
Knight of the Silver Moon, Sir Marmadan 2 . 
Oft as his patroness, who rules the night, 
Hangs out her lamp in yon cserulean height, 
His vow was, (and he well perform'd his vow) 
Arm'd at all points, with terror on his brow, 
To judge the land, to purge atrocious crimes, 
And quell the shapeless monsters of the times. 
For cedars famed, fair Lebanon supplied 
The well-poised lance that quiver'd at his side ; 
Truth arm'd it with a point so keen, so just, 
No spell or charm was proof against the thrust. 
He couch'd it firm upon his puissant thigh, 
And darting through his helm an eagle's eye, 
On all the wings of chivalry advanced 
To where the fond Sir Airy lay entranced. 

He dreamt not of a foe, or if his fear 
Foretold one, dreamt not of a foe so near. 
Far other dreams his feverish mind employ'd, 
Of rights restored, variety enjoy 'd ; 

i When a knight was degraded, his spurs were chopped 
off. C. 
* Monthly Review for October, [1780.] C. 


Of virtue too well fenced to fear a flaw ; 

Vice passing current by the stamp of law ; 

Large population on a liberal plan, 

And woman trembling at the foot of man ; 

How simple wedlock fornication works, 

And Christians marrying may convert the Turks. 

The trumpet now spoke Marmadan at hand, 
A trumpet that was heard through all the land. 
His high-bred steed expands his nostrils wide, 
And snorts aloud to cast the mist aside ; 
But he, the virtues of his lance to show, 
Struck thrice the point upon his saddle-bow ; 
Three sparks ensued that chased it all away, 
And set the unseemly pair in open day. 
" To horse !" he cried, "or, by this good right 

hand 
And better spear, I smite you where you stand." 

Sir Airy, not a whit dismay'd or scared, 
Buckled his helm, and to his steed repair'd ; 
Whose bridle, while he cropp'd the grass below, 
Hung not far off upon a myrtle bough. 
He mounts at once, — such confidence infused 
The insidious witch that had his wits abused ; 
And she, regardless of her softer kind, 
Seized fast the saddle and sprang up behind. 
" Oh shame to knighthood ! " his assailant cried ; 
" Oh shame !" ten thousand echoing nymphs re- 
plied. 
Placed with advantage at his listening ear, 
She whisper 'd still that he had nought to fear ; 
That he was cased in such enchanted steel, 
So polish'd and compact from head to heel, 
" Come ten, come twenty, should an army call 
Thee to the field, thou shouldst withstand them all." 

" By Dian's beams," Sir Marmadan exclaim'd, 
" The guiltiest still are ever least ashamed ! 
But guard thee well, expect no feign'd attack ; 
And guard beside the sorceress at thy back!" 

He spoke indignant, and his spurs applied, 
Though little need, to his good palfrey's side ; 
The barb sprang forward, and his lord, whose force 
Was equal to the swiftness of his horse, 
Rush'd with a whirlwind's fury on the foe, 
And, Phineas-like, transfix'd them at a blow. 

Then sang the married and the maiden throng, 
Love graced the theme, and harmony the song ; 
The Fauns and Satyrs, a lascivious race, 
Shriek'd at the sight, and, conscious, fled the place : 
And Hymen, trimming his dim torch anew, 
His snowy mantle o'er his shoulders threw ; 
He turn'd, and view'd it oft on every side, 
And reddening with a just and generous pride, 
Bless'd the glad beams of that propitious day, 
The spot he loath'd so much for ever cleansed 
away. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


107 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


VERSES 


WRITTEN AT BATH. ON FINDING THE HEEL OP A SHOE, 
IN 1748. 

Fortune ! I thank thee : gentle Goddess, thanks ! 
Not that my Muse, though bashful, shall deny 
She would have thank'd thee rather, hadst thou cast 
A treasure in her way ; for neither meed 
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes 
And bowel-racking pains of emptiness, 
Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast, 
Hopes she from this, presumptuous, — though per- 
The cobbler, leather-carving artist, might, [haps 
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon, 
Whatever ; not as erst the fabled cock, 
Vain-glorious fool, unknowing what he found, 
Spurn'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Where- 
fore, ah ! 
Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure) 
Conferr'dst thou, Goddess ? Thou art blind, thou 

say'st : 
Enough ! thy blindness shall excuse the deed. 

Nor does my muse no benefit exhale 
From this thy scant indulgence ; — even here, 
Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found, 
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song. 
This ponderous heel of perforated hide, 
Compact, with pegs indented many a row, 
Haply, (for such its massy form bespeaks) 
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown 
Upbore : on this supported oft he stretch'd, 
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe, 
Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time 
(What will not cruel time ?) on a wry step, 
Sever' d the strict cohesion ; when, alas ! 
He, who could erst with even equal pace, 
Pursue his destined way with symmetry 
And some proportion form'd, now, on one side, 
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys, 
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop ! 
With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on. 
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet 
Of humble villager : the statesman thus, 
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads, 
Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds 
His prosperous way ; nor fears miscarriage foul, 
While policy prevails and friends prove true : 
But that support soon failing, by him left, 
On whom he most depended, — basely left, 
Betrayed, deserted, — from his airy height 
Headlong he falls, and through the rest of life 
Drags the dull load of disappointment on. 


OF HIMSELF. 

TO MISS THEODORA JANE COWJPER. 

William was once a bashful youth ; 

His modesty was such, 
That one might say (to say the truth) 

He rather had too much. 


Some said that it was want of sense, 

And others want of spirit, 
(So blest a thing is impudence) 

While others could not bear it. 

But some a different notion had, 

And at each other winking, 
Observed, that though he little said, 

He paid it off with thinking. 

Howe'er it happened, by degrees, 

He mended and grew perter ', 
In company was more at ease, 

And dress'd a little smarter ; 

Nay, now and then would look quite gay, 

As other people do ; 
And sometimes said, or tried to say, 

A witty thing or so. 

He eyed the women, and made free 

To comment on their shapes ; 
So that there was, or seem'd. to be, 

No fear of a relapse. 

The women said, who thought him rough, 

But now no longer foolish, 
" The creature may do well enough, 

But wants a deal of polish." 

At length, improved from head to heel, 
'Twere scarce too much to say, 

No dancing bear was so genteel, 
Or half so degage. 

Now that a miracle so strange 

May not in vain be shown, 
Let the dear maid who wrought the change 

Even claim him for her own. 


WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING HER AT NEW BURNS, 


How quick the change from joy to woe ! 
How chequer'd is our lot below ! 
Seldom we view the prospect fair ; 
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care, 
(Some pleasing intervals between) 
Scowl over more than half the scene. 
Last week with Delia, gentle maid, 
Far hence in happier fields I stray'd. 
Five suns successive rose and set, 
And saw no monarch in his state, 
Wrapp'd in the blaze of majesty, 
So free from every care as I. — 
Next day the scene was overcast ; 
Such day till then I never pass'd, — 
For on that day, relentless fate ! 
Delia and I must separate. 
Yet ere we look'd our last farewell, 
From her dear lips this comfort fell : — 
" Fear not that time, where'er we rove, 
Or absence, shall abate my love." 


108 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM RUSSELL. 

Doom'd as I am in solitude to waste 

The present moments, and regret the past ; 

Deprived of every joy I valued most, 

My friend torn from me and my mistress lost ; 

Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, 

The dull effect of business or of spleen. 

Still, still, I mourn, with each returning day, 

Him snatch'd by fate in early youth away ; 

And her, through tedious years of doubt and pain 

Fix'd in her choice, and faithful, but in vain. 

O prone to pity, generous and sincere, 

Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear ; 

Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows, 

Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes ; 

See me, ere yet my destined course half done, 

Cast forth a wanderer on a world unknown : 

See me neglected on the world's rude coast, 

Each dear companion of my voyage lost ; 

Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow, 

And ready tears wait only leave to flow ; 

Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free, 

All that delights the happy, palls with me. 


AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ. 
1754. 

'Tis not that I design to rob 

Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, — 

For thou art born sole heir and single 

Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle ; 

Nor that I mean, while thus I knit 

My threadbare sentiments together, 

To show my genius or my wit, 

When God and you know, I have neither ; 

Or such, as might be better shown 

By letting poetry alone. 

'Tis not with either of these views, 

That I presume to address the Muse : 

But to divert a fierce banditti, 

(Sworn foes to everything that's witty) 

That, with a black infernal train, 

Make cruel inroads in my brain, 

And daily threaten to drive thence 

My little garrison of sense : 

The fierce banditti which I mean, 

Are gloomy thoughts led on by Spleen^ 

Then there's another reason yet, 

Which is, that I may fairly quit 

The debt which justly became due 

The moment when I heard from you ; 

And you might grumble, crony mine, 

If paid in any other coin ; 

Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows, 

(I would say twenty sheets of prose) 

Can ne'er be deem'd worth half so much 

As one of gold, and yours was such. 

Thus the preliminaries settled, 

I fairly find myself pitch-keltled ; 

And cannot see, though few see better, 

How I shall hammer out a letter. 

First, for a thought — since all agi'ee — 
A thought — I have it — let me see — 
'Tis gone again — plague on't ! I thought 
I had it — but I have it not. 
Dame Gurton thus and Hodge her son, 
That useful thing, her needle, gone, 


Rake well the cinders, sweep the floor, 

And sift the dust behind the door ; 

While eager Hodge beholds the prize 

In old grimalkin's glaring eyes ; 

And Gammer finds it on her knees 

In every shining straw she sees. 

This simile were apt enough, 

But I've another, critic-proof. 

The virtuoso thus at noon, 

Broiling beneath a July sun, 

The gilded butterfly pursues 

O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and mews, 

And after many a vain essay 

To captivate the tempting prey, 

Gives him at length the lucky pat, 

And has him safe beneath his hat : 

Then lifts it gently from the ground ; 

But ah ! 'tis lost as soon as found ; 

Culprit his liberty regains ; 

Flits out of sight and mocks his pains. 

The sense was dark, 'twas therefore fit 

With simile to illustrate it ; 

But as too much obscures the sight, 

As often as too little light, 

We have our similes cut short, 

For matters of more grave import. 

That Matthew's numbers run with ease 

Each man of common sense agrees ; 

All men of common sense allow, 

That Robert's lines are easy too ; 

Where then the preference shall we place, 

Or how do justice in this case ? 

Matthew (says Fame) with endless pains 

Smooth'd and refined the meanest strains, 

Nor suffer'd one ill-chosen rhyme 

To escape him at the idlest time ; 

And thus o'er all a lustre cast, 

That while the language lives shall last. 

An't please your ladyship, (quoth I, — 

For 'tis my business to reply ;) 

Sure so much labour, so much toil, 

Bespeak at least a stubborn soil. 

Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed, 

Who both write well and write full speed ; 

Who throw their Helicon about 

As freely as a conduit spout. 

Friend Robert, thus like chien savant, 

Lets fall a poem, en passant, 

Nor needs his genuine ore refine ; 

'Tis ready polish'd from the mine. 


AN ODE, 

ON READING MR. RICHARDSON'S HISTORY OF 
SIR CHARLES GRANDISON. 


Say, ye apostate and profane, 
Wretches who blush not to disdain 

Allegiance to your God, — 
Did e'er your idly-wasted love 
Of virtue for her sake remove 

And lift you from the crowd ? 

Would you the race of glory run, 
Know, the devout and they alone, 

Are equal to the task : 
The labours of the illustrious course 
Far other than the unaided force 

Of human vigour ask, 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


109 


To arm against repeated ill 

The patient heart too brave to feel 

The tortures of despair : 
Nor safer yet high-crested pride, 
When wealth flows in with every tide 

To gain admittance there. 

To rescue from the tyrant's sword 

The oppress'd ; — unseen and unimplored, 

To cheer the face of woe ; 
From lawless insult to defend 
An orphan's right, a fallen friend, 

And a forgiven foe ; 

These, these distinguish from the crowd, 
And these alone, the great and good, 

The guardians of mankind ; 
Whose bosoms with these virtues heave, 
Oh, with what matchless speed, they leave 

The multitude behind I 

Then ask ye, from what cause on earth 
Virtues like these derive their birth ? 

Derived from Heaven alone, 
Full on that favour'd breast they shine, 
Where faith and resignation join 

To call the blessing down. 

Such is that heart ; — but while the Muse 
Thy theme, Richardson, pursues, 

Her feebler spirits faint : 
She cannot reach, and would not wrong, 
That subject for an angel's song, 

The hero, and the saint ! 


ADDRESSED TO MISS MACARTNEY, 

AFTERWARDS MRS. GREVILLE, 

ON READING THE PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE. 

1762. 

And dwells there in a female heart, 
By bounteous heaven design'd 

The choicest raptures to impart, 
To feel the most refined ; 

Dwells there a wish in such a breast 

Its nature to forego, 
To smother in ignoble rest 

At once both bliss and woe % 

Far be the thought, and far the strain, 
Which breathes the low desire, I 

How sweet soe'er the verse complain, 
Though Phcebus string the lyre. 

Come then, fair maid, (in nature wise) 
Who, knowing them, can tell 

From generous sympathy what joys 
The glowing bosom swell ; 

In justice to the various powers 
Of pleasing, which you share, 

Join me, amid your silent hours, 
To form the better prayer. 

With lenient balm may Oberon hence 

To fairy-land be driven, 
With every herb that blunts the sense 

Mankind received from heaven. 


" Oh ! if my Sovereign Author please, 

Far be it from my fate, 
To live unblest in torpid ease, 

And slumber on in state ; 

Each tender tie of life defied, 
Whence social pleasures spring ; 

Unmoved with all the world beside, 
A solitary thing." 

Some Alpine mountain wrapt in snow, 
Thus braves the whirling blast, 

Eternal winter doom'd to know, 
No genial spring to taste ; 

In vain warm suns their influence shed, 

The zephyrs sport in vain, 
He rears unchanged his barren head, 

Whilst beauty decks the plain. 

What though in scaly armour dress'd, 

Indifference may repel 
The shafts of woe, in such a breast 

No joy can ever dwell. 

'Tis woven in the world's great plan, 

And fix'd by Heaven's decree, 
That all the true delights of man 

Should spring from Sympathy. 

'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws 

Of nature we retain, 
Our self-approving bosom draws 

A pleasure from its pain. 

Thus grief itself has comforts dear, 

The sordid never know ; 
And ecstacy attends the tear, 

When virtue bids it flow. 

For when it streams from that pure source, 

No bribes the heart can win, 
To check, or alter from its course 

The luxury within. 

Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves, 

Who, if from labour eased, 
Extend no care beyond themselves, 

Unpleasing and unpleased. 

Let no low thought suggest the prayer ! 

Oh ! grant, kind Heaven, to me, 
Long as I draw ethereal air, 

Sweet Sensibility ! 

Where'er the heavenly nymph is seen, 

With lustre-beaming eye, 
A train, attendant on their queen, 

(Her rosy chorus) fly. 

The jocund Loves in Hymen's band, 

With torches ever bright, 
And generous Friendship hand in hand, 

With Pity's watery sight. 

The gentler Virtues too are join'd, 

In youth immortal warm, 
The soft relations which combined 

Give life her every charm. 

The Arts come smiling in the close, 

And lend celestial fire ; 
The marble breathes, the canvass glows, 

The Muses sweep the lyre. 


110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

" Still may my melting bosom cleave 

Happy, these difficulties past, 

To sufferings not my own ; 

Could we have fallen asleep at last ! 

And still the sigh responsive heave, 

But, what with humming, croaking, biting, 

Where'er is heard a groan. 

Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting, 


These tuneful natives of the lake 

So Pity shall take Virtue's part, 

Conspired to keep us broad awake. 

Her natural ally, 

Besides, to make the concert full, 

And fashioning my soften'd heart, 

Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull, 

Prepare it for the sky." 

The bargeman and a passenger, 

This artless vow may Heaven receive, 
And you, fond maid, approve ; 

So may your guiding angel give 
Whate'er you wish or love. 

Each in his turn, essay'd an air 
In honour of his absent fair. 
At length the passenger, opprest 
With wine, left off, and snored the rest. 

The weary bargeman too gave o'er, 

So may the rosy-finger'd hours 

And hearing his companion snore, 

Lead on the various year, 

Seized the occasion, fix'd the barge, 

And every joy, which now is yours, 

Turn'd out his mule to graze at large, 

Extend a larger sphere. 

And slept forgetful of his charge. 


And now the sun o'er eastern hill, 

And suns to come, as round they wheel, 

Discover'd that our barge stood still ; 
When one, whose anger vex'd him sore, 

Your golden moments bless, 

With all a tender heart can feel, 

With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore, 

Or lively fancy guess. 

Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack 



Assails the mule and driver's back. 


Then slowly moving on with pain, 

THE 

At ten Feronia's stream we gain, 

FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. 

And in her pure and glassy wave 

PRINTED IN DUNCOMBE'S HORACE. 

Our hands and faces gladly lave. 

1759. 

Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height 

A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY FROM 

We reach, with stony quarries white. 

ROME TO BRUNDUSIUM. 

While here, as was agreed, we wait, 



Till, charged with business of the state, 

'Twas a long journey lay before us, 

Maecenas and Cocceius come, 

When I, and honest Heliodorus, 

The messengers of peace from Rome. 

Who far in point of rhetoric 

My eyes, by watery humours blear 

Surpasses every living Greek, 

And sore, I with black balsam smear. 

Each leaving our respective home 

At length they join us, and with them 

Together sallied forth from Rome. 

Our worthy friend Fonteius came ; 

First at Aricia we alight, 

A man of such complete desert, 

And there refresh and pass the night, 

Antony loved him at his heart. 

Our entertainment rather coarse 

At Fundi we refused to bait, 

Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse. 

And laugh' d at vain Aufidius' state, 

Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair 

A praetor now, a scribe before, 

To Appiiforum we repair. 

The purple-border'd robe he wore, 

But as this road is well supplied 

His slave the smoking censer bore. 

(Temptation strong!) on either side 
With inns commodious, snug, and warm, 

Tired at Mursena's we repose, 

At Formia sup at Capito's. 

We split the journey, and perform 

With smiles the rising morn we greet, 

In two days' time what's often done 

At Sinuessa pleased to meet 

By brisker travellers in one. 

With Plotius, Varius, and the bard 

Here, rather choosing not to sup 

Whom Mantua first with wonder heard. 

Than with bad water mix my cup, 

The world no purer spirits knows ; 

After a warm debate, in spite 

For none my heart more warmly glows. 

Of a provoking appetite, 

Oh ! what embraces we bestow'd, 

I sturdily resolved at last 

And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd ! 

To balk it, and pronounce a fast, 

Sure while my sense is sound and clear, 

And in a moody humour wait, 

Long as I live, I shall prefer 

While my less dainty comrades bait. 

A gay, good-natured, easy friend, 

Now o'er the spangled hemisphere 

To every blessing Heaven can send. 

Diffused the starry train appear, 

At a small village, the next night, 

When there arose a desperate brawl ; 

Near the Vulturnus we alight ; 

The slaves and bargemen, one and all, 

Where, as employ'd on state affairs, 

Rending their throats (have mercy on us !) 

We were supplied by the purveyors 

As if they were resolved to stun us. 

Frankly at once, and without hire, 

" Steer the barge this way to the shore ! 

With food for man and horse, and fire. 

I tell you we'll admit no more ! 

Capua next day betimes we reach, 

Plague ! will you never be content % " 

Where Virgil and myself, who each 

Thus a whole hour at least is spent, 

Labour'd with different maladies, 

While they receive the several fares, 

His such a stomach, — mine such eyes, — ■ 

And kick the mule into his gears. 

As would not bear strong exercise, 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


11 


In drowsy mood to sleep resort ; 

Maecenas to the tennis-court. 

Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated, 

Above the Caudian tavern seated ; 

His kind and hospitable board 

With choice of wholesome food was stored. 

Now, ye nine, inspire my lays ! 
To nobler themes my fancy raise ! 
Two combatants, who scorn to yield 
The noisy, tongue-disputed field, 
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim 
A poet's tribute to their fame ; 
Cicirrus of true Oscian breed, 
Sarmentus, who was never freed, 
But ran away. We don't defame him ; 
His lady lives, and still may claim him. 
Thus dignified, in harder fray 
These champions their keen wit display, 
And first Sarmentus led the way. 
" Thy locks, (quoth he) so rough and coarse, 
Look like the mane of some wild horse." 
We laugh : Cicirrus undismay'd — 
"Have at you!" — cries, and shakes his 

head. 
" 'Tis well (Sarmentus says) you've lost 
That horn your forehead once could boast, 
Since maim'd and mangled as you are, 
You seem to butt." A hideous scar 
Improved ('tis true) with double grace 
The native horrors of his face. 
Well. After much jocosely said 
Of his grim front, so fiery red, 
(For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er, 
As usual on Campania's shore) 
" Give us, (he cried,) since you're so big, 
A sample of the Cyclops' jig ! 
Your shanks methinks no buskins ask, 
Nor does your phiz require a mask." 
To this Cicirrus : " In return 
Of you, Sir, now I fain would learn, 
When 'twas, no longer deem'd a sla ve, 
Your chains you to the Lares gave. 
For though a scrivener's right you claim, 
Your lady's title is the same. 
But what could make you run away, 
Since, pigmy as you are, each day 
A single pound of bread would quite 
O'erpower your puny appetite ?" 
Thus joked the champions, while we laugh'd, 
And many a cheerful bumper quaff 'd. 

To Beneventum next we steer ; 
Where our good host by over care 
In roasting thrushes lean as mice 
Had almost fallen a sacrifice. 
The kitchen soon was all on fire, 
And to the roof the flames aspire. 
There might you see each man and master 
Striving, amidst this sad disaster, 
To save the supper. Then they came 
With speed enough to quench the flame. 
From hence we first at distance see 
The Apulian hills, well known to me, 
Parch'd by the sultry western blast ; 
And which we never should have past, 
Had not Trivicus by the way 
Received us at the close of day. 
But each was forced at entering here 
To pay the tribute of a tear, 
For more of smoke than fire was seen ; 
The hearth was piled with logs so green. 


L 


From hence in chaises we were carried 

Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried 

At a small town, whose name my verse 

(So barbarous is it) can't rehearse. 

Know it you may by many a sign, 

Water is dearer far than wine. 

There bread is deem'd such dainty fare, 

That every prudent traveller 

His wallet loads with many a crust ; 

For at Canusium, you might just 

As well attempt to gnaw a stone 

As think to get a morsel down. 

That too with scanty streams is fed ; 

Its founder was brave Diomed. 

Good Varius (ah, that friends must part !) 

Here left us all with aching heart. 

At Rubi we arrived that day, 

Well jaded by the length of way, 

And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter. 

Next day no weather could be better ; 

No roads so bad ; we scarce could crawl 

Along to fishy Barium's wall. 

The Egnatians next, who by the rules 

Of common sense are knaves or fools, 

Made all our sides with laughter heave, 

Since we with them must needs believe 

That incense in their temples burns, 

And without fire to ashes turns. 

To circumcision's bigots tell 

Such tales ! for me, I know full well, 

That in high heaven, unmoved by care, 

The Gods eternal quiet share : 

Nor can I deem their spleen the cause 

Why fickle nature breaks her laws. 

Brundusium last we reach : and there 

Stop short the Muse and Traveller. 


NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. 

THE DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT. 

ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES. 
1759. 

Sauntering along the street one day, 

On trifles musing by the way, 

Up steps a free familiar wight ; 

(I scarcely knew the man by sight.) 

" Carlos (he cried) your hand, my dear ! 

Gad, I rejoice to meet you here ! 

Pray Heaven I see you well ! " " So, so ; 

Even well enough as times now go. 

The same good wishes, sir, to you." 

Finding he still pursued me close, 

" Sir, you have business, I suppose?" 

u My business, sir, is quickly done, 

'Tis but to make my merit known. 

Sir, I have read" — " O learned sir, 

You and your learning I revere." 

Then, sweating with anxiety, 

And sadly longing to get free, 

Gods, how I scamper' d, scuffled for't, 

Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short, 

Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near, 

And whisper'd nothing in his ear. 

Teased with his loose unjointed chat, 
" What street is this ? What house is that ?'" 
O Harlow, how I envied thee 
Thy unabash'd effrontery, 


| 112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Who darest a foe with freedom blame, 

So I reluctantly obey, 

And call a coxcomb by his name ! 

And follow, where he leads the way. 

When I return'd him answer none, 

" You and Newcastle are so close ; 

Obligingly the fool ran on, 

Still hand and glove, sir, I suppose I" 

u I see you're dismally distress'd, 

" Newcastle (let me tell you, sir,) 

Would give the world to be released, 

Has not his equal everywhere." 

But, by your leave, sir, I shall still 

" Well, There indeed your fortune's made ! 

Stick to your skirts, do what you will. 

Faith, sir, you understand your trade. 

Pray which way does your journey tend 1" 

Would you but give me your good word ! 

" 'tis a tedious way, my friend, 

Just introduce me to my lord. 

Across the Thames, the Lord knows where : 

I should serve charmingly by way 

I would not trouble you so far." 

Of second fiddle, as they say : 

" Well I'm at leisure to attend you." 

What think you, sir ? 'twere a good jest. 

" Are you ? (thought I) the De'il befriend 

'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest." — 

you!" 

" Sir, you mistake the matter far, 

No ass with double panniers rack'd, 

We have no second fiddles there." 

Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd, 

" Richer than I some folks may be : 

E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull 

More learned, but it hurts not me. 

As I, nor half so like a fool. 

Friends though he has of different kind, 

" Sir, I know little of myself, 

Each has his proper place assign'd." 

(Proceeds the pert conceited elf) 

" Strange matters these alleged by you ! " — 

If Gray or Mason you will deem 

" Strange they may be, but they are true." — 

Than me more worthy your esteem. 

" Well, then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever : 

Poems I write by folios, 

Now I long ten times more than ever 

As fast as other men write prose. 

To be advanced extremely near 

Then I can sing so loud, so clear, 

One of his shining character." 

That Beard cannot with me compare. 

" Have but the will — there wants no more, 

In dancing too I all surpass, 

'Tis plain enough you have the power. 

Not Cooke can move with such a grace." 

His easy temper (that's the worst) 

Here I made shift, with much ado, 

He knows, and is so shy at first. 

To interpose a word or two. — 

But such a cavalier as you — 

" Have you no parents, sir, no friends, 

Lord, sir, you'll quickly bring him to ! " 

Whose welfare on your own depends ? " 

" Well ; if I fail in my design, 

" Parents, relations, say you ? No. 

Sir, it shall be no fault of mine. 

They're all disposed of long ago." — 

If by the saucy servile tribe 

" Happy to be no more perplex'd ! 

Denied, what think you of a bribe ? 

My fate too threatens, I go next. 

Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow, 

Despatch me, sir, 'tis now too late, 

But try my luck again to-morrow, 

Alas ! to struggle with my fate ! 

Never attempt to visit him 

Well, I'm convinced my time is come. 

But at the most convenient time, 

When young, a gipsy told my doom ; 

Attend him on each levee day, 

The beldame shook her palsied head, 

And there my humble duty pay. 

As she perused my palm, and said, 

Labour, like this, our want supplies ; 

1 Of poison, pestilence, or war, 

And they must stoop, who mean to rise." 

Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh, 

While thus he wittingly harangued, 

You have no reason to beware. 

For which you'll guess I wish'd him hang'd, 

Beware the coxcomb's idle prate ; 

Campley, a friend of mine, came by, 

Chiefly, my son, beware of that ! 

Who knew his humour more than I. 

Be sure, when you behold him, fly 

We stop, salute, and — " Why so fast, 

Out of all earshot, or you die ! " 

Friend Carlos ? Whither all this haste \ " 

To Rufus' Hall we now draw near, 

Fired at the thoughts of a reprieve, 

Where he was summon'd to appear, 

I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve, 

Refute the charge the plaintiff brought, 

Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout, 

Or suffer judgment by default. 

Do everything but speak plain out ; 

" For Heaven's sake, if you love me, wait 

While he, sad dog, from the beginning 

One moment ! I'll be with you straight." 

Determined to mistake my meaning, 

Glad of a plausible pretence — 

Instead of pitying my curse, 

" Sir, I must beg you to dispense 

By jeering made it ten times worse. 

With my attendance in the court. 

" Campley, what secret (pray !) was that 

My legs will surely suffer for't." — 

You wanted to communicate?" 

" Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile ! " 

" I recollect. But 'tis no matter. 

" Faith, sir, in law I have no skill. 

Carlos, we'll talk of that hereafter. 

Besides, I have no time to spare, 

E'en let the secret rest. 'Twill tell 

I must be going, you know where." 

Another time, sir, just as well." 

" Well, I protest, I'm doubtful now, 

Was ever such a dismal day ? 

Whether to leave my suit or you !" 

Unlucky cur, he steals away, 

" Me, without scruple ! (I reply) 

And leaves me, half bereft of life, 

Me, by all means, sir !"— " No, not I. 

At mercy of the butcher's knife ; 

Allans, monsieur ! " 'Twere vain (you know) 

When sudden, shouting from afar, 

To strive with a victorious foe. 

See his antagonist appear ! 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


113 


The bailiff seized him quick as thought. 
" Ho, Mr. Scoundrel ! Are you caught \ 
Sir, you are witness to the arrest." 
" Ay, marry, sir, I'll do my best." 
The mob huzzas. Away they trudge, 
Culprit and all, before the judge. 
Meanwhile I luckily enough 
(Thanks to Apollo) got clear off. 


THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS ; 

OK, 

LABOUR IN VAIN. 

AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG, TO A TUNE NEVER SUNG BEFORE* 


I sing of a journey to Clifton, 

We would have perform'd if we could, 
Without car or barrow to lift on 

Poor Mary and me through the mud : 
Slee sla slud, 
Stuck in the mud, 
Oh it is pretty to wade through a flood I 

2. 
So away we went slipping and sliding, 
Hop, hop, a la mode de deux frogs, 
'Tis near as good walking as riding, 
When ladies are dress'd in their clogs. 
Wheels, no doubt, 
Go briskly about, 
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout ! 

3. ' 

SHE. 

Well ! now I protest it is charming ; 

How finely the weather improves ! 
That cloud, though, is rather alarming ; 

How slowly and stately it moves ! 

HE. 

Pshaw ! never mind ; 
'Tis not in the wind ; 
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind. 


I am glad we are come for an airing, 
For folks may be pounded and penn'd, 

Until they grow rusty, not caring 
To stir half a mile to an end. 


The longer we stay, 

The longer we may ; 

It's a folly to think about weather or way. 


But now I begin to be frighted : 
If I fall, what a way I should roll ! 

I am glad that the bridge was indicted. — 
Stop,! stop ! I am sunk in a hole ! 

HE. 

Nay, never care ! 
'Tis a common affair ; 
You'll not be the last that will set a foofthere. 


Let me breathe now a little, and ponder 

On what it were better to do. 
That terrible lane, I see yonder, 

I think we shall never get through ! 

HE. 

So think I ; 
But, by the bye, 
We never shall know, if we never should try. 


But should we get there, how shall we get home ? 
What a terrible deal of bad road we have past, 
Slipping and sliding ; and if we should come 
To a difficult stile, I am ruin'd at last. 
Oh this lane ! 
Now it is plain 
That struggling and striving is labour in vain. 

8.1 

HE.' 

Stick fast there, while I go and look. 

SHE. 

Don't go away, for fear I should fall ! 

HE. 

I have examin'd it every nook, 

And what you have here is a sample of all. 
Come, wheel round ; 
The dirt we have found 
Would be an estate at a farthing a pound. 


Now, Sister Anne, the guitar you must take ; 

Set it, and sing it, and make it a song. 
I have varied the verse for variety sake, 
And cut it off short, because it was long. 
'Tis hobbling and lame, 
Which critics won't blame, 
For the sense and the sound, they say, should be 
the same. 


A TALE, 

FOUNDED ON A FACT, WHICH HAPPENED IN JANUARY, 1779. 


Where Humber pours his rich commercial stream, 
There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to bias- 
In subterraneous caves his life he led, [pheme. 
Black as the mine, in which he wrought for bread. 
When on a day, emerging from the deep, 
A sabbath-day, (such sabbaths thousands keep !) 
The wages of his weekly toil he bore 
To buy a cock — whose blood might win him more ; 
As if the noblest of the feather 'd kind 
Were but for battle and for death design'd ; 
As if the consecrated hours were meant 
For sport, to minds on cruelty intent. 
It chanced, (such chances Providence obey) 
He met a fellow-labourer on the way, 
Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed, 
But now the savage temper was reclaim'd. 
Persuasion on his lips had taken place ; 
For all plead well who plead the cause of grace. 


i 114 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


His iron heart with Scripture he assail'd, 
Woo'd him to hear a sermon, and prevail'd. 
His faithful bow the mighty preacher drew, 
Swift as the lightning-glimpse the arrow flew. 
He wept ; he trembled ; cast his eyes around, 
To find a worse than he ; but none he found. 
He felt his sins, and wonder'd he should feel : 
Grace made the wound, and grace alone could heal. 
Now farewell oaths, and blasphemies, and lies ! 
He quits the sinner's for the martyr's prize. 
That holy day was wash'd with many a tear, 
Gilded with hope, yet shaded too by fear. 
The next his swarthy brethren of the mine 
Learn'd by his alter'd speech, the change divine, 
Laugh'd when they should have wept, and swore 

the day 
Was nigh when he would swear as fast as they. 
" No," said the penitent : a such words shall share 
This breath no more ; devoted now to prayer. 
O ! if thou seest, (thine eye the future sees) 
That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these, 
Now strike me to the ground, on which I kneel, 
Ere yet this heart relapses into steel ; 
Now take me to that Heaven I once defied, 
Thy presence, thy embrace J" — He spoke and died ! 


TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, 

on his return from ramsgate. 
Oct. 1780. 

That ocean you have late survey'd, 
Those rocks I too have seen ; 

But I, afflicted and dismay'd, 
You tranquil and serene. 

You from the flood-controlling steep 
Saw stretch'd before your view, 

With conscious joy, the threatening deep, 
No longer such to you. 

To me, the waves that ceaseless broke 

Upon the dangerous coast, 
Hoarsely and ominously spoke 

Of all my treasure lost. 

Your sea of troubles you have past, ' 
And found the peaceful shore ; 

I, tempest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last, 
Come home to port no more. 


LOVE ABUSED. 

What is there in the vale of life 
Half so delightful as a wife, 
When friendship, love, and peace combine 
To stamp the marriage bond divine ? 
The stream of pure and genuine love 
Derives its current from above ; 
And earth a second Eden shows, 
Where'er the healing water flows : 
But ah, if from the dikes and drains 
Of sensual nature's feverish veins, 
Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood, 
Impregnated with ooze and mud, 


Descending fast on every side 
Once mingles with the sacred tide, 
Farewell the soul-enlivening scene ! 
The banks that wore a smiling green, 
With rank defilement overspread, 
Bewail their flowery beauties dead ; 
The stream polluted, dark, and dull, 
Diffused into a Stygian pool, 
Through life's last melancholy years 
Is fed with ever-flowing tears, 
Complaints supply the zephyr's part, 
And sighs that heave a breaking heart. 


A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN. 

Dec. 17, 1781. 


Dear Anna — between friend and friend, 
Prose answers every common end ; 
Serves, in a plain and homely way, 
To express the occurrence of the day ; 
Our health, the weather and the news, 
What walks we take, what books we chuse, 
And all the floating thoughts we find 
Upon the surface of the mind. 

But when a poet takes the pen, 
Far more alive than other men, 
He feels a gentle tingling come 
Down to his finger and his thumb, 
Derived from nature's noblest part, 
The centre of a glowing heart : 
And this is what the world, who knows 
No flights above the pitch of prose, 
His more sublime vagaries slighting, 
Denominates an itch for writing. 
No wonder I, who scribble rhyme 
To catch the triflers of the time, 
And tell them truths divine and clear, 
Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear ; 
Who labour hard to allure and draw 
The loiterers I never saw, 
Should feel that itching and that tingling 
With all my purpose intermingling, 
To your intrinsic merit true, 
When call'd to address myself to you. 

Mysterious are His ways, whose power 
Brings forth that unexpected hour, 
When minds, that never met before, 
Shall meet, unite, and part no more : 
It is the' allotment of the skies, 
The hand of the Supremely Wise, 
That guides and governs our affections, [ 

And plans and orders our connexions : 
Directs us in our distant road, 
And marks the bounds of our abode. 
Thus we were settled when you found us, 
Peasants and children all around us, 
Not dreaming of so dear a friend, 
Deep in the abyss of Silver-End 1 . 
Thus Martha, even against her will, 
Perch'd on the top of yonder hill ; 
And you, though you must needs prefer 
The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre 2 , 
Are come from distant Loire, to chuse 
A cottage on the banks of Ouse. 

1 An obscure part of Olney, adjoining to the residence 
of Cowper, which faced the market-place. 

2 Lady Austen's residence in France. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


115 


This page of Providence quite new, 
And now just opening to our view, 
Employs our present thoughts and pains 
To guess, and spell, what it contains : 
But day by day, and year by year, 
Will make the dark enigma clear ; 
And furnish us, perhaps, at last, 
Like other scenes already past, 
With proof, that we, and our affairs, 
Are part of a Jehovah's cares : 
For God unfolds, by slow degrees, 
The purport of his deep decrees ; 
Sheds every hour a clearer light 
In aid of our defective sight ; 
And spreads, at length, before the soul 
A beautiful and perfect whole, 
Which busy man's inventive brain 
Toils to anticipate, in vain. 

Say, Anna, had you never known 
The beauties of a rose full blown, , 
Could you, though luminous your eye, 
By looking on the bud descry, 
Or guess, with a prophetic power, 
The future splendour of the flower ? 
Just so, the Omnipotent, who turns 
The system of a world's concerns, 
From mere minutiae can educe 
Events of most important use, 
And bid a dawning sky display 
The blaze of a meridian day. 
The works of man tend, one and all, 
As needs they must, from great to small ; 
And vanity absorbs at length 
The monuments of human strength. 
But who can tell how vast the plan 
Which this day's incident began ? 
Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion 
For our dim-sighted observation ; 
It pass'd unnoticed, as the bird 
That cleaves the yielding air unheard, 
And yet may prove, when understood, 
A harbinger of endless good. 

Not that I deem, or mean to call 
Friendship a blessing cheap or small ; 
But merely to remark, that ours, 
Like some of nature's sweetest flowers, 
Rose from a seed of tiny size, 
That seem'd to promise no such prize ; 
A transient visit intervening, 
And made almost without a meaning, 
(Hardly the effect of inclination, 
Much less of pleasing expectation) 
Produced a friendship, then begun, 
That has cemented us in one ; 
And placed it in our power to prove, 
By long fidelity and love, 
That Solomon has wisely spoken, — 
" A threefold cord is not soon broken." 


TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, 

rector of st. mary woolnoth, 

May 28, 1782. 


Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, I can't understand 
What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face, 

That you are in fashion all over the land, 
And I am so much fallen into disgrace. 


THE COLUBRIAD. 

1782. 
Close by the threshold of a door nail'd fast 
Three kittens sat ; each kitten look'd aghast ; 
I passing swift and inattentive by, 
At the three kittens cast a careless eye, 
Not much concern'd to know what they did there, 
Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care. 
But presently a loud and furious hiss 
Caused me to stop, and to exclaim " What's this ?" 
When lo ! upon the threshold met my view, 
With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue, 
A viper, long as Count de Grasse's queue. 
Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws, 
Darting it full against a kitten's nose, 
Who having never seen, in field or house, 
The like, sat still and silent as a mouse ; 
Only projecting, with attention due, 
Her whisker'd face, she ask'd him, " Who are you ?" 
On to the hall went I, with pace not slow, 
But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe, 
With which well arm'd I hasten'd to the spot, 
To find the viper, — but I found him not ; 
And turning up the leaves, and shrubs around, 
Found only, that he was not to be found. 
But still the kittens, sitting as before, 
Sat watching close the bottom of the door. 
"I hope," said I, "the villain I would kill 
Has slipp'd between the door and the door sill : 
And if I make dispatch, and follow hard, 
No doubt but I shall find him in the yard ;" 
For long ere now it should have been rehearsed, 
'Tvvas in the garden that I found him first. 
Even there I found him, there the full-grown cat 
His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat, 
As curious as the kittens erst had been 
To learn what this phenomenon might mean. 
FilPd with heroic ardour at the sight, 
And fearing every moment he would bite, 
And rob our household of our only cat 
That was of age to combat with a rat, 
With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the door, 
And taught him never to come there no more. 

i2 


Do but see what a pretty contemplative air 

I give to the company, — pray do but note 'em, — 

You would think that the wise men of Greece were 

all there, [of Gotham. 

Or, at least, would suppose them the wise men 

My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses, , 
While you are a nuisance where'er you appear ; 

There is nothing but sniveling and blowing of noses, 
Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear. 

Then lifting his lid in a delicate way, 

And opening his mouth with a smile quite engag- 

The Box in reply was heard plainly to say, — [ing, 
What a silly dispute is this we are waging ! 

If you have a little of merit to claim, 

You may thank the sweet- smelling Virginian 
And I, if I seem to deserve any blame, [weed ; 

The bef ore-mention 'd drug in apology plead. 

Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own, 
No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus; 

We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone, 

But of any thing else they may chuse to put in us. 


Ilti 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


ON FRIENDSHIP. 

Amicitia nisi inter bonos esse non potest. 

C;cero. 

1782. 
What virtue can we name, or grace, 
But men unqualified and base 

Will boast it their possession ? 
Profusion apes the noble part 
Of liberality of heart, 

And dullness of discretion. 

But as the gem of richest cost 
Is ever counterfeited most, 

So, always, imitation 
Employs the utmost skill she can 
To counterfeit the faithful man, 

The friend of long duration. 

Some will pronounce me too severe, 
But long experience speaks me clear ; 

Therefore that censure scorning, 
I will proceed to mark the shelves 
On which so many dash themselves, 

And give the simple warning. 

Youth, unadmonish'd by a guide, 
Will trust to any fair outside, — 

An error soon corrected ; 
For who but learns with riper years, 
That man, when smoothest he appears, 

Is most to be suspected ? 

But here again a danger lies, 
Lest, thus deluded by our eyes, 

And taking trash for treasure, 
We should, when undeceived, conclude 
Friendship imaginary good, 

A mere Utopian pleasure. 

An acquisition rather rare 
Is yet no subject of despair ; 

Nor should it seem distressful, 
If either on forbidden ground, 
Or where it was not to be found, 

We sought it unsuccessful. 

No friendship will abide the test, 
That stands on sordid interest 

And mean self-love erected ; 
Nor such as may awhile subsist 
'Twixt sensualist and sensualist, 

For vicious ends connected. 

Who hopes a friend, should have a heart 
Himself well furnish'd for the part, 

And ready on occasion 
To show the virtue that he seeks ; 
For 'tis an union that bespeaks 

A just reciprocation. 

A fretful temper will divide 

The closest knot that may be tied, 

By ceaseless sharp corrosion : 
A temper passionate and fierce 
May suddenly your joys disperse 

At one immense explosion. 

In vain the talkative unite, 
With hope of permanent delight ; 


The secret just committed 
They drop through mere desire to prate, 
Forgetting its important weight, 

And by themselves outwitted. 

How bright soe'er the prospect seems, 
All thoughts of friendship are but dreams, 

If envy chance to creep in ; 
An envious man, if you succeed, 
May prove a dangerous foe indeed, 

But not a friend worth keeping. 

As envy pines at good possess'd, 
So jealousy looks forth distress 'd, 

On good that seems approaching, 
And if success his steps attend, 
Discerns a rival in a friend, 

And hates him for encroaching, j^ 

Hence authors of illustrious name, 
(Unless belied by common fame) 

Are sadly prone to quarrel ; 
To deem the wit a friend displays 
So much of loss to their own praise, 

And pluck each other's laurel. 

A man renown'd for repartee 
Will seldom scruple to make free 

With friendship's finest feeling ; 
Will thrust a dagger at your breast, 
And tell you 'twas a special jest, 

By way of balm for healing. 

Beware of tattlers ; keep your ear 
Close stopt against the tales they hear, — 

Fruits of their own invention ; 
The separation of chief friends 
Is what their kindness most intends ; 

Their sport is your dissension. 

Friendship that wantonly admits 
A joco-serious play of wits 

In brilliant altercation, 
Is union such as indicates, 
Like hand-in-hand insurance plates, 

Danger of conflagration. 

Some fickle creatures boast a soul 
True as the needle to the pole ; 

Yet shifting, like the weather, 
The needle's constancy forego 
For any novelty, and show 

Its variations rather. 

Insensibility makes some 
Unseasonably deaf and dumb, 

When most you need their pity ; 
'Tis waiting till the tears shall fall 
From Gog and Magog in Guildhall, — 

Those playthings of the City. 

The great and small but rarely meet 
On terms of amity complete : 

The attempt would scarce be madder, 
Should any, from the bottom, hope 
At one huge stride to reach the top 

Of an erected ladder. 

Courtier and patriot cannot mix 
Their heterogeneous politics 

Without an effervescence, 
Such as of salts with lemon-juice ; 
But which is rarely known to induce, 

Like that, a coalescence. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Religion should extinguish strife, 
And make a calm of human life : 

But even those who differ 
Only on topics left at large, 
How fiercely will they meet and charge ! 

No combatants are stiffer. 

To prove, alas ! my main intent, 
Needs no great cost of argument, 

No cutting and contriving ; 
Seeking a real friend, we seem 
To adopt the chymist's golden dream 

With still less hope of thriving. 

Then judge, or ere you chuse your man, 
As circumspectly as you can, 

And, having made election, 
See that no disrespect of yours, 
Such as a friend but ill endures, 

Enfeeble his affection. 

It is not timber, lead and stone, 
An architect requires alone, 

To finish a great building ; 
The palace were but half complete, 
Could he by any chance forget 

The carving and the gilding. 

As similarity of mind, 

Or something not to be defined, 

First rivets our attention ; 
So, manners, decent and polite, 
The same we practised at first sight, 

Must save it from declension. 

The man who hails you Tom or Jack, 
And proves by thumping on your back, 

His sense of your great merit, 
Is such a friend, that one had need 
Be very much his friend indeed, 

To pardon or to bear it. 

Some friends make this their prudent plan- 
a Say little, and hear all you can ;" 

Safe policy, but hateful : 
So barren sands imbibe the shower, 
But render neither fruit nor flower, 

Unpleasant and ungrateful. 

They whisper trivial things, and small ; 
But, to communicate at all 

Things serious, deem improper ; 
Their feculence and froth they show, 
But keep the best contents below, 

Just like a simmering copper. 

These samples (for alas ! at last 
These are but samples, and a taste 

Of evils yet unmention'd ;) 
May prove the task, a task indeed, 
In which 'tis much, if we succeed, 

However well-intention'd. 

Pursue the theme, and you shall find 
A disciplined and furnish'd mind 

To be at least expedient, 
And, after summing all the rest, 
Religion ruling in the breast 

A principal ingredient. 

True friendship has, in short, a grace 
More than terrestrial in its face, 

That proves it heaven-descended ; 
Man's love of woman not so pure, 
Nor, when sincerest, so secure 

To last till life is ended. 


THE YEARLY DISTRESS; 

OR, 

TITHING-TIME AT STOCK IN ESSEX. 
VERSES ADDRESSED TO A COUNTRY CLERGYMAN, COMPLAIN- 
ING OF THE DISAGREEABLENESS OF THE DAY ANNUALLY 
APPOINTED FOR RECEIVING THE DUES AT THE PARSONAGE. 


Come, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, 

To laugh it would be wrong ; 
The troubles of a worthy priest 

The burden of my song. 

This priest he merry is and blithe 

Three quarters of the year, 
But oh ! it cuts him like a scythe 

When tithing-time draws near. 

He then is full of frights and fears, 

As one at point to die, 
And long before the day appears 

He heaves up many a sigh. 

For then the farmers come, jog, jog, 

Along the miry road, 
Each heart as heavy as a log, 

To make their payments good. 

In sooth the sorrow of such days 

Is not to be express'd, 
When he that takes and he that pays 

Are both alike distress'd. 

Now all unwelcome at his gates 

The clumsy swains alight, 
With rueful faces and bald pates ; — 

He trembles at the sight. 

And well he may, for well he knows 

Each bumpkin of the clan, 
Instead of paying what he owes, 

Will cheat him if he can. 

So in they come— each makes his leg, 

And flings his head before, 
And looks as if he came to beg,. 

And not to quit a score. 

" And how does miss and madam do, 

The little boy and all ?" 
" All tight and well. And how do you, 

Good Mr. What-d'ye-call V 

The dinner comes, and down they sit : 
Were e'er such hungry folk ? 

There's little talking and no wit ; 
It is no time to joke. 

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, 

One spits upon the floor, 
Yet not to give offence or grieve, 

Holds up the cloth before. 

The punch goes round, and they are dull 

And lumpish still as ever ; 
Like barrels with their bellies full, 

They only weigh the heavier. 

At length the busy time begins, 
" Come, neighbours, we must wag." 

The money chinks, down drop their chins, 
Each lugging out his bag. 

One talks of mildew and of frosty 

And one of storms and hail, 
And one of pigs that he has lost 

By maggots at the tail. 


11! 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Quoth one, " A rarer man than yon 

In pulpit none shall hear ; 
But yet, methinks, to tell you true, 

You sell it plaguey dear." 

Oh why are farmers made so coarse, 

Or clergy made so fine ? 
A kick that scarce would move a horse, 

May kill a sound divine. 

Then let the boobies stay at home ; 

'Twould cost him, I dare say, 
Less trouble taking twice the sum, 

Without the clowns that pay. 


TO AN 

AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE. 


A stranger's purpose in these lays 
Is to congratulate and not to praise ; 
To give the creature the Creator's due 
Were sin in me, and an offence to you. ' 
From man to man, or even to woman paid, 
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, 
A coin by craft for folly's use design'd, 
Spurious, and only current with the blind. 
The path of sorrow, and that path alone 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; 
No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abode, 
Who found not thorns and briers in his road. 
The world may dance along the flowery plain, 
Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain : I 
Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread, 
With unshod feet they yet securely tread ; 
Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, 
Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. 
But He who knew what human hearts would prove, 
How slow to learn the dictates of his love, 
That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, 
A life of ease would make them harder still, 
In pity to the souls his grace design'd 
To rescue from the ruins of mankind, 
Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years, 
And said, " Go spend them in the vale of tears !" 
balmy gales of soul-reviving air ! 
O salutary streams that murmur there ! 
These flowing from the Fount of Grace above, 
Those breathed from lips of everlasting love. 
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys, 
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys, 
An envious world will interpose its frown 
To mar delights superior to its own, 
And many a pang experienced still within, 
Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin ; 
But ills of every shape and every name, 
Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim ; 
And every moment's calm that soothes the breast 
Is given in earnest of eternal rest. 

Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast 
Fur from the flock and in a boundless waste ! 
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, 
But the chief Shepherd even there is near ; 
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine. 
So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, 
And drought on all the drooping herbs around. 


LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN, 

AUTHOR OF THE " BOTANIC GARDEN." , 

Two poets, (poets 1 , by report, 

Not oft so well agree) 
Sweet harmonist of Flora's court ! 

Conspire to honour thee. 

They best can judge a poet's worth, 
Who oft themselves have known 

The pangs of a poetic birth 
By labours of their own. 

We therefore pleased extol thy song, 
Though various yet complete, 

Rich in embellishment as strong, 
And learned as 'tis sweet. 

No envy mingles with our praise ; 

Though, could our hearts repine 
At any poet's happier lays, 

They would — they must at thine. 

But we, in mutual bondage knit 

Of friendship's closest tie, 
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit 

With an unjaundiced eye ; 

And deem the bard, whoe'er he be, 

And howsoever known, 
Who would not twine a wreath for thee, 

Unworthy of his own. 

ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER HANGINGS. 


The Birds put off their every hue, 
To dress a room for Montagu. 

The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes, 
His rainbows and his starry eyes ; 
The Pheasant, plumes which round infold 
His mantling neck with downy gold ; 
The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show ; 
And, river-blanch'd, the Swan his snow. 
All tribes beside of Indian name, 
That glossy shine, or vivid flame, 
Where rises and where sets the day, 
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay, 
Contribute to the gorgeous plan, 
Proud to advance it all they can. 
This plumage neither dashing shower, 
Nor blasts that shake the dripping bower, 
Shall drench again or discompose, 
But, screen'd from every storm that blows, 
It boasts a splendour ever new, 
Safe with protecting Montagu. 

To the same patroness resort, 
Secure of favour at her court, 
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought 
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, 
Which, though newborn, with vigour move, 
Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jove ; 
Imagination scattering round 
Wild roses over furrow'd ground, 
Which Labour of his frown beguile, 
And teach Philosophy a smile ; 
Wit flashing on religion's side, 
Whose fires to sacred truth applied, 
The gem, though luminous before, 
Obtrudes on human notice more, 

i Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accom- 
panied these lines. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


119 


Like sunbeams on the golden height 
Of some tall temple playing bright ; 
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books 
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty looks, 
Their order on his shelves exact, 
Not more harmonious or compact 
Than that, to which he keeps confined 
The various treasures of his mind ; 
All these to Montagu's repair, 
Ambitious of a shelter there. 
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, 
Their ruffled plumage calm refit, 
(For stormy troubles loudest roar 
Around their flight who highest soar) 
And in her eye, and by her aid, 
Shine safe without a fear to fade. 
She thus maintains divided sway 
With yon bright regent of the day ; 
The plume and poet both, we know, 
Their lustre to his influence owe ; 
And she, the works of Phoebus aiding, 
Both poet saves and plume from fading. 


ON THE DEATH OF 

MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. 

Ye Nymphs, if e'er your eyes were red 
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed, 

0, share Maria's grief ! 
Her favourite, even in his cage, 
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?) 

Assassin'd by a thief. 
Where Rhenus strays his vines among, 
The egg was laid from which he sprung, 

And though by nature mute, 
Or only with a whistle bless'd, 
Well-taught he all the sounds express'd 

Of flageolet or flute. 
The honours of his ebon poll 
Were brighter than the sleekest mole, 

His bosom of the hue 
With which Aurora decks the skies, 
When piping winds shall soon arise 

To sweep away the dew. 
Above, below, in all the house, 
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse, 

No cat had leave to dwell ; 
And Bully's cage supported stood 
On props of smoothest-shaven wood, 

Large built and latticed well. 
Well latticed, — but the grate, alas ! 
Not rough with wire of steel or brass, 

For Bully's plumage sake, 
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, 
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried, 

The swains their baskets make. 
Night veil'd the pole : all seem'd secure : 
When, led by instinct sharp and sure, 

Subsistence to provide, 
A beast forth sallied on the scout, 
Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisker'd snout, 

And badger-colour'd hide. 
He, entering at the study door, 
Its ample area 'gan explore ; 

And something in the wind 
Conjectured, sniffing round and round, 
Better than all the books he found, 

Food chiefly for the mind. 


Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, 
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest ; 

In sleep he seem'd to view 
A rat fast clinging to the cage, 
And, screaming at the sad presage, 

Awoke and found it true. 

For, aided both by ear and scent, 
Right to his mark the monster went,— 

Ah, Muse ! forbear to speak 
Minute the horrors that ensued ; 
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood,- 

He left poor Bully's beak. 

O, had he made that too his prey ! 
That beak, whence issued many a lay 

Of such mellifluous tone, 
Might have repaid him well, I wote, 
For silencing so sweet a throat, 

Fast stuck within his own. 

Maria weeps, — the Muses mourn ; — 
So, when by Bacchanalians torn, 

On Thracian Hebrus' side 
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell, 
His head alone remain'd to tell 

The cruel death he died. 


THE ROSE. 

The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower, 

Which Mary to Anna convey'd ; 
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower, 

And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, 

And it seem'd to a fanciful view, 
To weep for the buds it had left with regret 

On the flourishing bush where it grew. 

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was 

For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, 

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! 
I snapp'd it ! it fell to the ground. 

And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part 

Some act by the delicate mind, 
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 

Already to sorrow resign'd. 

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, 

Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile ; 

And the tear that is wiped with a little address, 
May be follow' d perhaps by a smile. 


ODE TO APOLLO. 

ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. 


Patron of all those luckless brains 

That, to the wrong side leaning, 
Indite much metre with much pains, 

And little or no meaning ; 
Ah, why, since oceans, rivers, streams, 

That water all the nations, 
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, 

In constant exhalations ; 
Why, stooping from the noon of day. 

Too covetous of drink, 
Apollo, hast thou stolen away 

A poet's drop of ink ? 


120 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Upborne into the viewless air, 

It floats a vapour now, 
Impell'd through regions dense and rare, 

By all the winds that blow ; 

Ordain'd perhaps ere summer flies, 
Combined with millions more, 

To form an Iris in the skies, 
Though black and foul before. 

Illustrious drop ! and happy then 

Beyond the happiest lot, 
Of all that ever pass'd my pen, 

So soon to be forgot ! 

Phoebus, if such be thy design, 

To place it in thy bow, 
Give wit, that what is left may shine 

With equal grace below. 


THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT. 

TO MRS. (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCKMORTON. 


Maria ! I have every good 
For thee wish'd many a time, 

Both sad and in a cheerful mood, 
But never yet in rhyme. 

To wish thee fairer is no need, 
More prudent, or more sprightly, 

Or more ingenious, or more freed 
From temper-flaws unsightly. 

What favour then not yet possess'd 

Can I for thee require, 
In wedded love already bless'd, 

To thy whole heart's desire ? 

None here is happy but in part ; 

Full bliss is bliss divine ; 
There dwells some wish in every heart, 

And doubtless one in thine. 

That wash, "on some fair future day 
Which Fate shall brightly gild, 

('Tis blameless, be it what it may) 
I wish it all fulfill'd. 


PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. 

A FABLE. 

I shall not ask Jean-Jacques Rousseau 1 , 

If birds confabulate or no ; 

: Tis clear that they were always able 

To hold discourse, at least in fable ; 

And even the child who knows no better 

Than to interpret by the letter 

A story of a cock and bull, 

Must have a most uncommon skull. 

It chanced then on a winter's day, 
But warm and bright and calm as May, 
The birds, conceiving a design 
To forestall sweet St. Valentine, 

1 It was one of the whimsical speculations of this phi- 
losopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech 
to animals, should be withheld from children, as being 
only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever 
deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his 
senses ? 


In many an orchard, copse, and grove 

Assembled on affairs of love, 

And with much twitter and much chatter 

Began to agitate the matter. 

At length a Bullfinch, who could boast 

More years and wisdom than the most, 

Entreated, opening wide his beak, 

A moment's liberty to speak ; 

And silence publicly enjoin'd, 

Deliver'd briefly thus his mind : 

My friends ! be cautious how you treat 
The subject upon which we meet: 
I fear we shall have winter yet. 

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, 
With golden wing and satin poll, 
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried 
What marriage means, thus pert replied : 

Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, 
Opposite in the apple-tree, 
By his good will would keep us single 
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle ; 
Or (which is likelier to befal) 
Till death exterminate us all. 
I marry without more ado ; 
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ? 

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, 
Turning short round, strutting, and sideling, 
Attested, glad, his approbation 
Of an immediate conjugation. 
Their sentiments so well express'd 
Influenced mightily the rest ; 
All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. 

But though the birds were thus in haste, 
The leaves came on not quite so fast, 
And destiny, that sometimes bears 
An aspect stern on man's affairs, 
Not altogether smiled on theirs. 
The wind, of late breathed gently forth, 
Now shifted east, and east by north ; 
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, 
Could shelter them from rain or snow ; 
Stepping into their nests, they paddled, 
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled ; 
Soon every father bird and mother 
Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other, 
Parted without the least regret, 
Except that they had ever met, 
And learn'd in future to be wiser 
Than to neglect a good adviser. 


Misses ! the tale that I relate 
This lesson seems to carry — 

Chuse not alone a proper mate, 
But proper time to marry. 


THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. 


NO FABLE. 


The noon was shady, and 'soft airs 

Swept Ouse's silent tide, 
When, 'scaped from literary cares, 

I wander'd on his side. 
My spaniel, prettiest of his race, 

And high in pedigree, 
(Two nymphs 2 adorn'd with every grace 

That spaniel found for me) 

2 Sir Robert Gunning's daughters. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


121 


Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, 

Now starting into sight, 
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads 

With scarce a slower flight. 
It was the time when Ouse display'd 

His lilies newly blown ; 
Their beauties I intent survey'd, 

And one I wish'd my own. 
With cane extended far I sought 

To steer it close to land ; 
But still the prize, though nearly caught, 

Escaped my eager hand. 
Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains 

With fix'd considerate face, 
And puzzling set his puppy brains 

To comprehend the case. 
But with a cherup clear and strong, 

Dispersing all his dream, 
I thence withdrew, and follow' d long 

The windings of the stream. 
My ramble ended, I return'd ; 

Beau, trotting far before, 
The floating wreath again discern'd, 

And plunging left the shore. 
I saw him with that lily cropp'd 

Impatient swim to meet 
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 

The treasure at my feet. , 
Charm'd with the sight, The world, I cried, 

Shall hear of this thy deed : 
My dog shall mortify the pride 

Of man's superior breed ; 
But chief myself I will enjoin, 

Awake at duty's call, 
To show a love as prompt as thine 

To Him who gives me all. 

TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT, 

ON WHICH I DINED THIS DAY, MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1784. 


Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued 
Thy pastime ? When wast thou an egg new spawn'd, 
Lost in the immensity of ocean's waste ? 
Roar as they might, the overbearing winds 
That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe — 
And in thy mhiikin and embryo state, 
Attach'd to the firm leaf of some salt weed, 
Didst outlive tempests, such as wrung and rack'd 
The joints of many a stout and gallant bark, 
And whelm'd them in the unexplored abyss. 
Indebted to no magnet and no chart, 
Nor under guidance of the polar fire, 
Thou wast a voyager on many coasts, 
Grazing at large in meadows submarine, 
Where flat Batavia just emerging peeps 
Above the brine, — where Caledonia's rocks 
Beat back the surge, — and where Hibernia shoots 
Her wondrous Causeway far into the main. 
— Wherever thou hast fed, thou little thought'st, 
And I not more, that I should feed on thee. 
Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good 
To him who sent thee ! and success, as oft [fish, 
As it descends into the billowy gulf, 
To the same drag that caught thee ! 
Thy lot thy brethren of the slimy fin 
Would envy, could they know that 


Fare thee 
[well ! 
wast 


thou 
To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse, [doom'd 


GRATITUDE. 

ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. 
1786. 

This cap, that so stately appears, 

With ribbon-bound tassel on high, 
Which seems by the crest that it rears 

Ambitious of brushing the sky ; 
This cap to my Cousin I owe, 

She gave it, and gave me beside, 
Wreath'd into an elegant bow, 

The ribbon with which it is tied. 

This wheel-footed studying chair, 

Contrived both for toil and repose, 
Wide-elbowed, and wadded with hair, 

In which I both scribble and doze, 
Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, 

And rival in lustre of that 
In which, or astronomy lies, 

Fair Cassiopeia sat : 

These carpets, so soft to the foot, 
Caledonia's traffic and pride, 

spare them, ye knights of the boot, 
Escaped from a cross-country ride ! 

This table and mirror within, 
Secure from collision and dust, 

At which I oft shave cheek and chin, 
And periwig nicely adjust : fc 

This moveable structure of shelves, 

For its beauty admired and its use, 
And charged with octavos and twelves, 

The gayest I had to produce ; 
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold, 

My poems enchanted I view, 
And hope, in due time, to behold 

My Iliad and Odyssey too : 

This china, that decks the alcove, 

Which here people call a buffet, 
But what the gods call it above, 

Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet : 
These curtains, that keep the room warm 

Or cool as the season demands, 
Those stoves that for pattern and form 

Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands : 

All these are not half that I owe 

To One, from our earliest youth 
To me ever ready to show 

Benignity, friendship, and truth ; 
For time, the destroyer declared 

And foe of our perishing kind, 
If even her face he has spared, 

Much less could he alter her mind. 

Thus compass'd about with the goods 
And chattels of leisure and ease, 

1 indulge my poetical moods 

In many such fancies as these : 
And fancies I fear they will seem, 

Poets' goods are not often so fine ; 
The poets will swear that I dream, 

When I sing of the splendour of mine. 


122 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


LINES 

COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF 

ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ. 

IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH, 

BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON. 
June 1788. 
Farewell ! endued with all that could engage 
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age ! 
In prime of life, for sprightliness enrolFd 
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old ; 
In life's last stage, (0 blessings rarely found !) 
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd ! 
Through every period of this changeful state 
Unchanged thyself — wise, good, affectionate ! 
Marble may natter, and lest this should seem 
Overcharged with praises on so dear a theme, 
Although thy worth be more than half supprest, 
Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest. 


SONG ON PEACE. 

WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE REQUEST OF 
LADY AUSTEN, WHO GAVE THE SENTIMENT, 


Air—" My fond shepherds of late," %c. 

No longer I follow a sound ; 
No longer a dream I pursue ; 

happiness ! not to be found, 
Unattainable treasure, adieu ! 

1 have sought thee in splendour and dress, 
In the regions of pleasure and taste ; 

I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess, 

But have proved thee a vision at last. 
An humble ambition and hope 

The voice of true wisdom inspires ; 
'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope, 

And the summit of all our desires. 
Peace may be the lot of the mind 

That seeks it in meekness and love ; 
But rapture and bliss are confined 

To the glorified spirits above. 


SONG. 

ALSO WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN. 

Air — " The Lass o/Patie's Mill." 

When all within is peace, 

How nature seems to smile ! 
Delights that never cease, 

The live-long day beguile. 
From morn to dewy eve, 

With open hand she showers 
Fresh blessings to deceive 

And soothe the silent hours. 
It is content of heart 

Gives nature power to please : 
The mind that feels no smart 

Enlivens all it sees ; 
Can make a wintry sky 

Seem bright as smiling May, 
And evening's closing eye 

As peep of early day. 


The vast majestic globe, 

So beauteously array'd 
In nature's various robe, 

With wondrous skill display'd, 
Is to a mourner's heart 

A dreary wild at best ; 
It flutters to depart, 

And longs to be at rest. 


EPITAPH ON JOHNSON. 

January 1785. 

Here Johnson lies, a sage by all allow'd, 
Whom to have bred, may well make England 

proud ; 
Whose prose*was eloquence, by wisdom taught, 
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought ; 
Whose verse may claim, grave, masculine, and 

strong, 
Superior praise to the mere poet's song ; 
Who many a noble gift from Heaven possess'd, 
And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. 
O man, immortal by a double prize, 
By fame on earth, by glory in the skies ! 


TO MISS G , ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

1786. 
How many between east and west, 

Disgrace their parent earth, 
Whose deeds constrain us to detest 

The day that gave them birth ! 
Not so when Stella's natal morn 

Revolving months restore, 
We can rejoice that she was born, 

And wish her born once more ! 


THE FLATTING-MILL. ,' '_ 

, AN ILLUSTRATION. 

When a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold 

Is sent to be flatted or wrought into length, 
It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd 

In an engine of utmost mechanical strength. 
Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears 

Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show, 
Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears, 

And warm'd by the pressure is all in a glow. 
This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain 

The thump-after-thump of a gold-beater's mallet, 
And at last is of service in sickness or pain 

To cover a pill from a delicate palate. 
Alas for the Poet, who dares undertake 

To urge reformation of national ill ! 
His head and his heart are both likely to ache 

With the double employment of mallet and mill. 
If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight, 

Smooth, ductile, and even, his fancy must flow, 
Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight, 

And catch in its progress a sensible glow. 
After all he must beat it as thin and as fine 

As the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows, 
For truth is unwelcome, however divine, 

And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows. 


COWPER'S TREATMENT OF HIS HARES. 


123 


EPITAPH ON A HARE. 

Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, 
Nor swifter greyhound follow, 

Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, 
Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo ; 

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, 
Who, nursed with tender care, 

And to domestic bounds confined, 
Was still a wild jack hare. 

Though duly from my hand he took 

His pittance every night, 
He did it with a jealous look, 

And, when he could, would bite. 

His diet was of wheaten bread, 
And milk, and oats, and straw ; 

Thistles, or lettuces instead, 
With sand to scour his maw. 

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, 

On pippins' russet peel, 
And, when his juicy salads fail'd, 

Sliced carrot pleased him well. 

A Turkey carpet was his lawn, 

Whereon he loved to bound, 
To skip and gambol like a fawn, 

And swing his rump around. 

His frisking was at evening hours, 

For then he lost his fear, 
But most before approaching showers, 

Or when a storm drew near. 


Eight years and five round rolling moons 

He thus saw steal away, 
Dozing out all his idle noons, 
And every night at play. 

I kept him for his humour's sake, 

For he would oft beguile 
My heart of thoughts that made it ache, 

And force me to a smile. 

But now beneath his walnut shade 

He finds his long last home, 
And waits, in snug concealment laid, 

Till gentler Puss shall come. 

He, still more aged, feels the shocks 
From which no care can save, 

And, partner once of Tiney's box, 
Must soon partake his grave. 


EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM. 

Hie etiam jacet, 

Qui totum novennium vixit, 

Puss. 

Siste paulisper, 

Qui prseteriturus es, 

Et tecum sic reputa — 

Hunc neque canis venaticus, 

Nee plumbum missile, 

Nee laqueus, 

Nee imbres nimii, 

Confecere : 

Tamen mortuus est — 

Et moriar ego. 


THE FOLLOWING 

ACCOUNT OF THE TREATMENT OF HIS HARES, 

WAS INSERTED BY COWPER IN THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 


In the year 1774, being much indisposed both 
in mind and body, incapable of diverting myself 
either with company or books, and yet in a con- 
dition that made some diversion necessary, I was 
glad of anything that would engage my attention, 
without fatiguing it. The children of a neighbour 
of mine had a leveret given them for a plaything ; 
it was at that time about three months old. Un- 
derstanding better how to tease the poor creature 
than to feed it, and soon becoming weary of their 
charge, they readily consented that their father, 
who saw it pining and growing leaner every day, 
should offer it to my acceptance. I was willing 
enough to take the prisoner under my protection, 
perceiving that, in the management of such an 
animal, and in the attempt to tame it, I should 
find just that sort of employment which my case 
required. It was soon known among my neigh- 
bours that I was pleased with the present, and the 
consequence was, that in a short time I had as 
many leverets offered to me as would have stocked 
a paddock. I undertook the care of three, which it 
is necessary that I should here distinguish by the 
names I gave them — Puss, Tiney, and Bess. 


Notwithstanding the two feminine appellatives, I 
must inform you, that they were all males. Im- 
mediately commencing carpenter, I built them 
houses to sleep in ; each had a separate apartment, 
so contrived that their ordure would pass through 
the bottom of it; an earthen pan placed under 
each received whatsoever fell, which being duly 
emptied and washed, they were thus kept perfectly 
sweet and clean. In the daytime they had the 
range of a hall, and at night retired each to his 
own bed, never intruding into that of another. 

Puss grew presently familiar, would leap into 
my lap, raise himself upon his hinder feet, and 
bite the hair from my temples. He would suffer 
me to take him up, and to carry him about in my 
arms, and has more than once fallen fast asleep 
upon my knee. He was ill three days, during 
which time I nursed him, kept him apart from his 
fellows, that they might not molest him, (for, like 
many other wild animals, they persecute one of 
their own species that is sick) and by constant 
care, and trying him with a variety of herbs, 
restored him to perfect health. No creature 
could be more grateful than my patient after his 


124 


COWPER'S TREATMENT OF HIS HARES. 


recovery ; a sentiment which he most significantly 
expressed by licking my hand, first the back of it, 
then the palm, then every finger separately, then 
between all the fingers, as if anxious to leave no 
part of it unsaluted ; a ceremony which he never 
performed but once again upon a similar occasion. 
Finding him extremely tractable, I made it my 
custom to carry him always after breakfast into 
the garden, where he hid himself generally under 
the leaves of a cucumber vine, sleeping or chewing 
the cud till evening ; in the leaves also of that 
vine he found a favourite repast. I had not long 
habituated him to this taste of liberty, before he 
began to be impatient for the return of the time 
when he might enjoy it. He would invite me to 
the garden by drumming upon my knee, and by a 
look of such expression, as it was not possible to 
misinterpret. If this rhetoric did not immediately 
succeed, he would take the skirt of my coat be- 
tween his teeth, and pull it with all his force. 
Thus Puss might be said to be perfectly tamed, 
the shyness of his nature was done away ; and on 
the whole it was visible by many symptoms, which 
I have not room to enumerate, that he was hap- 
pier in human society than when shut up with his 
natural companions. 

Not so Tiney ; upon him the kindest treatment 
had not the least effect. He too was sick, and in 
his sickness had an equal share of my attention ; 
but if after his recovery I took the liberty to 
stroke him, he would grunt, strike with his fore 
feet, spring forward, and bite. He was however 
very entertaining in his way ; even his surliness 
was matter of mirth, and in his play he preserved 
such an air of gravity, and performed his feats 
with such a solemnity of manner, that in him too 
I had an agreeable companion. 

Bess, who died soon after he was full grown, 
and whose death was occasioned by his being 
turned into his box, which had been washed, while 
it was yet damp, was a hare of great humour and 
drollery. Puss was tamed by gentle usage ; Tiney 
was not to be tamed at all ; and Bess had a cou- 
rage and confidence that made him tame from the 
beginning. I always admitted them into the par- 
lour after supper, when the carpet affording their 
feet a firm hold, they would frisk, and bound, and 
play a thousand gambols, in which Bess, being 
remarkably strong and fearless, was always supe- 
rior to the rest, and proved himself the Vestris of 
the party. One evening the cat, being in the 
room, had the hardiness to pat Bess upon the 
cheek, an indignity which he resented by drum- 
ming upon her back with such violence that the 
cat was happy to escape from under his paws, and 
hide herself. 

I describe these animals as having each a char- 
acter of his own. Such they were in fact, and 
their countenances were so expressive of that 
character, that, when I looked only on the face of 
either, I immediately knew which it was. It is 
said that a shepherd, however numerous his flock, 
soon becomes so familiar with their features, that 
he can, by that indication only, distinguish each 
from all the rest ; and yet, to a common observer, 
the difference is hardly perceptible. I doubt not 
that the same discrimination in the cast of coun- 
tenances would be discoverable in hares, and am 
persuaded that among a thousand of them no two 
could be found exactly similar; a circumstance 


little suspected by those who have not had oppor- 
tunity to observe it. These creatures have a 
singular sagacity in discovering the minutest alter- 
ation that is made in the place to which they are 
accustomed, and instantly apply their nose to the 
examination of a new object. A small hole being 
burnt in the carpet, it was mended with a patch, 
and that patch in a moment underwent the strict- 
est scrutiny. They seem too to be very much 
directed by the smell in the choice of their favour- 
ites : to some persons, though they saw them daily, 
they could never be reconciled, and would even 
scream when they attempted to touch them ; but 
a miller coming in engaged their affections at once ; 
his powdered coat had charms that were irresist- 
ible. It is no wonder that my intimate acquaint- 
ance with these specimens of the kind has taught 
me to hold the sportsman's amusement in abhor- 
rence ; he little knows what amiable creatures he 
persecutes, of what gratitude they are capable, 
how cheerful they are in their spirits, what enjoy- 
ment they have of life, and that, impressed as they 
seem with a peculiar dread of man, it is only be- 
cause man gives them peculiar cause for it. 

That I may not be tedious, I will just give a 
short summary of those articles of diet that suit 
them best. 

I take it to be a general opinion that they graze, 
but it is an erroneous one, at least grass is not 
their staple: they seem rather to use it medici- 
nally, soon quitting it for leaves of almost any 
kind. Sowthistle, dandelion, and lettuce, are their 
favourite vegetables, especially the last. I dis- 
covered by accident that fine white sand is in 
great estimation with them ; I suppose as a diges- 
tive. It happened, that I was cleaning a birdcage 
when the hares were with me ; I placed a pot 
filled with such sand upon the floor, which being 
at once directed to by a strong instinct, they de- 
voured voraciously ; since that time I have gener- 
ally taken care to see them well supplied with it. 
They account green corn a delicacy, both blade 
and stalk, but the ear they seldom eat : straw of 
any kind, especially wheat-straw, is another of 
then* dainties ; they will feed greedily upon oats, 
but if furnished with clean straw never want 
them ; it serves them also for a bed, and, if shaken 
up daily, will be kept sweet and dry for a consider- 
able time. They do not indeed require aromatic 
herbs, but will eat a small quantity of them with 
great relish, and are particularly fond of the plant 
called musk ; they seem to resemble sheep in this, 
that, if their pasture be too succulent, they are 
very subject to the rot ; to prevent which, I always 
made bread their principal nourishment, and, fill- 
ing a pan with it cut into small squares, placed it 
every evening in their chambers, for they feed 
only at evening and in the night; during the 
winter, when vegetables were not to be got, I 
mingled this mess of bread with shreds of carrot, 
adding to it the rind of apples cut extremely thin ; 
for, though they are fond of the paring, the apple 
itself disgusts them. These however not being a 
sufficient substitute for the juice of summer herbs, 
they must at this time be supplied with water; 
but so placed, that they cannot overset it into 
their beds. I must not omit, that occasionally 
they are much pleased with twigs of hawthorn, 
and of the common brier, eating even the very 
wood when it is of considerable thickness. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


125 


Bess, I have said, died young ; Tiney lived to 
be nine years old, and died at last, I have reason 
to think, of some hurt in his loins by a fall ; Puss 
is still living, and has just completed his tenth 
year, discovering no signs of decay, nor even of 
age, except that he has grown more discreet and 
less frolicsome than he was. I cannot conclude 
without observing, that I have lately introduced a 
dog to his acquaintance, a spaniel that had never 
seen a hare to a hare that had never seen a 
spaniel. I did it with great caution, but there 
was no real need of it. Puss discovered no token 
of fear, nor Marquis the least symptom of hos- 
tility. There is therefore, it should seem, no 
natural antipathy between dog and hare, but the 
pursuit of the one occasions the flight of the other, 
and the dog pursues because he is trained to it ; 


they eat bread at the same time out of the same 
hand, and are in all respects sociable and friendly. 

I should not do complete justice to my subject, 
did I not add, that they have no ill scent belong- 
ing to them, that they are indefatigably nice in 
keeping themselves clean, for which purpose na- 
ture has furnished them with a brush under each 
foot; and that they are never infested by any 
vermin. 

May 28, 1784. 

Memorandum found among Mr. Cowper's Papers. 

Tuesday, March 9, 1786. 

This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years 

eleven months. He died between twelve and one at 

noon, of mere old age, and apparently without pain. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


I. WALKING WITH GOD. Gen. v. 24. 


Oh ! for a closer walk with God ; 

A calm and heavenly frame ; 
A light to shine upon the road 

That leads me to the Lamb ! 

Where is the blessedness I knew 
When first I saw the Lord? 

Where is the soul-refreshing view 
Of Jesus and his word ? 

What peaceful hours I once enjoy 'd ! 

How sweet their memory still ! 
But they have left an aching void, 

The world can never fill. 

Return, holy Dove, return, 

Sweet messenger of rest ! 
I hate the sins that made thee mourn, 

And drove thee from my breast. 

The dearest idol I have known, 

Whate'er that idol be, 
Help me to tear it from thy throne, 

And worship only Thee. 

So shall my walk be close with God, 
Calm and serene my frame ; 

So purer light shall mark the road 
That leads me to the Lamb. 


II. JEHOVAH-JHtEH. THE LORD WILL PROVIDE. 

Gen. xxii. 14. 

The saints should never be dismay'd, 

Nor sink in hopeless fear ; 
For when they least expect his aid, 

The Saviour will appear. 

This Abraham found : he raised the knife ; 

God saw, and said, " Forbear ! 
Yon ram shall yield his meaner life ; 

Behold the victim there." 

Once David seem'd Saul's certain prey ; 

But hark ! the foe 's at hand * ; 
Saul turns his arms another way, 

To save the invaded land. 

1 1 Sam. xxiii. 27. 


When Jonah sunk beneath the wave, 
He thought to rise no more 2 ; 

But God prepared a fish to save,. 
And bear him to the shore. 

Blest proofs of power and grace divine, 

That meet us in his word ! 
May every deep-felt care of mine 

Be trusted with the Lord. 

Wait for his seasonable aid, 

And though it tarry, wait : 
The promise may be long delay'd, 

JBut cannot come too late. 


III. JEHOVAH-ROPHI. I AM THE LORD THAT 
HEALETH THEE. Exod. xv. 26. 


Heal us, Emmanuel ! here we are, 

Waiting to feel thy touch : 
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair, 

And, Saviour, we are such. 

Our faith is feeble, we confess, 

We faintly trust thy word ; 
But wilt thou pity us the less ? 

Be that far from thee, Lord ! 

Remember him who once applied, 

With trembling, for relief ; 
" Lord, I believe," with tears he cried «% 

"Oh, help my unbelief!" 

She too, who touch'd thee in the press, 

And healing virtue stole, 
Was answer'd, " Daughter, go in peace 4, 

Thy faith hath made thee whole." 

Conceal'd amid the gathering throng, 
She would have shunn'd thy view ; 

And if her faith was firm and strong, 
Had strong misgivings too. 

Like her, with hopes and fears we come, 

To touch thee, if we may ; 
Oh ! send us not despairing home ! 

Send none unheal'd away ! 


Jonah, i. 17. 


3 Mark, ix. 24. 


4 Mark, v. 34. 


126 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


IV. JEHOVAH-NISSI. THE LORD MY BANNER. 

Exod. xvii. 15. 

By whom was David taught 

To aim the deadly blow, 
When he Goliath fought, 
And laid the Gittite low ? 
Nor sword nor spear the stripling took, 
But chose a pebble from the brook. 

'Twas Israel's God and king 

Who sent him to the fight ; 
Who gave him strength to sling, 
And skill to aim aright. 
Ye feeble saints, your strength endures, 
Because young David's God is yours. 

Who order'd Gideon forth, 

To storm the invaders' camp, 
With arms of little worth, 
A pitcher and a lamp 5 ? 
The trumpets made his coming known, 
And all the host was overthrown. 

Oh ! I have seen the day, 

When with a single word, 
God helping me to say, 

" My trust is in the Lord," 
My soul hath quell'd a thousand foes, 
Fearless of all that could oppose. 

But unbelief, self-will, 

Self-righteousness, and pride, 
How often do they steal 
My weapon from my side ! 
Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend, 
Will help his servant to the end. 


V. JEHOVAH-SHALOM. THE LORD SEND PEACE, 

Judges, vi. 24. 

Jesus ! whose blood so freely stream'd 

To satisfy the law's demand ; 
By thee from guilt and wrath redeem'd, 

Before the Father's face I stand. 

To reconcile offending man, 

Make Justice drop her angry rod ; 

What creature could have form'd the plan, 
Or who fulfil it but a God ? 

No drop remains of all the curse, 

For wretches who deserved the whole ; 

No arrows dipt in wrath to pierce 
The guilty, but returning soul. 

Peace by such means so dearly bought, 
What rebel could have hoped to see ? 

Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought, 
His Sovereign fasten'd to a tree. 

Now, Lord, thy feeble worm prepare ! 

For strife with earth and hell begins ; 
Confirm and gird me for the war ; 

They hate the soul that hates his sins. 

Let them in horrid league agree ! 

They may assault, they may distress ; 
But cannot quench thy love to me, 

Nor rob me of the Lord my peace. 

1 Judges, vii. 9, and 20. 


VI. WISDOM. Prov. viii. 22—31. 

Ere God had built the mountains, 

Or raised the fruitful hills ; 
Before he fill'd the fountains 

That feed the running rills ; 
In me, from everlasting, 

The wonderful I am, 
Found pleasures never wasting, 

And Wisdom is my name. 

When, like a tent to dwell in, 

He spread the skies abroad, 
And swathed about the swelling 

Of Ocean's mighty flood ; 
He wrought by weight and measure, 

And I was with him then ; 
Myself the Father's pleasure, 

And mine, the sons of men. 

Thus Wisdom's words discover 

Thy glory and thy grace, 
Thou everlasting lover 

Of our unworthy race ! 
Thy gracious eye survey'd us 

Ere stars were seen above ; 
In wisdom thou hast made us, 

And died for us in love. 

And couldst thou be delighted 

With creatures such as we, 
Who, when we saw thee, slighted, 

And nail'd thee to a tree ? 
Unfathomable wonder, 

And mystery divine ! 
The voice that speaks in thunder, 

Says, " Sinner, I am thine !" 


VH. VANITY OF THE WORLD. 


God gives his mercies to be spent ; 

Your hoard will do your soul no good ; 
Gold is a blessing only lent, 

Repaid by giving others food. 

The world's esteem is but a bribe, 

To buy their peace you sell your own ; 

The slave of a vainglorious tribe, 

Who hate you while they make you known 

The joy that vain amusements give, 
Oh ! sad conclusion that it brings ! 

The honey of a crowded hive, . 
Defended by a thousand stings. 

'Tis thus the world rewards the fools 
That live upon her treacherous smiles : 

She leads them blindfold by her rules, 
And ruins all whom she beguiles. 

God knows the thousands who go down 
From pleasure into endless woe : 

And with a long despairing groan 
Blaspheme their Maker as they go. 

fearful thought ! be timely wise ; 

Delight but in a Saviour's charms, 
And God shall take you to the sides. 

Embraced in everlasting arms. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


127 


VIII. O LORD, I WILL PRAISE THEE. Isaiah, xii. 1. 

I will praise thee every day 
Now thine anger's turn'd away ; 
Comfortable thoughts arise 
From the bleeding sacrifice. 

Here, in the fair gospel-field, 
Wells of free salvation yield 
Streams of life, a plenteous store, 
And my soul shall thirst no more. 

Jesus is become at length 
My salvation and my strength ; 
And his praises shall prolong, 
While I live, my pleasant song. 

Praise ye, then, his glorious name, 
Publish his exalted fame ! 
Still his worth your praise exceeds ; 
Excellent are all his deeds. 

Raise again the joyful sound, 
Let the nations roll it round ! 
Zion, shout ! for this is he ; 
God the Saviour dwells in thee ! 


IX. THE CONTRITE HEART. Isaiah, lvii. 15. 

The Lord will happiness divine 

On contrite hearts bestow ; 
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine 

A contrite heart, or no ? 

I hear, but seem to hear in vain, 

Insensible as steel ; 
If aught is felt, 'tis only pain, 

To find I cannot feel. 

I sometimes think myself inclined 

To love thee, if I could ; 
But often feel another mind, 

Averse to all that's good. 

My best desires are faint and few, 
I fain would strive for more ; 

But when I cry, " My strength renew !" 
Seem weaker than before. 

Thy saints are comforted, I know, 
And love thy house of prayer ; 

I therefore go where others go, 
But find no comfort there. 

make this heart rejoice or ache ; 

Decide this doubt for me ; 
And if it be not broken, break, — 

And heal it if it be. 


X. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE 
CHURCH. Isaiah, ix. 15—20. 

Hear what God the Lord hath spoken : 
" O my people, faint and few, 
Comfortless, afflicted, broken, 
Fair abodes I build for you. 
Thorns of heart-felt tribulation 
Shall no more perplex your ways : 
You shall name your walls, Salvation, 
And your gates shall all be Praise. 


" There, like streams that feed the garden, 
Pleasures without end shall flow ; 
For the Lord, your faith rewarding, 
All his bounty shall bestow ; 
Still in undisturb'd possession 
Peace and righteousness shall reign ; 
Never shall you feel oppression, 
Hear the voice of war again. 

" Ye no more your suns descending, 
Waning moons no more shall see ; 
But, your griefs for ever ending, 
Find eternal noon in me : 
God shall rise, and shinmg o'er ye, 
Change to day the gloom of night ; 
He, the Lord, shall be your glory, 
God your everlasting light." 


XL JEHOVAH OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS. 
Jer. xxiii. 6. 


My God, how perfect are thy ways ! 

But mine polluted are ; 
Sin twines itself about my praise, 

And slides into my prayer. 

When I would speak what thou hast done 

To save me from my sin, 
I cannot make thy mercies known, 

But self-applause creeps in. 

Divine desire, that holy flame 

Thy grace creates in me ; 
Alas ! impatience is its name, 

When it returns to thee. 

This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts, 

How does it overflow, 
While self upon the surface floats, 

Still bubbling from below ! 

Let others in the gaudy dress 

Of fancied merit shine ; 
The Lord shall be my righteousness, 

The Lord for ever mine. 


XII. EPHRAIM REPENTING. Jer. xxxi. 18—20. 

My God, till I received thy stroke, 

How like a beast was I ! 
So unaccustom'd to the yoke, 

So backward to comply. 

With grief my just reproach I bear ; 

Shame fills me at the thought, 
How frequent my rebellions were, 

What wickedness I wrought. 

Thy merciful restraint I scorn'd, 

And left the pleasant road ; 
Yet turn me, and I shall be turn'd ! 

Thou art the Lord my God. 

« Is Ephraim banish'd from my thoughts, 

Or vile in my esteem ? 
No," saith the Lord, "with all his faults, 

I still remember him. 


128 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


" Is he a dear and pleasant child 1 
Yes, dear and pleasant still ; 

Though sin his foolish heart beguiled, 
And he withstood my will. 

" My sharp rebuke has laid him low, 

He seeks my face again ; 
My pity kindles at his woe, 

He shall not seek in vain." 


XHI. THE COVENANT. Ezek. xxxvi. 25—28. 

The Lord proclaims his grace abroad ! 
" Behold, I change your hearts of stone ; 
Each shall renounce his idol-god, 
And serve, henceforth, the Lord alone. 

My grace, a flowing stream, proceeds 
To wash your filthiness away ; 
Ye shall abhor your former deeds, 
And learn my statutes to obey. 

My truth the great design ensures, 
I give myself away to you ; 
You shall be mine, I will be yours, 
Your God unalterably true. 

Yet not unsought, or unimplored, 

The plenteous grace shall I confer 1 ; 

No — your whole hearts shall seek the Lord, 

I'll put a praying spirit there. 

From the first breath of life divine, 
Down to the last expiring hour, 
The gracious work shall all be mine, 
Begun and ended in my power* 


XIV. JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH. Ezek. xlviii. 35. 

As birds their infant brood protect 9 , 
And spread their wings to shelter them, 
Thus saith the Lord to his elect, 
So will I guard Jerusalem. 

And what then is Jerusalem, 
This darling object of his care ? 
Where is its worth in God's esteem ? 
Who built it ? who inhabits there I 

Jehovah founded it in blood, 
The blood of his incarnate Son ; 
There dwell the saints, once foes to God, 
The sinners whom he calls his own. 

There, though besieged on every side, 
Yet much beloved, and guarded well, 
From age to age they have defied 
The utmost force of earth and hell. 

Let earth repent, and hell despair, 
This city has a sure defence ; 
Her name is call'd, " The Lord is there," 
And who has power to drive him thence ? 


i Verso 37- 


2 Isaiah, xxxi. 5. 


XV. PRAISE FOR THE FOUNTAIN OPENED. 
Zech. xiii. 1. 

There is a fountain fill'd with blood 
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ; 

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, 
Lose all their guilty stains. 

The dying thief rejoiced to see 

That fountain in his day ; 
And there have I, as vile as he, 

Wash'd all my sins away. 

Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood 

Shall never lose its power, 
Till all the ransom'd church of God 

Be saved, to sin no more. 

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream 

Thy flowing wounds supply, 
Redeeming love has been my theme, 

And shall be till I die. 

Then in a nobler, sweeter song, 

I'll sing thy power to save ; 
When this poor lisping stammering tongut 

Lies silent in the grave. 

Lord, I believe thou hast prepared 

(Unworthy though I be) 
For me a blood-bought free reward, 

A golden harp for me ! 

'Tis strung and tuned for endless years, 
And form'd by power divine, 

To sound in God the Father's ears 
No other name but thine. 


XVI. THE SOWER. Matt. xiii. 3. 

Ye sons of earth, prepare the plough, 
Break up your fallow ground ; 

The sower is gone forth to sow, 
And scatter blessings round. t 

The seed that finds a stony soil 

Shoots forth a hasty blade ; 
But ill repays the sower's toil, 

Soon wither' d, scorch'd, and dead. 

The thorny ground is sure to baulk 

All hopes of harvest there ; 
We find a tall and sickly stalk, 

But not the fruitful ear. 

The beaten path and highway side 

Receive the trust in vain ; 
The watchful birds the spoil divide, 

And pick up all the grain. 

But where the Lord of grace and power 

Has bless'd the happy field, 
How plenteous is the golden store 

The deep -wrought furrows yield ! 

Father of mercies, we have need 

Of thy preparing grace ; 
Let the same hand that gives the seed 

Provide a fruitful place ! 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


129 


XVII. THE HOUSE OF PRAYER. Mark, xi. 17. 

Thy mansion is the Christian's heart, 

Lord, thy dwelling-place secure ! 
Bid the unruly throng depart, 

And leave the consecrated door. 
Devoted as it is to thee, 

A thievish swarm frequents the place ; 
They steal away my joys from me, 

And rob my Saviour of his praise. 
There, too, a sharp designing trade 

Sin, Satan, and the World maintain ; 
Nor cease to press me, and persuade 

To part with ease, and purchase pain. 
I know them, and I hate their din ; 

Am weary of the bustling crowd ; 
But while their voice is heard within, 

1 cannot serve thee as I would. 
Oh ! for the joy thy presence gives, 

What peace shall reign when thou art there ! 
Thy presence makes this den of thieves 

A calm delightful house of prayer. 
And if thou make thy temple shine, 

Yet, self-abased, will I adore ; 
The gold and silver are not mine ; 

I give thee what was thine before. 


XVHI. LOVEST THOU ME ? John, xxi. 16. 

Hark, my soul ! it is the Lord ; 
'Tis thy Saviour, hear his word ; 
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee, 
" Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me 1 
" I deliver'd thee when bound, 
And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound ; 
Sought thee wandering, set thee right, 
Turn'd thy darkness into light. 
" Can a woman's tender care 
Cease towards the child she bare ? 
Yes, she may forgetful be, 
Yet will I remember thee. 
" Mine is an unchanging love, 
Higher than the heights above, 
Deeper than the depths beneath, 
Free and faithful, strong as death. 
" Thou shalt see my glory soon, 
When the work of grace is done ; 
Partner of my throne shalt be ; — 
Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me ? " 
Lord, it is my chief complaint, 
That my love is weak and faint ; 
Yet I love thee and adore, — 
Oh ! for grace to love thee more ! 


XIX. CONTENTMENT. Phil, iv.ll. 

Fierce passions discompose the mind, 

As tempests vex the sea ; 
But calm content and peace we find, 

When, Lord, we turn to thee. 
In vain by reason and by rule 

We try to bend the will ; 
For none but in the Saviour's school 

Can learn the heavenly skill. 


Since at his feet my soul has sate, 

His gracious words to hear, 
Contented with my present state, 

I cast on him my care, 
ft Art thou a sinner, soul ?" he said, 

" Then how canst thou complain ? 
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd 

With everlasting pain ! 
" If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured, 

Compare thy griefs with mine ; 
Think what my love for thee endured, 

And thou wilt not repine. 
" 'Tis I appoint thy daily lot, 

And I do all things well ; 
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot, 

And rise with me to dwell. 
" In life my grace shall strength supply, 

Proportion'd to thy day ; 
At death thou still shalt find me nigh, 

To wipe thy tears away." 

Thus I, who once my wretched days 

In vain repinings spent, 
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace, 

Have learnt to be content. 


XX. OLD TESTAMENT GOSPEL. Heb. iv. 2. 


Israel in ancient days 
Not only had a view 
Of Sinai in a blaze, 

But learn'd the Gospel too ; 
The types and figures were a glass, 
In which they saw a Saviour's face. 
The paschal sacrifice 

And blood-besprinkled door ', 
Seen with enlighten'd eyes, 
And once applied with power, 
Would teach the need of other blood, 
To reconcile an angry God. 
The Lamb, the Dove, set forth 

His perfect innocence 2 , 
Whose blood of matchless worth 
Should be the soul's defence ; 
For he who can for sin atone, 
Must have no failings of his own. 
The scape-goat on his head 3 

The people's trespass bore, 
And to the desert led, 
Was to be seen no more : 
In him our Surety seem'd to say, 
" Behold, I bear your sins away." 
Dipt in his fellow's blood, 

The living bird went free 4 ; 
The type, well understood, 
Express'd the sinner's plea ; 
Described a guilty soul enlarged, 
And by a Saviour's death discharged. 
Jesus, I love to trace, 

Throughout the sacred page, 
The footsteps of thy grace, 
The same in every age ! 
grant that I may faithful be 
To clearer light vouchsafed to me ! 


Exod. xii. 13. 
Lev. xvi. 21. 


2 Lev. xii. 6. 

* Lev. xiv. 51—53. 


[30 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


XXI. SARDIS. Rev. iii. 1— 6. 


" Write to Sardis," saith the Lord, 

" And write what he declares, 
He whose Spirit, and whose word, 

Upholds the seven stars : 
All thy works and ways I search, 

Find thy zeal and love decay'd ; 
Thou art call'd a living church, 

But thou art cold and dead. 

" Watch, remember, seek, and strive, 

Exert thy former pains ; 
Let thy timely care revive, 

And strengthen what remains ; 
Cleanse thine heart, thy works amend, 

Former times to mind recal, 
Lest my sudden stroke descend, 

And smite thee once for all. 

" Yet I number now in thee 

A few that are upright ; 
These my Father's face shall see, 

And walk with me in white. 
When in judgment I appear, 

They for mine shall be confest ; 
Let my faithful servants hear, — 

And woe be to the rest ! " 


XXH. PRAYER FOR A BLESSING ON THE YOUNG. 

Bestow, dear Lord, upon our youth, 

The gift of saving grace ; 
And let the seed of sacred truth 

Fall in a fruitful place. 

Grace is a plant, where'er it grows, 

Of pure and heavenly root ; 
But fairest in the youngest shows, 

And yields the sweetest fruit. 
Ye careless ones, O hear betimes 

The voice of sovereign love ! 
Your youth is stain'd with many crimes, 

But mercy reigns above. 

True, you are young, but there's a stone 

Within the youngest breast ; 
Or half the crimes which you have done 

Would rob you of your rest. 

For you the public prayer is made ; 

Oh ! join the public prayer ! 
For you the secret tear is shed ; 

O shed yourselves a tear ! 

We pray that you may early prove 

The Spirit's power to teach ; 
You cannot be too young to love 

That Jesus whom we preach. 


XXIII. PLEADING FOR AND WITH YOUTH. 

Sin has undone our wretched race ; 

But Jesus has restored, 
And brought the sinner face to face 

With his forgiving Lord. 

1 Lev. xiv. 51 — 5. 


This we repeat from year to year, 
And press upon our youth ; 

Lord, give them an attentive ear, 
Lord, save them by thy truth ! 

Blessings upon the rising race ! 

Make this a happy hour, 
According to thy richest grace, 

And thine almighty power. 

We feel for your unhappy state, 

(May you regard it too) 
And would awhile ourselves forget 

To pour out prayer for you. 

We see, though you perceive it not, 
The approaching awful doom ; 

tremble at the solemn thought 
And flee the wrath to come ! 

Dear Saviour, let this new-born year 
Spread an alarm abroad ; 

And cry in every careless ear, 
" Prepare to meet thy God !" 


XXIV. PRAYER FOR CHILDREN. 

Gracious Lord, our children see, 
By thy mercy we are free ; 
But shall these, alas ! remain 
Subjects still of Satan's reign ? 
Israel's young ones, when of old 
Pharaoh threaten'd to withhold 2 , 
Then thy messenger said, " No ; 
Let the children also go ! " 
When the angel of the Lord, 
Drawing forth his dreadful sword, 
Slew with an avenging hand, 
All the first-born of the land 3 ; 
Then thy people's doors he pass'd, 
Where the bloody sign was placed : 
Hear us, now, upon our knees, 
Plead the blood of Christ for these ! 
Lord, we tremble, for we know 
How the fierce malicious foe, 
Wheeling round his watchful flight, 
Keeps them ever in his sight : 
Spread thy pinions, King of kings ! 
Hide them safe beneath thy wings ; 
Lest the ravenous bird of prey 
Stoop, and bear the brood away. 


XXV. JEHOVAH JESUS. 

My song shall bless the Lord of all, 
My praise shall climb to his abode ; 

Thee, Saviour, by that name I call, 
The great Supreme, the mighty God. 

Without beginning or decline, 
Object of faith and not of sense ; 

Eternal ages saw him shine, 
He shines eternal ages hence. 

As much, when in the manger laid, 

Almighty ruler of the sky, 
As when the six days' work he made 

Fill'd all the morning stars with joy. 


2 Exod. x. 


3Exod. xii. 12. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


131 


Of all the crowns Jehovah bears, 

Salvation is his dearest claim ; 
That gracious sound well pleased he hears, 

And owns Emmanuel for his name. 
A cheerful confidence I feel, 

My well-placed hopes with joy I see ; 
My bosom glows with heavenly zeal, 

To worship him who died for me. 
As man, he pities my complaint, 

His power and truth are all divine ; 
He will not fail, he cannot faint ; 

Salvation's sure, and must be mine. 


XXVI. 


ON OPENING A PLACE FOR SOCIAL 
PRAYER. 


Jesus ! where'er thy people meet, 
There they behold thy mercy-seat"; 
Where'er they seek thee, Thou art found, 
And every place is hallow'd ground. 
For thou, within no walls confined, 
Inhabitest the humble mind ; 
Such ever bring Thee where they come, 
And going, take Thee to their home. 
Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few ! 
Thy former mercies here renew ; 
Here to our waiting hearts proclaim 
The sweetness of thy saving name. 
Here may we prove the power of prayer, 
To strengthen faith, and sweeten care ; 
To teach our faint desires to rise, 
And bring all heaven before our eyes. 
Behold, at thy commanding word 
We stretch the curtain and the cord 1 ; 
Come thou, and fill this wider space, 
And bless us with a large increase. 
Lord, we are few, but thou art near ; 
Nor short thine arm, nor deaf thine ear ; 
Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down, 
And make a thousand hearts thine own. 


XXVII. WELCOME TO THE TABLE. 


This is the feast of heavenly wine, 

And God invites to sup ; 
The juices of the living vine 

Were press'd to fill the Cup. 
Oh ! bless the Saviour, ye that eat, 

With royal dainties fed ; 
Not heaven affords a costlier treat, 

For Jesus is the bread. 
The vile, the lost, he calls to them ; 

Ye trembling souls, appear ! 
The righteous in their own esteem 

Have no acceptance here. 
Approach, ye poor, nor dare refuse 

The banquet spread for you ; 
Dear Saviour, this is welcome news, 

Then I may venture too. 
If guilt and sin afford a plea, 

And may obtain a place, 
Surely the Lord will welcome me, 

And I shall see his face. 

1 Isaiah, liv, 2. 


XXVIH. JESUS HASTING TO SUFFER. 

The Saviour, what a noble flame 

Was kindled in his breast, 
When hasting to Jerusalem, 

He march'd before the rest ! 

Good will to men, and zeal for God, 
His every thought engross ; 

He longs to be baptized with blood 2 , 
He pants to reach the cross ! 

With all his sufferings full in view, 

And woes to us unknown, 
Forth to the task his spirit flew ; 

'Twas love that urged him on. 

Lord, we return thee what we can : 
Our hearts shall sound abroad 

Salvation to the dying Man, 
And to the rising God ! 

And while thy bleeding glories here 
Engage our wondering eyes, 

We learn our lighter cross to bear, 
And hasten to the skies. 


XXIX. EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. 

What various hindrances we meet 
In coming to a mercy-seat ! 
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer, 
But wishes to be often there ? 

Prayer makes the darken 'd cloud withdraw, 
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw, 
Gives exercise to faith and love, 
Brings every blessing from above. 

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight ; 
Prayer makes the Christian's armour bright ; 
And Satan trembles when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees. 

While Moses ^stood with arms spread wide, 
Success was found on Israel's side ; 
But when through weariness they fail'd, 
That moment Amalek prevail'd 3 . 

Have you no words ? Ah ! think again, 
Words flow apace when you complain, 
And fill your fellow-creature's ear 
With the sad tale of all your care. 

Were half the breath thus vainly spent 
To Heaven in supplication sent, 
Your cheerful song would oftener be, 
" Hear what the Lord has done for me." 


XXX. THE LIGHT AND GLORY OF THE WORD. 


The Spirit breathes upon the Word, 
And brings the truth to sight ; 

Precepts and promises afford 
A sanctifying light. 

A glory gilds the sacred page, 

Majestic like the sun ; 
It gives a light to every age, 

It gives, but borrows none. 


Luke, xii. 50. 


3 Exodus, xvii. 11. 


132 OLNEY HYMNS. 

The hand that gave it still supplies 

I wish, Thou know'st, to be resign'd, 

The gracious light and heat ; 

And wait with patient hope ; 

His truths upon the nations rise, 

But hope delay'd fatigues the mind, 

They rise, but never set. 

And drinks the spirit up. 

Let everlasting thanks be thine, 

Help me to reach the distant goal ; 

For such a bright display, 

Confirm my feeble knee ; 

As makes a world of darkness shine 

Pity the sickness of a soul 

With beams of heavenly day. 

That faints for love of thee ! 

My soul rejoices to pursue 

Cold as I feel this heart of mine, 

The steps of him I love, 

Yet, since I feel it so, 

Till glory break upon my view 

It yields some hope of life divine 

In brighter worlds above. 

Within, however low. 


I seem forsaken and alone, 
I hear the lion roar ; 


XXXI. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER. 

And every door is shut but one, 



And that is Mercy's door. 

His master taken from his head, 

There, till the dear Deliverer come, 

Elisha saw him go ; 

I'll wait with humble prayer ; 

And in desponding accents said, 

And when he calls his exile home, 

" Ah, what must Israel do?" 

The Lord shall find him there. 

But he forgot the Lord, who lifts 


The beggar to the throne ; 

« 

Nor knew, that all Elijah's gifts 

XXXIV. SEEKING THE BELOVED. 

Would soon be made his own. 
What ! when a Paul has run his course, 


To those who know the Lord I speak ; 

Or when Apollos dies, 

Is my beloved near ? 

Is Israel left without resource, 

The bridegroom of my soul I seek, 

And have we no supplies ! 

Oh ! when will he appear ? 

Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives, 

Though once a man of grief and shame, 

We have a boundless store, 

Yet now he fills a throne, 

And shall be fed with what he gives, 

And bears the greatest, sweetest name, 

Who lives for evermore. 

That earth or heaven have known. 


Grace flies before, and love attends 
His steps where'er he goes ; 


XXXII. THE SHINING LIGHT. 

Though none can see him but his friends, 


And they were once his foes. 
He speaks ; — obedient to his call 

My former hopes are fled, 

My terror now begins ; 

Our warm affections move : 

I feel, alas ! that I am dead 

Did he but shine alike on all, 

In trespasses and sins. 

Then all alike would love. 

Ah, whither shall I fly ? 

Then love in every heart would reign, 

I hear the thunder roar ; 

And war would cease to roar ; 

The law proclaims destruction nigh, 

And cruel and blood-thirsty men 

And vengeance at the door. 

Would thirst for blood no more. 

When I review my ways, 

Such Jesus is, and such his grace ; 

Oh, may he shine on you ! 
And tell him, when you see his face, 

I long to see him too 2 . 

I dread impending doom : 

But sure a friendly whisper says, 

" Flee from the wrath to come." 

I see, or think I see, 

A glimmering from afar ; 



A beam of day, that shines for me, 

XXXV. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. 

To save me from despair. 
Forerunner of the sun ', 


God moves in a mysterious way 

It marks the pilgrim's way ; 

His wonders to perform ; 

I'll gaze upon it while I run, 

He plants his footsteps in the sea, 

And watch the rising day. 

And rides upon the storm. 


Deep in unfathomable mines 


Of never-failing skill, 

XXXIH. THE WAITING SOUL. 

He treasures up his bright designs, 



And works his sovereign will. 

Breathe from the gentle south, Lord, 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, 

And cheer me from the north ; 

The clouds ye so much dread 

Blow on the treasures of thy word, 

Are big with mercy, and shall break 

And call the spices forth ! 

In blessings on your head. 

1 Psalm cxxx. (>. 

2 Cant v. 8. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


183 


Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust him for his grace ; 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err 1 , 
And scan his work in vain : 

God is his own interpreter, 
And He will make it plain. 


XXXVI. WELCOME CROSS. 

'Tis my happiness below 

Not to live without the cross, 

But the Saviour's power to know, 
Sanctifying every loss : 

Trials must and will befal ; 

But with humble faith to see 
Love inscribed upon them all, 

This is happiness to me. 

God in Israel sows the seeds 

Of affliction, pain, and toil ; 
These spring up and choke the weeds 

Which would else o'erspread the soil 

Trials make the promise sweet, 
Trials give new life to prayer ; 

Trials bring me to his feet, 

Lay me low, and keep me there. 

Did I meet no trials here, 
No chastisement by the way, 

Might I not with reason fear 
I should prove a cast-away ? 

Bastards may escape the rod 2 , 
Sunk in earthly vain delight ; 

But the true-born child of God 
Must not, — would not, if he might. 


XXXVII. AFFLICTIONS SANCTIFIED BY THE 
WORD. 

how I love thy holy word, 
Thy gracious covenant, Lord ! 
It guides me in the peaceful way ; 

1 think upon it all the day. 

What are the mines of shining wealth, 
The strength of youth, the bloom of health ! 
What are all joys compared with those 
Thine everlasting Word bestows ! 

Long unafflicted, undismay'd, 
In pleasure's path secure I stray'd ; 
Thou madest me feel thy chastening rod 3 , 
And straight I turn'd unto my God. 

What though it pierced my fainting heart,' 
I bless'd thine hand that caused the smart ; 
It taught my tears awhile to flow, 
But saved me from eternal woe. 


1 John xiii. 7. 2 Hebrews, xii. 8. 3 p sa i m cx j x> yj 


Oh ! .hadst thou left me unchastised, 
Thy precepts I had still despised ; 
And still the snare in secret laid 
Had my unwary feet betray'd. 

I love thee, therefore, O my God, 
And breathe towards thy dear abode ; 
Where, in thy presence fully blest, 
Thy chosen saints for ever rest. 


XXXVIII. TEMPTATION. 

The billows swell, the winds are high, 
Clouds overcast my wintry sky ; 
Out of the depths to thee I call, — 
My fears are great, my strength is small. 

Lord, the pilot's part perform, 
And guard and guide me through the storm 
Defend me from each threatening ill, 
Control the waves, — say, " Peace ! be still." 

Amidst the roaring of the sea 
My soul still hangs her hope on thee ; 
Thy constant love, thy faithful care, 
Is all that saves me from despair. 

Dangers of every shape and name 
Attend the followers of the Lamb, 
Who leave the world's deceitful shore, 
And leave it to return no more. 

Though tempest-toss'd and half a wreck, 
My Saviour through the floods I seek ; 
Let neither winds nor stormy main 
Force back my shatter'd bark again. 


XXXIX. LOOKING UPWARDS IN A STORM. 


God of my life, to thee I call, 
Afflicted at thy feet I fall ; 
When the great water-floods prevail 4 , 
Leave not my trembling heart to fail ! 

Friend of the friendless and the faint, 
Where should I lodge my deep complaint, 
Where but with Thee, whose open door 
Invites the helpless and the poor ! 

Did ever mourner plead with thee, 
And Thou refuse that mourner's plea ? 
Does not the word still fix'd remain, 
That none shall seek thy face in vain ? 

That were a grief I could not bear, 
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer ; 
But a prayer-hearing answering God 
Supports me under every load. 

Fair is the lot that's cast for me ; 
I have an Advocate with thee ; 
They whom the world caresses most 
Have no such privilege to. boast. 

Poor though I am, despised, forgot 5, 
Yet God, my God, forgets me not : 
And he is safe and must succeed, 
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead. 


4 Psalm lxix. 15. 


a Psalm xl. 17. 


134 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


XL. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 


My soul is sad, and much dismay'd ; 

See, Lord, what legions of my foes, 
With fierce Apollyon at their head, 

My heavenly pilgrimage oppose ! 

See, from the ever burning lake, 
How like a smoky cloud they rise ! 

With horrid blasts my soul they shake, 
With storms of blasphemies and lies. 

Their fiery arrows reach the mark 1 , 
My throbbing heart with anguish tear ; 

Each lights upon a kindred spark, 
And finds abundant fuel there. 

I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord ; 

O ! I would drive it from my breast, 
With thy own sharp two-edged sword, 

Far as the east is from the west. 

Come then and chase the cruel host, 
Heal the deep wounds I have received ! 

Nor let the powers of darkness boast, 
That I am foil'd, and Thou art grieved ! 


XLI. PEACE AFTER A STORM, 


When darkness long has veil'd my mind, 
And smiling day once more appears, 

Then, my Redeemer, then I find 
The folly of my doubts and fears. 

Straight I upbraid my wandering heart, 
And blush that I should ever be 

Thus prone to act so base a part, 

Or harbour one hard thought of Thee ! 

Oh! let me then at length be taught 

What I am still so slow to learn, 
That God is Love, and changes not, 

Nor knows the shadow of a turn. 
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat ! 

But when my faith is sharply tried, 
I find myself a learner yet, 

Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. 

But, my Lord, one look from Thee 
Subdues the disobedient will, 

Drives doubt and discontent away, 
And thy rebellious worm is still. 

Thou art as ready to forgive 

As I am ready to repine ; 
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive ; 

Be shame and self-abhorrence mine. 


XLII. MOURNING AND LONGING. 

The Saviour hides his face ! 
My spirit thirsts to prove 
Renew'd supplies of pardoning grace, 
And never-fading love. 

The favour'd souls who know 
What glories shine in him, 
Pant for his presence as the roe 
Pants for the living stream. 

i Ephes. vi. 16. 


What trifles tease me now ! 
They swarm like summer flies ; 
They cleave to every thing I do, 
And swim before my eyes. 

How dull the Sabbath day, 
Without the Sabbath's Lord ! 
How toilsome then to sing and pray, 
And wait upon the Word ! 

Of all the truths I hear, 
How few delight my taste ! 
I glean a berry here and there, 
But mourn the vintage past. 

Yet let me (as I ought) 
Still hope to be supplied ; 
No pleasure else is worth a thought, 
Nor shall I be denied. 

Though I am but a worm, 
Unworthy of his care, 
The Lord will my desire perform, 
And grant me all my prayer. 


XLm. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE. 


Dear Lord ! accept a sinful heart, 

Which of itself complains, 
And mourns, with much and frequent smart, 

The evil it contains. 

There fiery seeds of anger lurk, 

Which often hurt my frame ; 
And wait but for the tempter's work, 

To fan them to a flame. 

Legality holds out a bribe 

To purchase life from thee ; 
And Discontent would fain prescribe 

How thou shalt deal with me. 

While Unbelief withstands thy grace, 

And puts the mercy by ; 
Presumption with a brow of brass, 

Says, " Give me, or I die !" 

How eager are my thoughts to roam 

In quest of what they love ! 
But ah ! when duty calls them home, 

How heavily they move ! 

Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood, 

Transform me by thy power, 
And make me thy beloved abode, 

And let me roam no more. 


XLIV. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE. 

Lord, who hast suffer'd all for me, 

My peace and pardon to procure, 
The lighter cross I bear for thee, 

Help me with patience to endure. 

The storm of loud repining hush ; 

I would in humble silence mourn ; 
Why should the unburnt, though burning bush, 

Be angry as the crackling thorn ? 

Man should not faint at thy rebuke, 

Like Joshua falling on his face 2 , 
When the cursed thing that Achan took 

Brought Israel into just disgrace. 

2 Joshua, vii. 10, 11. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


135 


Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd, 
Some secret sin offends my God ; 

Perhaps that Babylonish vest, 

Self-righteousness, provokes the rod. 

Ah ! were I buffeted all day, 

Mock'd, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon, 
I yet should have no right to say, 

My great distress is mine alone. 

Let me not angrily declare 

No pain was ever sharp like mine, 

Nor murmur at the cross I bear, 

But rather weep, remembering thine. 


XLV. SUBMISSION. 


Lord, my best desire fulfil, 

And help me to resign 
Life, health, and comfort to thy will, 

And make thy pleasure mine. 

Why should I shrink at thy command, 
Whose love forbids my fears ? 

Or tremble at the gracious hand 
That wipes away my tears ? 

No, rather let me freely yield 
What most I prize to thee ; 

Who never hast a good withheld, 
Or wilt withhold, from me. 

Thy favour, all my journey through, 
Thou art engaged to grant ; 

What else I want, or think I do, 
'Tis better still to want. 

Wisdom and mercy guide my way, 

Shall I resist them both % 
A poor blind creature of a day, 

And crush'd before the moth ! 


But ah ! my inward spirit cries, 
Still bind me to thy sway ; 

Else the next cloud that veils the 
Drives all these thoughts away. 


XL VI. THE HAPPY CHANGE. 


How bless'd thy creature is, God, 

When with a single eye, 
He views the lustre of thy word, 

The dayspring from on high ! 

Through all the storms that veil the skies 
And frown on earthly things, 

The Sun of Righteousness he eyes, 
With healing on his wings. 

Struck by that fight, the human heart, 

A barren soil no more, 
Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad, 

Where serpents lurk'd before 1 . 

The soul, a dreary province once 

Of Satan's dark domain, 
Feels a new empire form'd within, 

And owns a heavenly reign. 

1 Isaiah, xxxv. 7. 


The glorious orb whose golden beams 

The fruitful year control, 
Since first obedient to thy word, 

He started from the goal, 

Has cheer'd the nations with the joys 

His orient rays impart ; 
But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone 

Can shine upon the heart. 


XLVII. RETIREMENT. 


Far from the world, Lord, I flee, 
From strife and tumult far ; 

From scenes where Satan wages still 
His most successful war. 

The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
With prayer and praise agree ; 

And seem by thy sweet bounty made 
For those who follow Thee. 

There if thy Spirit touch the soul, 

And grace her mean abode, 
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, 

She communes with her God ! 

There like the nightingale she pours 

Her solitary lays ; 
Nor asks a witness of her song, 

Nor thirsts for human praise. 
Author and guardian of my life, 

Sweet source of light divine, 
And (all harmonious names in one) 

My Saviour ! Thou art mine ! 

What thanks I owe thee, and what love, 

A boundless, endless store, 
Shall echo through the realms above 

When time shall be no more. 


XLVIII. THE HIDDEN LIFE. 


To tell the Saviour all my wants, 

How pleasing is the task ! 
Nor less to praise him when he grants 

Beyond what I can ask. 

My labouring spirit vainly seeks 

To tell but half the joy ; 
With how much tenderness he speaks, 

And helps me to reply. 
Nor were it wise, nor should I chuse, 

Such secrets to declare ; 
Like precious wines their taste they lose, 

Exposed to open air. 

But this with boldness I proclaim, 

Nor care if thousands hear, 
Sweet is the ointment of his name, 

Not life is half so dear. 
And can you frown, my former friends, 

Who knew what once I was ; 
And blame the song that thus commends 

The Man who bore the cross % 
Trust me, I draw the likeness true, 

And not as fancy paints ; 
Such honour may he give to you, 

For such have all his saints. 


136 OLNEY HYMNS. 


Nothing Jesus did or spoke, 

XLIX. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING. 

Henceforth let me ever slight ; 


For I love his easy yoke 4 , 

Sometimes a light surprises 

And find his burden light. 

The Christian while he sings ; 


It is the Lord who rises 

• : 

With healing on his wings : 

LI. THE CHRISTIAN. 

When comforts are declining, 

. 

He grants the soul again 

Honour and happiness unite 

A season of clear shining, 

To make the Christian's name a praise ; 

To cheer it after rain. 

How fair the scene, how clear the light, 


That fills the remnant of his days ! 

In holy contemplation 


We sweetly then pursue 

A kingly character he bears, 

The theme of God's salvation, 

No change his priestly office knows ; 

And find it ever new : 

Unfading is the crown he wears, 


His joys can never reach a close. 

Set free from present sorrow, 


We cheerfully can say, 

Adorn'd with glory from on high, 

E'en let the unknown to-morrow 1 

Salvation shines upon his face ; 

Bring with it what it may I 

His robe is of the ethereal dye, 


His steps are dignity and grace. 

It can hring with it nothing, 
But He will hear us through 

Who gives the lilies clothing, 
Will clothe his people too : 


Inferior honours he disdains, 

Nor stoops to take applause from earth ; 

The King of kings himself maintains 

The expenses of his heavenly birth. 

Beneath the spreading heavens 


No creature hut is fed ; 

The noblest creature seen below, 

And he who feeds the ravens 

Ordain'd to fill a throne above ; 

Will give his children hread. 

God gives him all he can bestow, 


His kingdom of eternal love I 

Though vine nor fig-tree neither* 


Their wonted fruit shall bear, 

My soul is ravish'd at the thought ! 

Though all the field should wither, 

Methinks from earth I see him rise ! 

Nor flocks nor herds be there : 

Angels congratulate his lot, 


And shout him welcome to the skies ! 

Yet God the same abiding, 


His praise shall tune my voice ; 

♦ 

For, while in him confiding, 


I cannot but rejoice. 

LII. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAR. 

I was a groveling creature once, 


L. TRUE PLEASURES. 

And basely cleaved to earth ! 
I wanted spirit to renounce 



The clod that gave me birth. r 

Lord, my soul with pleasure springs 


When Jesus' name I hear ; 

But God has breathed upon a worm, 

And when God the Spirit brings 

And sent me from above 

The word of promise near : 

Wings such as clothe an angel's form, 

Beauties too, in holiness, 

The wings of joy and love. 

Still delighted I perceive ; 

With these to Pisgah's top I fly, 

Nor have words that can express 

And there delighted stand, 

The joys thy precepts give. 

To view beneath a shining sky 

Clothed in sanctity and grace, 

The spacious promised land. 

How sweet it is to see 

The Lord of all the vast domain 

Those who love thee as they pass, 

Has promised it to me, 

Or when they wait on thee ! 

The length and breadth of all the plain 


As far as faith can see. 

Pleasant too to sit and tell 


What we owe to love divine ; 

How glorious is my privilege ! 

Till our bosoms grateful swell, 

To thee for help I call ; 

And eyes begin to shine. 

I stand upon a mountain's edge, 


Oh save me lest I fall ! 

Those the comforts I possess, 


Which God shall still increase, 

Though much exalted in the Lord, 

All his ways are pleasantness, 3 

My strength is not my own ; 

And all his paths are peace. 

Then let me tremble at his word, 


And none shall cast me down. 

1 Matthew, vi. 34. * Habakkuk, iii. 17, 18. 
3 Prov. iii. 17- 

+ Matt. xi. 30. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


137 


LIH. FOR THE POOR. 

When Hagar found the bottle spent, 

And wept o'er Ishmael, 
A message from the Lord was sent 

To guide her to a well 1 . 

Should not Elijah's cake and cruse 3 

Convince us at this day, 
A gracious God will not refuse 

Provisions by the way ? 

His saints and servants shall be fed, 

The promise is secure ; 
" Bread shall be given them," as he said, 

" Their water shall be sure 3 ." 

Repasts' far richer they shall prove, 
Than all earth's dainties are ; 

'Tis sweet to taste a Saviour's love, 
Though in the meanest fare. 

To Jesus then your trouble bring, 

Nor murmur at your lot ; 
While you are poor and He is king, 

You shall not be forgot. 


LIV. MY SOUL THIRSTETH FOR GOD. 


I thirst, but not as once I did, 

The vain delights of earth to share ; 

Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid 

That I should seek my pleasures there. 

It was the sight of thy dear cross 

First wean'd my soul from earthly things : 

And taught me to esteem as dross 
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. 

I want that grace that springs from thee 
That quickens all things where it flows, 

And makes a wretched thorn like me 
Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose. 

Dear fountain of delight unknown ! 

No longer sink below the brim ; 
Buff overflow, and pour me down 

A living and life-giving stream ! 

For sure of all the plants that share 

The notice of thy Father's eye, 
None proves less grateful to his care, 

Or yields him meaner fruit than I. 


LV. LOVE CONSTRAINING TO OBEDIENCE. 


No strength of nature can suffice 
To serve the Lord aright : 

And what she has she misapplies, 
For want of clearer light. 

How long beneath the law I lay 
In bondage and distress ; 

I toil'd the precept to obey, 
But toil'd without success. 

Then to abstain from outward sin 
Was more than I could do ; 

Now, if I feel its power within, 
I feel I hate it too. 


i Gen. xxi. 19. 2 1 Kings, xvii. 14. 


Isa. xxxiii. 16. 


Then all my servile works were done 

A righteousness to raise ; 
Now, freely chosen in the Son, 

I freely chuse his ways. 
" What shall I do," was then the word, 

" That I may worthier grow ?" 
" What shall I render to the Lord V 

Is my inquiry now. 
To see the law by Christ fulfill'd, 

And hear his pardoning voice, 
Changes a slave into a child i , 

And duty into choice. 


LVI. THE HEART HEALED AND CHANGED BY 
MERCY. 


Sin enslaved me many years, 

And led me bound and blind ; 
Till at length a thousand fears 

Came swarming o'er my mind. 
u Where," said I, in deep distress, 

" Will these sinful pleasures end ? 
How shall I secure my peace, 

And make the Lord my friend V 
Friends and ministers said much 

The gospel to enforce ; 
But my blindness still was such, 

I chose a legal course : 
Much I fasted, watch'd, and strove, 

Scarce would show my face abroad, 
Fear'd almost to speak or move, 

A stranger still to God. 
Thus afraid to trust his grace, 

Long time did I rebel ; 
Till despairing of my case, 

Down at his feet I fell : 

Then my stubborn heart he broke, 
And subdued me to his sway ; 

By a simple word he spoke, 
" Thy sins are done away." 


LVn. HATRED OF SIN. 


Holy Lord God ! I love thy truth, 

Nor dare thy least commandment slight ; 

Yet pierced by sin, the serpent's tooth, 
I mourn the anguish of the bite. 

But though the poison lurks within, 
Hope bids me still with patience wait ; 

Till death shall set me free from sin, 
Free from the only thing I hate. 

Had I a throne above the rest, 

Where angels and archangels dwell, 

One sin, unslain, within my breast, 

Would make that heaven as dark as hell. 

The prisoner sent to breathe fresh air, 
And bless'd with liberty again, 

Would mourn were he condemn'd to wear 
One link of all his former chain. 

But, oh ! no foe invades the bliss, 

When glory crowns the Christian's head ; 

One view of Jesus as He is 

Will strike all sin for ever dead. 

* Romans, iii. 31 . 


138 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


LVIII. THE NEW CONVERT. 

The new-born child of gospel grace, 

Like some fair tree when summer's nigh, 

Beneath Emmanuel's shining face 
Lifts up his blooming branch on high. 

No fears he feels, he sees no foes, 
No conflict yet his faith employs, 

Nor has he learnt to whom he owes 
The strength and peace his soul enjoys. 

But sin soon darts its cruel sting, 
And comforts sinking day by day, 

What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring, 
Proves but a brook that glides away. 

When Gideon arm'd his numerous host, 
The Lord soon made his numbers less ; 

And said, " Lest Israel vainly boast 1 , 
' My arm procured me this success.' " 

Thus will he bring our spirits down, 
And draw our ebbing comforts low, 

That saved by grace, but not our own, 
We may not claim the praise we owe. 


LIX. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS. 


God, whose favourable eye 

The sin-sick soul revives, 
Holy and heavenly is the joy 

Thy shining presence gives. 

Not such as hypocrites suppose, 
Who with a graceless heart 

Taste not of thee, but drink a dose 
Prepared by Satan's art. 

Intoxicating joys are theirs, 

Who while they boast their light, 

And seem to soar above the stars, 
Are plunging into night. 

Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep, 

They sin and yet rejoice ; 
Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep, 

Would they not hear his voice ? 

Be mine the comforts that reclaim 
The soul from Satan's power ; 

That make me blush for what I am, 
And hate my sin the more. 

'Tis joy enough, my All in All, 

At thy dear feet to lie ; 
Thou wilt not let me lower fall, 

And none can higher fly. 


LX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH. 

The Lord receives his highest praise 

From humble minds and hearts sincere : 
While all the loud professor says 

Offends the righteous Judge's ear. 
To walk as children of the day, 

To mark the precepts' holy light, 
To wage the warfare, watch, and pray, 

Show who are pleasing in his sight. 


Judges, vii. 


Not words alone it cost the Lord, 
To purchase pardon for his own ; 

Nor will a soul by grace restored 
Return the Saviour words alone. 

With golden bells, the priestly vest, 

And rich pomegranates border'd round % 

The need of holiness express'd, 

And call'd for fruit as well as sound. 

Easy indeed it were to reach 
A mansion in the courts above, 

If swelling words and fluent speech 
Might serve instead of faith and love. 

But none shall gain the blissful place, 

Or God's unclouded glory see, 
Who talks of free and sovereign grace, 

Unless that grace has made him free ! 


LXI. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL. 


Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace 

In this licentious day, 
And while they boast they see thy face, 

They turn their own away. 

Thy book displays a gracious light 

That can the blind restore ; 
But these are dazzled by the sight, 

And blinded still the more. 

The pardon such presume upon, 

They do not beg, but steal ; 
And when they plead it at thy throne, 

Oh ! where's the Spirit's seal ? 

Was it for this, ye lawless tribe, 

The dear Redeemer bled ? 
Is this the grace the saints imbibe 

From Christ the living head ? 

Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few 

Are fed with heavenly fare ; 
But these, — the wretched husks they chew, 

Proclaim them what they are. 

The liberty our hearts implore 

Is not to live in sin ; 
But still to wait at Wisdom's door, 

Till Mercy calls us in. 


LXIL THE NARROW WAY. 

What thousands never knew the road ! 

What thousands hate it when 'tis known ! 
None but the chosen tribes of God 

Will seek or chuse it for their own. 

A thousand ways in ruin end, 

One only leads to joys on high ; 
By that my willing steps ascend, 

Pleased with a journey to the sky. 

No more I ask or hope to find 

Delight or happiness below ; 
Sorrow may well possess the mind 

That feeds where thorns and thistles grow. 


Exod. xxviii. 33. 


OLNEY HYMNS. 


139 


The joy that fades is not for me, 
I seek immortal joys above ; 

There glory without end shall be 
The bright reward of faith and love. 

Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms, 
Contented lick your native dust ! 

But God shall fight with all his storms, 
Against the idol of your trust. 


LXIII. DEPENDENCE. 

. To keep the lamp alive, 
With oil we fill the bowl ; 

'Tis water makes the willow thrive, 
And grace that feeds the soul. 

The Lord's unsparing hand 
Supplies the living stream ; 

It is not at our own command, 
But still derived from him. 

Beware of Peter's word ', 

Nor confidently say, 
" I never will deny thee, Lord," — 

But, — " Grant I never may." 

Man's wisdom is to seek 
His strength in God alone ; 

And even an angel would be weak, 
Who trusted in his own. 

Retreat beneath his wings, 
And in his grace confide ! 

This more exalts the King of kings 2 
Than all your works beside. 

In Jesus is our store, 

Grace issues from his throne ; 
Whoever says, " I want no more," 

Confesses he has none. 


LXIV. NOT OF WORKS. 


Grace, triumphant in the throne, 
Scorns a rival, reigns alone ; 
Come and bow beneath her sway ! 
Cast your idol works away ! 
Works of man, when made his plea, 
Never shall accepted be ; 
Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm !) 
Are the best he can perform. 

Self, the god his soul adores, 
Influences all his powers ; 
Jesus is a slighted name, 
Self-advancement all his aim : 
But when God the Judge shall come, 
To pronounce the final doom, 
Then for rocks and hills to hide 
All his works and all his pride ! 

Still the boasting heart replies, 
What ! the worthy and the wise, 
Friends to temperance and peace, 
Have not these a righteousness ? 
Banish every vain pretence 
Built on human excellence ; 
Perish everything in man, 
But the grace that never can. 


LXV. PRAISE FOR FAITH. 


Matthew, xxvi. 33. 


2 John, vi. 29. 


Of all the gifts thine hand bestows, 

Thou Giver of all good ! 
Not heaven itself a richer knows 

Than my Redeemer's blood. 

Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, 

From the same hand we gain ! 
Else, sweetly as it suits our case, 

That gift had been in vain. 

Till thou thy teaching power apply, 

Our hearts refuse to see, 
And weak, as a distemper 'd eye, 

Shut out the view of thee. 

Blind to the merits of thy Son, 

What misery we endure ! 
Yet fly that hand from which alone 

We could expect a cure. 

We praise thee, and would praise thee more, 

To thee our all we owe ; 
The precious Saviour, and the power 

That makes Him precious too. 


LXVI. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE. 


Almighty King ! whose wondrous hand 
Supports the weight of sea and land ; 
Whose grace is such a boundless store, 
No heart shall break that sighs for more 

Thy providence supplies my food, 
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good ; 
My soul is nourished by thy word, 
Let soul and body praise the Lord ! 

My streams of outward comfort came 
From him who built this earthly frame ; 
Whate'er I want his bounty gives, 
By whom my soul for ever lives. 

Either his hand preserves from pain, 
Or, if I feel it, heals again ; 
From Satan's malice shields my breast, 
Or overrules it for the best. 

Forgive the song that falls so low 
Beneath the gratitude I owe ! 
It means thy praise, however poor, 
An angel's song can do no more. 


LXVII. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES. 

Winter has a joy for me, 

While the Saviour's charms I read, 

Lowly, meek, from blemish free, 
In the snowdrop's pensive head. 

Spring returns, and brings along 

Life-invigorating suns : 
Hark ! the turtle's plaintive song 

Seems to speak his dying groans ! 

Summer has a thousand charms, 

All expressive of his worth ; 
'Tis his sun that lights and warms, 

His the air that cools the earth. 


140 


SONNETS. 


What ! has autumn left to say 
Nothing of a Saviour's grace ? 

Yes, the beams of milder day 
Tell me of his smiling face. 

Light appears with early dawn, 
While the sun makes haste to rise 

See his bleeding beauties drawn 
On the blushes of the skies. 

Evening with a silent pace, 
Slowly moving in the west, 

Shows an emblem of his grace, 
Points to an eternal rest. 


LXVIII. FRAGMENT OF A HYMN. 

LONGING TO BE WITH CHRIST. 


To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope, 
My soul is in haste to be gone : 

O bear me, ye cherubim, up, 

And waft me away to his throne ! 

My Saviour, whom absent I love, 
Whom not having seen I adore ; 

Whose name is exalted above 
All glory, dominion, and power. 


SONNETS. 


TO HENRY COAVPER, Esq. 

ON HIS EMPHATICAL AND INTERESTING DELIVERY OF 

THE DEFENCE OF WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ., 

IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS. 


Cowper, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard 
Legends prolix delivers in the ears 
(Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers, 
Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. 

Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, 
Expending late on all that length of plea 
Thy generous powers, but silence honour'd thee, 
Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard. 

Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside 

Both heart and head : and couldst Avith music 
Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, [sweet 

Like thy renown' d forefathers, far and wide 
Thy fame diffuse, praised not for utterance meet 
Of others' speech, but magic of thy own. 


TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq. 
April 16, 1792. 


Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, 
Hears thee by cruel men and impious call'd 
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose the enthrall'd 
From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain. 

Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall' d, 
Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain. 
Thou hast achieved a part ; hast gain'd the ear 
Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause ; 

Hope smiles, joy springs, and though cold caution 
And weave delay, the better hour is near [pause 
That shall remunerate thy toils severe 

By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. 
Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love 
From all the j ust on earth, and all the blest above. 


TO WILLIAM IIAYLEY, Esq. 

June 2, 1702. 

Hayley, thy tenderness fraternal shown, 
In our first interview, delightful guest ! 
To Mary and me for her dear sake distrcss'd, 
Such as it is has made my heart thy own, 

Though heedless now of new engagements grown 
For threescore winters make a wintry breast, 
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest 


Of Friendship more, except with God alone. 
But thou hast won me : nor is God my foe, 

Who, ere this last afflictive scene began, 

Sent thee to mitigate the dreadful blow, 
My brother, by whose sympathy I know 

Thy true deserts infallibly to scan, 

Not more to admire the Bard than love the Man. 

TO GEORGE ROMNEY, Esq. 

ON HIS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS, DRAWN AT EARTHAM 

IN THE SIXTY-FIRST YKAR OF MY AGE, AND IN THE 

MONTHS OF AUGUST AND SEPTEMBER, 1792. 

October 1792. 

Romney, expert infallibly to trace 

On chart or canvass, not the form alone 
And semblance, but however faintly shown, 
The mind's impression too on every face ; 

With strokes that time ought never to erase 
Thou hast so pencil'd mine, that though I own 
The subject worthless, I have never known 
The artist shining with superior grace. 

But this I mark,— that symptoms none of woe 
In thy incomparable work appear. 
Well I am satisfied it should be so, 

Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear ; 
For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see 
When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to thee ? 


TO MRS. UNWIN. 
May, 1793. 


Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings. 

Such aid from Heaven as some have feign' d they 

drew, 
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
And undebased by praise of meaner things, 

That ere through age or woe I shed my wings, 
I may record thy worth with honour due, 
In verse as musical as thou art ti^ue, 
And that immortalizes whom it sings. 

But thou hast little need. There is a book 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
On which the eyes of God not rarely look ; 

A chronicle of actions just and bright: 

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; 
And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


141 


TO JOHN JOHNSON, 

ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER. 

May, 1793. 

Kinsman beloved, and as a son, by me ! 
When I behold this fruit of thy regard, 
The sculptured form of my old favourite bard, 
I reverence feel for him and love for thee. 

Joy too and grief. Much joy that there should be 
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward 
With some applause my bold attempt and hard, 
Which others scorn ; critics by courtesy. 

The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine, 
I lose my precious years now soon to fail, 
Handling his gold, which howsoe'er it shine, 

Proves dross, when balanced in the Christian scale. 
Be wiser thou ; — like our forefather Donne, 
Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone. 


TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq. 
June 29, 1793. 


Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, 
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could, 
Than any built of stone, or yet of wood, 
For back of royal elephant to bear ; 

for permission from the skies to share, 
Much to my own, though little to thy good, 
With thee, (not subject to the jealous mood !) 
A partnership of literary ware ! 

But I am bankrupt now ; and doom'd henceforth 
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays ; 
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequal' d worth : 

But what is commentator's happiest praise? 
That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes, 
Which they who need them use, and then despise. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

(TO THE MARCH IN SCIPIO,) 
WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIYED. 

Toll for the brave ! 

The brave that are no more ! 
All sunk beneath the wave, 

Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried, 

Had made the vessel heel, 
And laid her on her side ; 

A land breeze shook the shrouds, 

And she was overset ; 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought ; 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle ; 

No tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; 

She ran upon no rock : 

His sword was in its sheath ; 

His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down, 

With twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up, 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 
And mingle with our cup 

The tear that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again 
Full-charged with England's thunder, 

And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone ; 

His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred 

Shall plough the wave no more. 


IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII, CUI GEORGIUS 
REGALE NOMEN INDITUM. 

Plangimus fortes. Peri£re fortes, 
Patrium propter perifere littus 
Bis quater centum ; subito sub alto 
iEquore mersi. 

Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat, 
Malus ad summas trepidabat undas, 
Cum levis, funes quatiens, ad imum 
Depulit aura. 

Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam 
Fortibus vitam voluere Parcse, 
Nee sinunt ultra tibi 110s recentes 
Nectere laurus. 

Magne, qui nomen, licet incanorum, 
Traditum ex multis atavis tulisti ! 
At tuos olim memorabit sevum 
Omne triumphos. 

Non hyems illos furibunda mersit, 
Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes, 
Fissa non rimis abies, nee atrox 
Abstulit ensis. 

Navitse sed turn nimium jocosi 
Voce fallebant hilari laborem, 
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im- 
pleverat heros. 

Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumque, 
Humidum ex alto spolium levate, 
Et puti'escentes sub aquis amicos 
Reddite amicis ! 

Hi quidem (sic Dis placuit) fuere : 
Sed ratis, nondum putris, ire possit 
Rursus in bellum, Britonumque nomen 
Tollere ad astra. 


142 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. 


Forced from home and all its pleasures, 

Afric's coast I left forlorn, 
To increase the stranger's treasures, 

O'er the raging billows borne. 
Men from England bought and sold me, 

Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
But, though slave they have enroll'd me, 

Minds are never to be sold. 

Still in thought as free as ever, 

What are England's rights, I ask, 
Me from my delights to sever, 

Me to torture, me to task % 
Fleecy locks and black complexion 

Cannot forfeit nature's claim ; 
Skins may differ, but affection 

Dwells in white and black the same. 

Why did all-creating nature 

Make the plant for which we toil % 
Sighs must fan it, tears must water, 

Sweat of ours must dress the soil. 
Think, ye masters iron -hearted, 

Lolling at your jovial boards, 
Think how many backs have smarted 

For the sweets your cane affords ! 

Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, 

Is there One who reigns on high ? 
Has He bid you buy and sell us, 

Speaking from his throne, the sky ? 
Ask Him, if your knotted scourges, 

Matches, blood-extorting screws, 
Are the means that duty urges 

Agents of his will to use ? 

Hark ! He answers ! — Wild tornadoes 

Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, 
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, 

Are the voice with which he speaks. 
He, foreseeing what vexations 

Afric's sons should undergo, 
Fix'd their tyrants' habitations 

Where his whirlwinds answer — No. 

By our blood in Afric wasted, 

Ere our necks received the chain ; 
By the miseries that we tasted, 

Crossing in your barks the main ; 
By our sufferings, since ye brought us 

To the man-degrading mart, 
All sustain' d by patience, taught us 

Only by a broken heart ! 

Deem our nation brutes no longer, 

Till some reason ye shall find 
Worthier of regard and stronger 

Than the colour of our kind. 
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings 

Tarnish all your boasted powers, 
Prove that you have human feelings 

Ere you proudly question ours ! 


PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. 


Video meliora proboque,\ 
Deteriora sequor. 

I own I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves, 
And fear those who buy them and sell them are 
knaves ; [groans 

What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and 
Is almost enough to draw pity from stones. 

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, 
For how could we do without sugar and rum ? 
Especially sugar, so needful we see ; 
What! give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea ? 

Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes, 
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains : 
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will ; 
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still. 

If foreigners likewise would give up the trade, 
Much more in behalf of your wish might be said ; 
But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks, 
Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks ? 

Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind 
A story so pat, you may think it is coin'd, 
On purpose to answer you, out of my mint ; 
But I can assure you I saw it in print. 

" TA youngster at school more sedate than the rest, 
Had once his integrity put to the test ; 
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, 
And ask'd him to go and assist in the job. 

He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer' d — " Oh, no ! 
What ! rob our good neighbour? I pray you don't go. 
Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread : 
Then think of his children, for they must be fed." 

" You speak very fine, and you look very grave, 
But apples we want, and apples we'll have ; 
If you will go with us, you shall have a share, 
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." 

They spoke, and Tom ponder' d — "I see they will go: 
Poor man! what a pity to injure him so ! 
Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if I could, 
But staying behind will do him no good. 

" If the matter depended alone upon me, [tree ; 
His apples might hang till they dropp'd from the 
But since they will take them, I think I'll go too ; 
He will lose none by me, though I get a few." 

His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, 
And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; 
He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan ; 
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. 


THE MORNING DREAM. 


'Twas in the glad season of spring, 

Asleep at the dawn of the day, 
I dream'd what I cannot but sing, 

So pleasant it seem'd as I lay. 
I dream'd that, on ocean afloat, 

Far hence to the westward I sail'd, 
While the billows high lifted the boat, 

And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


143 


In the steerage a woman I saw ; 

Such at least was the form that she wore, 
Whose beauty impress'd me with awe, 

Ne'er taught me by woman before. 
She sat, and a shield at her side 

Shed light, like a sun on the waves, 
And smiling divinely, she cried — 

" I go to make freemen of slaves." 

Then raising her voice to a strain 

The sweetest that ear ever heard, 
She sung of the slave's broken chain 

Wherever her glory appear' d. 
Some clouds, which had over us hung, 

Fled, chased by her melody clear, 
And methought while she liberty sung, 

'Twas liberty only to hear. 

Thus swiftly dividing the flood, 

To a slave-cultured island we came, 
Where a Demon, her enemy, stood — 

Oppression his terrible name. 
In his hand, as the sign of his sway, 

A scourge hung with lashes he bore, 
And stood looking out for his prey 

From Africa's sorrowful shore. 

But soon as approaching the land 

That goddess-like woman he view'd, 
The scourge he let fall from his hand, 

With blood of his subjects imbrued. 
I saw him both sicken and die, 

And the moment the monster expired, 
Heard shouts that ascended the sky, 

From thousands with rapture inspired. 

Awaking, how could I but muse 

At what such a dream should betide ? 
But soon my ear caught the glad news, 

Which served my weak thought for a guide,- 
That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves 

For the hatred she ever had shown 
To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves, 

Resolves to have none of her own. 


PART OF A POEM ENTITLED 

"THE VALEDICTION." 

Oh Friendship ! cordial of the human breast ! 
So little felt, so fervently profess'd ! 
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years ; 
The promise of delicious fruit appears : 
We hug the hopes of constancy and truth, 
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth ; 
But soon, alas ! detect the rash mistake, 
That sanguine inexperience loves to make ; 
And view with tears the expected harvest lost, 
Decay 'd by time, or wither' d by a frost. 
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part 
Should be renew' d in nature, pure in heart, 
Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove 
A thousand ways the force of genuine love. 
He may be call'd to give up health and gain, 
To exchange content for trouble, ease for pain, 
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan, 
And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own. 
The heart of man, for such a task too frail, 
When most relied on, is most sure to fail ; 


And, summon'd to partake its fellow's woe, 
Starts from its office, like a broken bow. 

Votaries of business, and of pleasure, prove 
Faithless alike in friendship and in love. 
Retired from all the circles of the gay, 
And all the crowds that bustle life away, 
To scenes where competition, envy, strife, 
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life, 
Let me, the charge of some good angel, find 
One who has known and has escaped mankind ; 
Polite yet virtuous, who has brought away 
The manners, not the morals, of the day : 
With him, perhaps with her, (for men have known 
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown) 
Let me enjoy in some unthought-of spot, 
(All former friends forgiven, and forgot) 
Down to the close of life's fast-fading scene, 
Union of hearts, without a flaw between. 
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise, 
If God give health, that sunshine of our days ; 
And if he add, a blessing shared by few, 
Content of heart, more praises still are due : — 
But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd 
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest ; 
And giving one, whose heart is in the skies, 
Born from above, and made divinely wise, 
He gives, what bankrupt nature never can, 
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man, 
Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew, 
A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true. 


ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, 

THE NIGHT OF THE 17TH MARCH, 1789. 

When, long sequester'd from his throne, 

George took his seat again, 
By right of worth, not blood alone, 

Entitled here to reign ; 

Then, Loyalty, with all his lamps 

New trimm'd, a gallant show, 
Chasing the darkness and the damps, 

Set London in a glow. 

'Twas hard to tell of streets or squares, 
Which form'd the chief display, 

These most resembling cluster'd stars, 
Those the long milky way. 

Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, 

And rockets flew, self-driven, 
To hang their momentary fires 

Amid the vault of heaven. 

So, fire with water to compare, 

The ocean serves on high 
Up-spouted by a whale in air, 

To express unwieldy joy. 

Had all the pageants of the world 

In one procession join'd, 
And all the banners been unfurl'd 

That heralds e'er design'd ; 

For no such sight had England's Queen 

Forsaken her retreat, 
Where, George recover'd made a scene 

Sweet always, doubly sweet. 


144 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Yet glad she came that night to prove, 

A witness undescried, 
How much the object of her love 

Was loved by all beside. 

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er 

In aid of her design, — 
Darkness, Queen ! ne'er call'd before 

To veil a deed of thine. 

On borrow'd wheels away she flies, 

Resolved to be unknown, 
And gratify no curious eyes 

That night, except her own. 

Arrived, a night like noon she sees, 
And hears the million hum ; 

As all by instinct, like the bees, 
Had known their sovereign come. 

Pleased she beheld aloft portray'd 

On many a splendid wall, 
Emblems of health, and heavenly aid, 

And George the theme of all. 

Unlike the enigmatic line, 

So difficult to spell, 
Which shook Belshazzar at his wine, 

The night his city fell. 

Soon, watery grew her eyes and dim, 

But with a joyful tear ; 
None else, except in prayer for him, 

George ever drew from her. 

It was a scene in every part 

Like those in fable feign'd, 
And seem'd by some magician's art 

Created and sustain'd. 

But other magic there, she knew, 

Had been exerted none, 
To raise such wonders in her view, 

Save love of George alone. 

That cordial thought her spirits cheer'd, 
And through the cumbrous throng, 

Not else unworthy to be fear'd, 
Convey'd her calm along. 

So, ancient poets say, serene 
The sea-maid rides the waves, 

And fearless of the billowy scene 
Her peaceful bosom laves. 

With more than astronomic eyes 
She view'd the sparkling show ; 

One Georgian star adorns the skies, 
She myriads found below. 

Yet let the glories of a night 
Like that, once seen, suffice ; 

Heaven grant us no such future sight, 
Such previous woe the price ! 


ANNUS MEMORABILIS. 1789. 

WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY 
RECOVERY. 

I ransack'd, for a theme of song, 
Much ancient chronicle, and long ; 
I read of bright embattled fields, 
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields, 


Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast 
Prowess to dissipate a host ; 
Through tomes of fable and of dream 
I sought an eligible theme, 
But none I found, or found them shared 
Already by some happier bard. 

To modern times, with truth to guide 
My busy search, I next applied ; 
Here cities won and fleets dispersed 
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed, 
Deeds of unperishing renown, 
Our fathers' triumphs and our own. 

Thus as the bee, from bank to bower, 
Assiduous sips at every flower, 
But rests on none till that be found 
Where most nectareous sweets abound, 
So I, from theme to theme display'd 
In many a page historic stray'd, 
Siege after siege, fight after fight, 
Contemplating with small delight, 
(For feats of sanguinary hue 
Not always glitter in my view) 
Till, settling on the current year, 
I found the far-sought treasure near ; 
A theme for poetry divine, 
A theme to ennoble even mine, 
In memorable Eighty-nine. 

The spring of eighty-nine shall be 
An era cherish'd long by me, 
Which joyful I will oft record, 
And thankful at my frugal board ; 
For then the clouds of eighty-eight, 
That threaten'd England's trembling state 
With loss of what she least could spare, 
Her sovereign's tutelary care, 
One breath of Heaven, that cried — Restore ! 
Chased, never to assemble more : 
And far the richest crown on earth, 
If valued by its wearer's worth, 
The symbol of a righteous reign 
Sat fast on George's brows again. 

Then peace and joy again possess'd 
Our Queen's long-agitated breast ; 
Such joy and peace as can be known 
By sufferers like herself alone, " 
Who losing, or supposing lost, 
The good on earth they valued most, 
For that dear sorrow's sake forego 
All hope of happiness below, 
Then suddenly regain the prize, 
And flash thanksgivings to the skies ! 

O, Queen of Albion, queen of isles ! 
Since all thy tears were changed to smiles, 
The eyes, that never saw thee, shine 
With joy not unallied to thine ; 
Transports not chargeable with art 
Illume the land's remotest part, 
And strangers to the air of courts, 
Both in their toils and at their sports, 
The happiness of answer'd prayers, 
That gilds thy features, show in theirs. 

If they who on thy state attend, 
Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 
'Tis but the natural effect 
Of grandeur that ensures respect ; 
But she is something more than Queen 
Who is beloved where never seen. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


145 


THE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND. 

May, 1789. 

Muse — hide his name of whom I sing, 
Lest his surviving house thou bring 

For his sake into scorn, 
Nor speak the school from which he drew 
The much or little that he knew, 

Nor place where he was horn. 

That such a man once was, may seem 
Worthy of record, (if the theme 

Perchance may credit win) 
For proof to man, what man may prove, 
If grace depart, and demons move 

The source of guilt within. 

This man (for since the howling wild 
Disclaims him, man he must be styled) 

Wanted no good below ; 
Gentle he was, if gentle birth 
Could make hirn such ; and he had worth, 

If wealth can worth bestow. 

In social talk and ready jest 
He shone superior at the feast, 

And qualities of mind 
Illustrious in the eyes of those 
Whose gay society he chose 

Possess'd of every kind. 

Methinks I see him powder'd red, 
With bushy locks his well-dress'd head 

Wing'd broad on either side, 
The mossy rose-bud not so sweet ; 
His steeds superb, his carriage neat 

As luxury could provide. 

Can such be cruel % Such can be 
Cruel as hell, and so was he ; 

A tyrant entertain'd 
With barbarous sports, whose fell delight 
Was to encourage mortal fight 

'Twixt birds to battle train'd. 

One feather'd champion he possess'd, 
His darling far beyond the rest, 

Which never knew disgrace, 
Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow 
The life-blood of his fiercest foe, 

The Csesar of his race. 

It chanced, at last, when, on a day, 
He push'd him to the desperate fray, 

His courage droop'd, he fled. 
The master storm'd, the prize was lost, 
And, instant, frantic at the cost, 

He doom'd. his favourite dead. 

He seized him fast, and from the pit 
Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit, 

And, bring me cord, he cried ; 
The cord was brought, and, at his word, 
To that dire implement the bird 

Alive and struggling, tied. 

The horrid sequel asks a veil, 
And all the terrors of the tale 

That can be, shall be, sunk. — 
Led by the sufferer's screams aright, 
His shock'd companions view the sight 

And him with fury drunk. 


All, suppliant, beg a milder fate 
For the old warrior at the grate : 

He, deaf to pity's call, 
Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel 
His culinary club of steel, 

Death menacing on all. 

But vengeance hung not far remote, 

For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat 

And heaven and earth defied, 
Big with the curse too closely pent 
That struggled vainly for a vent, 

He totter'd, reel'd, and died. 

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise, 
To point the judgments of the skies ; 

But judgments plain as this, 
That, sent for Man's instruction, bring 
A written label on their wing, 

'Tis hard to read amiss. 


ON THE 

BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM 
SEA-BATHING, 

IN THE YEAR 1789. 


O Sovereign of an isle renown'd 

For undisputed sway 
Wherever o'er yon gulf profound 

Her navies wing their way ; 

With juster claim she builds at length 

Her empire on the sea, 
And well may boast the waves her strength, 

Which strength restored to thee. 


TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, 

ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE 
'* AD LIBRUM SUUM." 

February, 1790. 


Maria, could Horace have guess'd 

What honour awaited his ode 
To his own little volume address'd, 

The honour which you have bestow'd,— 
Who have traced it in characters here, 

So elegant, even, and neat, 
He had laugh'd at the critical sneer 

Which he seems to have trembled to meet. 

And sneer, if you please, he had said, 

A nymph shall hereafter arise 
Who shall give me, when you are all dead, 

The glory your malice denies ; 
Shall dignity give to my lay, 

Although but a mere bagatelle ; 
And even a poet shall say, 

Nothing ever was written so well. 


146 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


INSCRIPTION 

t A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF 
OAKS, AT CHILLINGTON, THE SEAT OF 
T. GIFFARD, ESQ., 1790. 

June, 1790. 

Other stones the era tell 
When some feeble mortal fell ; 
I stand here to date the birth 
Of these hardy sons of earth. 

Which shall longest brave the sky, 
Storm and frost — these Oaks or I ? 


an age or two away, 
I must moulder and decay ; 
But the years that crumble me 
Shall invigorate the tree, 
Spread its branch, dilate its size, 
Lift its summit to the skies. 

Cherish honour, virtue, truth, 
So shalt thou prolong thy youth. 
Wanting these, however fast 
Man be fix'd, and form'd to last, 
He is lifeless even now, 
Stone at heart, and cannot grow. 


ANOTHER, 

FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE 
SAME PLACE IN THE FOLLOWING YEAR. 

June, 1790. 


Reader ! Behold a monument 
That asks no sigh or tear, 

Though it perpetuate the event 
Of a great burial here. 


Anno 1791. 


HYMN 

FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY. 

July, 1790. 

Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer, 

In heaven thy dwelling-place, 
From infants, made the public care, 

And taught to seek thy face ! 

Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day ; 

And grant us, we implore, 
Never to waste in sinful play 

Thy holy Sabbaths more. 

Thanks that we hear, — but oh ! impart 

To each desires sincere, 
That we may listen with our heart, 

And learn as well as hear. 

For if vain thoughts the minds engage 

Of elder far than we, 
What hope that at our heedless age 

Our minds should e'er be free ? 

Much hope, if thou our spirits take 

Under thy gracious sway, 
Who canst the wisest wiser make, 

And babes as wise as they. 

Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, 

A sun that ne'er declines ; 
And be thy mercies shower'd on those 

Who placed us where it shines. 


STANZAS 

ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH THE 
REMAINS OF THE GREAT MILTON, — ANNO 1790. 

August, 1790. 


" Me too, perchance in future days, 
The sculptured stone shall show, 

With Paphian myrtle or with bays 
Parnassian on my brow. 

" But I, or ere that season come, 

Escaped from every care, 
Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, 

And sleep securely there i ." 

So sang, in Roman tone and style, 

The youthful bard, ere long 
Ordain'd to grace his native isle 

With her sublimest song. 

Who then but must conceive disdain, 

Hearing the deed unblest 
Of wretches who have dared profane 

His dread sepulchral rest ? 

Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones 

Where Milton's ashes lay, 
That trembled not to grasp his bones 

And steal his dust away ! 

O ill-requited bard ! neglect 

Thy living worth repaid, 
And blind idolatrous respect 

As much affronts thee dead. 


TO MRS. KING, 

ON HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR, A PATCHWORK 
COUNTERPANE OF HER OWN MAKING. 

August 14, 1790. 

The Bard, if e'er he feel at all, 
Must sure be quicken'd by a call 

Both on his heart and head, 
To pay with tuneful thanks the care 
And kindness of a lady fair 

Who deigns to deck his bed. 

A bed like this, in ancient time, 
On Ida's barren top sublime, 

(As Homer's Epic shows) 
Composed of sweetest vernal flowers, 
Without the aid of sun or showers, 

For Jove and Juno rose. 

Less beautiful, however gay, 

Is that which in the scorching day 

Receives the weary swain 
Who, laying his long scythe aside, 
Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied, 

Till roused to toil again. 

What labours of the loom I see ! 
Looms numberless have groan'd for me I 

Should every maiden come 
To scramble for the patch that bears 
The impress of the robe she wears, 

The bell would toll for some. 

1 Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus 
Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri 
Fronde comas — At ego securd pace quiescam. 

Milton in Manso. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


147 


And oh, what havoc would ensue ! 
This bright display of every hue 

All in a moment fled ! 
As if a storm should strip the bowers 
Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flowers,- 

Each pocketing a shred. 

Thanks, then, to every gentle Fair, 
Who will not come to peck me bare 

As bird of borrow'd feather, 
And thanks to one, above them all, 
The gentle Fair of Pertenhall, 

Who put the whole together. 


IN MEMORY OF 

THE LATE JOHN THORNTON, ESQ. 

November, 1790. 




Poets attempt the noblest task they can, 
Praising the Author of all good in man, 
And, next, commemorating worthies lost, 
The dead in whom that good abounded most. 

Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more 
Famed for thy probity from shore to shore ; 
Thee, Thornton ! worthy in some page to shine, 
As honest and more eloquent than mine, 
I mourn ; or, since thrice happy thou must be, 
The world, no longer thy abode, not thee. 
Thee to deplore were grief misspent indeed ; 
It were to weep that goodness has its meed, 
That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, 
And glory for the virtuous, when they die. 

What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard, 
Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford, 
Sweet as the privilege of healing woe 
By virtue suffer'd combating below ? 
That privilege was thine ; Heaven gave thee means 
To illumine with delight the saddest scenes, 
Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn 
As midnight, and despairing of a morn. 
Thou hadst an industry in doing good, 
Restless as his who toils and sweats for food ; 
Avarice, in thee, was the desire of wealth 
By rust unperishable or by stealth ; 
And if the genuine worth of gold depend 
On application to its noblest end, 
Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven, 
Surpassing all that mine or mint had given. 
And, though God made thee of a nature prone 
To distribution boundless of thy own, 
And still by motives of religious force 
Impell'd thee more to that heroic course, 
Yet was thy liberality discreet, 
Nice in its choice, and of a temper'd heat, 
And though in act unwearied, secret still, 
As in some solitude the summer rill 
Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green, 
And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen. 

Such was thy charity ; no sudden start, 
After long sleep, of passion in the heart, 
But steadfast principle, and, in its kind, 
Of close relation to the eternal mind, 
Traced easily to its true source above, 
To Him, whose works bespeak his nature, Love. 

Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make 
This record of thee for the Gospel's sake : 
That the incredulous themselves may see 
Its use and power exemplified in thee. 


TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. 

BY AN OLD SCHOOLFELLOW OF HIS AT WESTMINSTER. 


Hastings ! I knew thee young, and of a mind 
While young humane, conversable, and kind ; 
Nor can I well believe thee, gentle then, 
Now grown a villain, and the worst of men ; 
But rather some suspect, who have oppress' d 
And worried thee, as not themselves the best. 


THE FOUR AGES ; 

A BRIEF FRAGMENT OF AN EXTENSIVE PROJECTED POEM. 

May, 1791. 


" I could be well content, allow'd the use 
Of past experience, and the wisdom glean'd 
From worn-out follies, now acknowledged such, 
To recommence life's trial, in the hope 
Of fewer errors, on a second proof !" 

Thus, while grey evening lull'd the wind, and call'd 
Fresh odours from the shrubbery at my side, 
Taking my lonely winding walk, I mused, 
And held accustom'd conference with my heart ; 
When from within it thus a voice replied : [length 

" Couldst thou in truth ? and art thou taught at 
This wisdom, and but this, from all the past ? 
Is not the pardon of thy long arrear, 
Time wasted, violated laws, abuse 
Of talents, judgments, mercies, better far 
Than opportunity vouchsafed to err 
With less excuse, and haply, worse effect ?" 

I heard, and acquiesced : then to and fro 
Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck, 
My gravelly bounds, from self to human kind 
I pass'd, and next consider 'd, what is man ? 

Knows he his origin ? can he ascend 
By reminiscence to his earliest date ? 
Slept he in Adam ? and in those from him 
Through numerous generations, till he found 
At length his destined moment to be born ? 
Or was he not, till fashion'd in the womb ? [toil'd 
Deep mysteries both '. which schoolmen must have 
To unriddle, and have left them mysteries still. 

It is an evil incident to man, 
And of the worst, that unexplored he leaves 
Truths useful and attainable with ease, 
To search forbidden deeps, where mystery lies 
Not to be solved, and useless if it might. 
Mysteries are food for angels ; they digest 
With ease, and find them nutriment ; but man, 
While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean 
His manna from the ground, or starve, and die. 


THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS. 
May, 1791. 


Two nymphs, both nearly of an age, 
Of numerous charms possess'd, 

A warm dispute once chanced to wage, 
Whose temper was the best. 

The worth of each had been complete, 

Had both alike been mild ; 
But one, although her smile was sweet, 

Frown'd oftener than she smiled ; 

L 2 


148 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


And in her humour, when she frown'd, 
Would raise her voice and roar, 

And shake with fury to the ground 
The garland that she wore. 

The other was of gentler cast, 

From all such frenzy clear, 
Her frowns were seldom known to last, 

And never pi'oved severe. 

To poets of renown in song 

The nymphs referr'd the cause, 

Who, strange to tell, all judged it wrong, 
And gave misplaced applause. 

They gentle call'd, and kind and soft, 

The flippant and the scold, 
And though she changed her mood so oft, 

That failing left untold. 

No judges, sure, were e'er so mad, 

Or so resolved to err, — 
In short, the charms her sister had 

They lavish'd all on her. 

Then thus the God whom fondly they 

Their great Inspirer call, 
Was heard, one genial summer's day, 

To reprimand them all. 

" Since thus ye have combined," he said, 
" My favourite nymph to slight, 

Adorning May, that peevish maid, 
With June's undoubted right, 

a The Minx shall, for your folly's sake, 

Still prove herself a shrew, 
Shall make your scribbling fingers ache, 

And pinch your noses blue." 


THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 

A TALE. 

A hermit, (or if 'chance you hold 

That title now too trite and old) 

A man, once young, who lived retired 

As hermit could have well desired, 

His hours of study closed at last, 

And finish'd his concise repast, 

Stoppled his cruise, replaced his book 

Within its customary nook, 

And, staff in hand, set forth to share 

The sober cordial of sweet air, 

Like Isaac, with a mind applied 

To serious thought at evening-tide. 

Autumnal rains had made it chill, 

And from the trees, that fringed his hill, 

Shades slanting at the close of day 

Chill'd more his else delightful way ; 

Distant a little mile he spied 

A western bank's still sunny side, 

And right toward the favour'd place 

Proceeding with his nimblest pace, 

In hope to bask a little yet, 

Just reach'd it when the sun was set. 

Your hermit, young and jovial sirs ! 
Learns something from whate'er occurs ; 
And hence, he said, my mind computes 
The real worth of man's pursuits. 
His object chosen, wealth or fame, 
Or other sublunary game, 
Imagination to his view 
Presents it deck'd with every hue, 


That can seduce him not to spare 
His powers of best exertion there, 
But youth, health, vigour to expend 
On so desirable an end. 
Ere long approach life's evening shades, 
The glow that fancy gave it fades ; 
And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace 
That first engaged him in the chase. 

True, answer' d an angelic guide, 
Attendant at the senior's side, — 
But whether all the time it cost, 
To urge the fruitless chase be lost, 
Must be decided by the worth 
Of that which call'd his ardour forth. 
Trifles pursued, whate'er the event, 
Must cause him shame or discontent ; 
A vicious object still is worse, 
Successful there he wins a curse ! 
But he, whom even in life's last stage 
Endeavours laudable engage, 
Is paid at least in peace of mind, 
And sense of having well design'd ; 
And if, ere he attain his end, 
His sun precipitate descend, 
A brighter prize than that he meant 
Shall recompense his mere intent. 
No virtuous wish can bear a date 
Either too early or too late. 


THE FAITHFUL BIRD. 

The greenhouse is my summer seat ; 
My shrubs displaced from that retreat 

Enjoy 'd the open air ; 
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song 
Had been their mutual solace long, 

Lived happy prisoners there. 

They sang as blithe as finches sing 
That flutter loose on golden wing, 

And frolic where they list ; 
Strangers to liberty 'tis true, 
But that delight they never knew, 

And therefore never miss'd. 

But nature works in every breast, 
With force not easily suppress'd ; 

And Dick felt some desires, 
That, after many an effort vain, 
Instructed him at length to gain 

A pass between his wires. 

The open windows seem'd to invite 
The freeman to a farewell flight ; 

But Tom was still confined ; 
And Dick, although his way was clear, 
Was much too generous and sincere 

To leave his friend behind. 

So settling on his cage, by play, 

And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say, 

You must not live alone ; — 
Nor would he quit that chosen stand 
Till I, with slow and cautious hand, 

Return'd him to his own. 

Oh ye, who never taste the joys 
Of friendship, satisfied with noise, 

Fandango, ball, and rout ! 
Blush when I tell you how a bird 
A prison with a friend preferr'd 

To liberty without. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


149 


THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 

A TALE. 

There is a field through which I often pass, 
Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, 
Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, 
Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood, 
Reserved to solace many a neighbouring squire, 
That he may follow them through brake and brier, 
Contusion hazarding of neck or spine, 
Which rural gentlemen call sport divine. 
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd, 
Runs in a bottom and divides the field ; 
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head, 
But now wear crests of oven-wood instead ; 
And Avhere the land slopes to its watery bourn 
Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn ; 
Bricks line the sides, but shiver'd long ago, 
And horrid brambles intertwine below ; 
A hollow scoop'd, I judge, in ancient time, 
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. 

Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, 
With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed ; 
Nor Autumn yet had brush'd from every spray, 
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away ; 
But corn was housed, and beans were in the stack ; 
Now therefore issued forth the spotted pack, 
With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats 
With a whole gamut fill'd of heavenly notes, 
For which, alas ! my destiny severe, 
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. 

The sun, accomplishing his early march, 
His lamp now planted on heaven's topmost arch, 
When, exercise and air my only aim, 
And heedless whither, to that field I came, 
Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound 
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found, 
Or with the high raised horn's melodious clang 
All Kilwick l and all Dinglederry 1 rang, [press'd 

Sheep grazed the field ; some with soft bosom 
The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest ; 
Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook, 
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. 
All seem'd so peaceful, that from them convey'd, 
To me their peace by kind contagion spread. 

But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 
'Gan make his instrument of music speak, 
And from within the wood that crash was heard, 
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, 
The sheep recumbent and the sheep that grazed, 
All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed, 
Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, 
Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round 
But recollecting, with a sudden thought, [again ; 
That flight in circles urged advanced them nought, 
They gather' d close around the old pit's brink, 
And thought again — but knew not what to think. 

The man to solitude accustom'd long, 
Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue ; 
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees 
Have speech for him, and understood with ease ; 
After long drought, when rains abundant fall, 
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all ; 
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, 
How glad they catch the largess of the skies ; 
But, with precision nicer still, the mind 
He scans of every locomotive kind ; 

1 Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq. 


Birds of all feather, beasts of every name, 

That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame ; 

The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears 

Have all articulation in his ears ; 

He spells them true by intuition's light, 

And needs no glossary to set him right. 

This truth premised was needful as a text, 
To win due credence to what follows next. 

Awhile they mused ; surveying every face, 
Thou hadst supposed them of superior race ; 
Their periwigs of wool and fears combined, 
Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind, 
That sage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, 
Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out ; 
Or academic tutors, teaching youths, 
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths ; 
When thus a mutton statelier than the rest, 
A ram, the ewes and wethers sad address'd : 

"Friends ! we have lived too long. I never heard 
Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. 
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent 
In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, 
And from their prison-house below arise, 
With all these hideous howlings to the skies, 
I could be much composed, nor should appear, 
For such a cause, to feel the slightest fear. 
Yourselves have seen what time the thunders roll'd 
All night, me resting quiet in the fold. 
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, 
I could expound the melancholy tone ; 
Should deem it by our old companion made, 
The ass ; for he, we know^ has lately stray'd, 
And being lost, perhaps, and wandering wide, 
Might be supposed to clamour for a guide. 
But ah ! those dreadful yells what soul can hear, 
That owns a carcass, and not quake for fear ? 
Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd, 
And fang'd with brass, the demons are abroad ; 
1 hold it therefore wisest and most fit 
That, life to save, we leap into the pit." 

Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, 
But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. 

" How ! leap into the pit our life to save ? 
To save our life leap all into the grave ? 
For can we find it less % Contemplate first 
The depth how awful ! falling there, we burst : 
Or should the brambles interposed our fall 
In part abate, that happiness were small ; 
For with a race like theirs no chance I see 
Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. 
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, 
Or be it not, or be it whose it may, 
And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues 
Of demons utter' d, from whatever lungs, 
Sounds are but sounds, and, till the cause appear, 
We have at least commodious standing here. 
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast 
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last." 

While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals, 
For Reynard, close attended at his heels 
By panting dog, tired man, and spatter'd horse, 
Through mere good fortune took a different course. 
The flock grew calm again, and I, the road 
Following, that led me to my own abode, 
Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found 
Such cause of terror in an empty sound, 
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound. 

MORAL. 

Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, 
Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away. 


150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


A drawer impending o'er the rest, 

INSCRIPTION 

Half open in the topmost chest, 

FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON. 

Of depth enough, and none to spare, 


Invited her to slumber there ; 

Pause here, and think ; a monitory rhyme 

Puss with delight beyond expression 

Demands one moment of thy fleeting time. 

Survey'd the scene and took possession. 

Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein ; 

Recumbent at her ease ere long, 

Seems it to say — " Health here has long to reign ?" 

And lull'd by her own humdrum song, 

Hast thou the vigour of thy youth ? an eye 

She left the cares of life behind, 

That beams delight ? a heart untaught to sigh % 

And slept as she would sleep her last, 

Yet fear ! Youth ofttimes healthful and at ease, 

When in came, housewifely inclined, 

Anticipates a day it never sees ; 

The chambermaid, and shut it fast, 

And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud 

By no malignity impell'd, 

Exclaims " Prepare thee for an early shroud ! " 

But all unconscious whom it held. 


Awaken'd by the shock, cried Puss, 


" Was ever cat attended thus ! 
The open drawer was left, I see, 


EPITAPH ON MRS. M. HIGGINS, OP WESTON. 

Merely to prove a nest for me. 

1791. 

For soon as I was well composed, 

Laurels may flourish round the conqueror's tomb, 

Then came the maid, and it was closed. 

But happiest they who win the world to come : 

How smooth these 'kerchiefs and how sweet ! 

Believers have a silent field to fight, 

Oh what a delicate retreat ! 

And their exploits are veil'd from human sight. 

I will resign myself to rest 

They in some nook, where little known they dwell, 

Till Sol declining in the west 

Knee], pray in faith, and rout the hosts of hell ; 

Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, 

Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine, 

Susan will come and let me out." 

And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine. 

The evening came, the sun descended, 


And puss remain'd sti unattended, 

* 

The night roll'd tardily away, 

THE RETIRED CAT. 

(With her indeed 'twas never day ;) 


The sprightly morn her course renew'd, 

1791. 

The evening grey again ensued, 

A poet's Cat, sedate and grave 

And puss came into mind no more 

As poet well could wish to have, 

Than if entomb'd the day before. 

Was much addicted to inquire 

With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room, 

For nooks to which she might retire, 

She now presaged approaching doom, 

And where, secure as mouse in chink, 

Nor slept a single wink or purr'd, 

She might repose, or sit and think. 

Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd. 

I know not where she caught the trick, — 

That night, by chance, the poet watching, 

Nature perhaps herself had cast her 

Heard an inexplicable scratching ; 

In such a mould philosophique, 

His noble heart went pit-a-pat, 

Or else she learn'd it of her master. 

And to himself he said—" What's that ?" 

Sometimes ascending, debonnair, 

He drew the curtain at his side, 

An apple-tree, or lofty pear, 

And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied ; 

Lodged with convenience in the fork, 

Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd 

She watch'd the gardener at his work ; 

Something imprison'd in the chest, 

Sometimes her ease and solace sought 

And, doubtful what, with prudent care 

In an old empty watering-pot ; 

Resolved it should continue there. 

There wanting nothing, save a fan, 

At length, a voice which well he knew, 

To seem some nymph in her sedan 

A long and melancholy mew, 

Apparel' d in exactest sort, 

Saluting his poetic ears, 

And ready to be borne to court. 

Consoled him, and dispell'd his fears ; 

But love of change it seems has place 

He left his bed, he trod the floor, 

Not only in our wiser race ; 

He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, 

Cats also feel, as well as we, 

The lowest first, and without stop 

That passion's force, and so did she. 

The rest in order to the top ; 

Her climbing, she began to find, 

For 'tis a truth well known to most, 

Exposed her too much to the wind, 

••That whatsoever thing is lost, 

And the old utensil of tin 

We seek it, ere it come to light, 

Was cold and comfortless within : 

In every cranny but the right. 

She therefore wish'd instead of those 

Forth skipp'd the cat, not now replete 

Some place of more serene repose, 

As erst with airy self-conceit, 

Where neither cold might come, nor air 

Nor in her own fond apprehension 

Too rudely wanton with her hair, 

A theme for all the world's attention, 

And sought it in the likeliest mode 

But modest, sober, cured of all 

Within her master's snug abode. 

Her* notions hyperbolical, 

A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 

And wishing for a place of rest 

With linen of the softest land, • 

Anything rather than a chest. 

With such as merchants introduce 

Then stepp'd the poet into bed 

From India, for the ladies' use, 

With this reflection in his head : 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


151 


Beware of too sublime a sense 
Of your own worth and consequence. 
The man who dreams himself so great. 
And his importance of such weight, 
That all around in all that's done 
Must move and act for Him alone, 
Will learn in school of tribulation 
The folly of his expectation. 


YARDLEY OAK. 

1791. 
Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all 
That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth, 
(Since which I number threescore winters past) 
A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps, 
As now, and with excoriate forks deform, 
Relics of ages ! could a mind, imbued 
With truth from Heaven, created thing adore, 
I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee. 

It seems idolatry, with some excuse, 
When our forefather Druids in their oaks 
Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet 
Unpurified by an authentic act 
Of amnesty, the meed "% blood divine, 
Loved not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom 
Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste 
Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled. 

Thou wast a bauble once ; a cup and ball, 
Which babes might play with ; and the thievish jay, 
Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd 
The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down 
Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs 
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp. 
But fate thy growth decreed ; autumnal rains 
Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil 
Design'd thy cradle ; and a skipping deer, 
With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared 
The soft receptacle, in which, secure, 
Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through. 

So fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can, 
Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search 
Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss, 
Sifts half the pleasures of short life away ! 

Thou fell'st mature ; and in the loamy clod 
Swelling with vegetative force instinct 
Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins, 
Now stars ; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact ; 
A leaf succeeded, and another leaf, 
And, all the elements thy puny growth 
Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig. 

Who lived when thou wast such ? Oh, couldst 
As in Dodona once thy kindred trees [thou speak, 
Oracular, I would not curious ask 
The future, best unknown^ but at thy mouth 
Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. 

By thee, I might correct, erroneous oft, 
The clock of history,' facts and events 
Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts 
Recovering, and misstated setting right — 
Desperate attempt, till trees shall speak again ! 

Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods : 
And Time hath made thee what thou art — a cave 
For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs 
O'erhungthe champaign ; and the numerous flocks, 
That grazed it, stood beneath that ample cope 
Uncrowded, y«t s,#fe-shelter'd from the storm. 


No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived 
Thy popularity, and art become 
(Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing 
Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. 

While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd 
Of treeship — first a seedling, hid in grass ; 
Then twig ; then sapling ; and, as century roll'd 
Slow after century, a giant-bulk 
Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root 
Upheaved above the soil, and sides emboss'd 
With prominent wens globose, — till at the last 
The rottenness, which Time is charged to inflict 
On other mighty ones, found also thee. 

What exhibitions various hath the world 
Witness'd of mutability in all 
That we account most durable below ! 
Change is the diet, on which all subsist, 
Created changeable, and change at last 
Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat 
Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam 
Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds, — 
Calm and alternate storm, moisture and drought, 
Invigorate by turns the springs of life 
In all that live, plant, animal, and man, 
And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, 
Fine passing thought, even in her coarsest works, 
Delight in agitation, yet sustain, 
The force, that agitates, not unimpair'd ; 
But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause 
Of their best tone their dissolution owe. 

Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still 
The great and little of thy lot, thy growth 
From almost nullity into a state 
Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, 
Slow, into such magnificent decay. 
Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly 
Could shake thee to the root — and time has been 
When tempests could not. At thy firmest age 
Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents, 
That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the 
Of some flagg'd admiral ; and tortuous arms, [deck 
The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present 
To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, 
Warp'd into tough knee-timber, 1 many a load ! 
But the axe spared thee. In those thriftier days 
Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply 
The bottomless demands of contest, waged 
For senatorial honours. Thus to Time 
The task was left to whittle thee away 
With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge, 
Noiseless, an atom and an atom more 
Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved, 
Achieved a labour, which had far and wide, 
By man perform'd, made all the forest ring. 

Embowel'd now, and of thy ancient self 
Possessing nought but the scoop'd rind, that seems 
A huge throat, calling to the clouds for drink, 
Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, 
Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'st 
The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. 
Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, 
A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, 
Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp 
The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. 

So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet . 
Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, 

1 Knee- timber is found in the crooked arms of oak, which , 
by reason of their distortion, are easily adjusted to the 
angle formed where the deck and the ship's sides meet. 


152 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Though all the superstructure, by the tooth 

Pulverized of venality, a shell 

Stands now, and semblance only of itself ! 

Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent 
Long since, and rovers of the forest wild [them off 
With bow and shaft, have burnt them. Some have 
A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white : [left 
And some, memorial none, where once they grew. 
Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth 
Proof not contemptible of what she can, 
Even where death predominates. The Spring 
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force, 
Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood, 
So much thy juniors, who their birth received 
Half a millennium since the date of thine. 

But since, although well qualified by age 
To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice 
May be expected from thee, seated here 
On thy distorted root, with hearers none, 
Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform 
Myself the oracle, and will discourse 
In my own ear such matter as I may. 
One man alone, the father of us all, 
Drew not his life from woman ; never gazed, 
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw, 
On all around him ; learn'd not by degrees, 
Nor owed articulation to his ear ; 
But, moulded by his Maker into man 
At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd 
All creatures, with precision understood 
Their purport, uses, properties, assign'd 
To each his name significant, and fill'd 
With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heaven . 
In praise harmonious the first air he drew. 
He was excused the penalties of dull 
Minority. No tutor charged his hand 
With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind 
With problems. History, not wanted yet, 
Lean'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose course, 
Eventful, should supply her with a theme, 


ON THE 

REFUSAL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD TO 
SUBSCRIBE TO HIS TRANSLATION OF HOMER. 

1791. 
Could Homer come himself distress'd and poor, 
And tune his harp at Rhedycina's door, 
The rich old vixen would exclaim (I fear) 
u Begone ! no tramper gets a farthing here." 


TO THE NIGHTINGALE, 

WHICH THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1792. 


Whence is it, that amazed I hear 

From yonder wither'd spray, 
This foremost morn of all the year, 

The melody of May ? 

And why, since thousands would be proud 

Of such a favour shown, 
Am I selected from the crowd, 

To witness it alone ? 

Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, 

For that I also long 
Have practised in the groves like thee, 

Though not like thee in song? 


Or, sing'st thou rather under force 

Of some divine command, 
Commission'd to presage a course 

Of happier days at hand ? 

Thrice welcome then ! for many a long 

And joyless year have I, 
As thou to-day, put forth my song 

Beneath a wintry sky. 

But thee no wintry skies can harm, 

Who only need'st to sing, 
To make even January charm, 

And every season Spring. 


LINES 

WRITTEN FOR INSERTION IN A COLLECTION OF HANDWRITINGS 
AND SIGNATURES MADE BY MISS PATTY, SISTER OF HANNAH 
MORE. 

March 6, 1792. 

In vain to live from age to age 
While modern bards endeavour, 

I write my name in Patty's page, 
And gain my point for ever. 

W. Cowper. 


EPITAPH 

ON A FREE BUT TAME REDBREAST, A FAVOURITE OF 
MISS SALLY HURDIS. 

March, 1792. 


These are not dew-drops, these are teal's, 

And tears by Sally shed 
For absent Robin, who she fears 

With too much cause, is dead. 

One morn he came not to her hand 

As he was wont to come, 
And, on her finger perch'd, to stand 

Picking his breakfast-crumb. 

Alarm'd she call'd him, and perplext 
She sought him, but in vain ; 

That day he came not, nor the next, 
Nor ever came again. 

She therefore raised him here a tomb, 
Though where he fell, or how, 

None knows, so secret was his doom, 
Nor where he moulders now. 

Had half a score of coxcombs died, 

In social Robin's stead, 
Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried, 

Or haply never shed. 

But Bob was neither rudely bold 

Nor spiritlessly tame, 
Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, 

But always in a flame. 


MARY AND JOHN. 

If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 

'Tis a very good match between Mary and John. 

Should John wed a score, Oh, the claws and the 

scratches ! 
It can't be a match : — 'tis a bundle of matches. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


153 


EPIGRAM. 

(PRINTED IN THE NORTHAMPTON MERCURY.) 


To purify their wine some people bleed 

A lamb into the barrel, and succeed ; 

No nostrum, planters say, is half so good 

To make fine sugar, as a negro's blood. 

Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things, 

And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs. 

'Tis in the blood of innocence alone — 

Good cause why planters never try their own. 


TO DR. AUSTIN, 

OF CECCL STREET, LONDON. 

May 26, 1792. 

Austin ! accept a grateful verse from me, 
The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee. 
Loved by the muses, thy ingenuous mind 
Pleasing requital in my verse may find ; 
Verse oft has da-sh'd the scythe of time aside, 
Immortalizing names which else had died. 
And oh i could I command the glittering wealth 
With which sick kings are glad to purchase health ; 
Yet, if extensive fame, and sure to live, 
Were in the power of verse like mine to give, 
I would not recompense his heart with less, 
Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. 

Friend of my friend ' ! I love thee, though un- 
And boldly call thee, being his, my own. [known, 


TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 


Dear President, whose art sublime 
Gives perpetuity to time, 
And bids transactions of a day, 
That fleeting hours would waft away 
To dark futurity, survive, 
And in unfading beauty, live, — 
You cannot with a grace decline 
A special mandate of the nine, 
Yourself, whatever task you choose, 
So much indebted to the muse. 

Thus say the sisterhood : — We come 
Fix well your pallet on your thumb, 
Prepare the pencil and the tints, 
We come to furnish you with hints. 
French disappointment, British glory, 
Must be the subject of the story. 

First strike a curve, a graceful bow, 
Then slope it to a point below ; 
Your outline easy, airy, light, 
Fill'd up becomes a paper kite. 
Let independence, sanguine, horrid, 
Blaze like a meteor in the forehead : 
Beneath (but lay aside your graces) 
Draw six-and-twenty rueful faces, 
Each with a staring, steadfast eye, 
Fix'd on his great and good ally. 
France flies the kite — 'tis on the wing- 
Britannia's lightning cuts the string. 
The wind that raised it, ere it ceases, 
Just rends it into thirteen pieces, 
Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, 
And lays them all at George's feet. 

i Hayley. 


Iberia, trembling from afar, 
Renounces the confederate war ; 
Her efforts and her art o'ercome, 
France calls her shatter'd navies home ; 
Repenting Holland learns to mourn 
The sacred treaties she has torn ; 
Astonishment and awe profound 
Are stamp'd upon the nations round ; 
Without one friend, above all foes, 
Britannia gives the world repose. 


ON THE 

AUTHOR OP LETTERS ON LITERATURE ». 


The genius of the Augustan age 

His head among Rome's ruins rear'd, 

And bursting with heroic rage, 
When literary Heron appeared. 

Thou hast, he cried, like him of old 

Who set the Ephesian dome on fire, 
By being scandalously bold, 

Attain'd the mark of thy desire ; 
And for traducing Virgil's name 

Shalt share his merited reward ; 
A perpetuity of fame, 

That rots, and stinks, and is abhorr'd. 


TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. 


MY DEAR FRIEND, 


June 22, 1782. 


If reading verse be your delight, 

'Tis mine as much, or more, to write ; 

But what we would, so weak is man, 

Lies oft remote from what we can. 

For instance, at this very time, 

I feel a wish, by cheerful rhyme, 

To soothe my friend, and, had I power, 

To cheat him of an anxious hour ; 

Not meaning, (for, I must confess, 

It were but folly to suppress) 

His pleasure or his good alone, 

But squinting partly at my own. 

But though the sun is flaming high 

I' th' centre of yon arch, the sky, 

And he had once (and who but he ?) 

The name for setting genius free, 

Yet whether poets of past days 

Yielded him undeserved praise, 

And he by no uncommon lot 

Was famed for virtues he had not ; 

Or whether, which is like enough, 

His Highness may have taken huff, 

So seldom sought with invocation, 

Since it has been the reigning fashion 

To disregard his inspiration, 

I seem no brighter in my wits, 

For all the radiance he emits, 

Than if I saw, through midnight vapour, 

The glimmering of a farthing taper. 

Oh for a succedaneum, then, 

To accelerate a creeping pen ! 

Oh for a ready succedaneum, 

Quod caput, cerebrum, et cranium 

i Nominally by Robert Heron, but written by John 
Pinkerton. 8vo. 1785. 


154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


• Pondere liberet exoso, 

Though the pleasures of London exceed 


Et morbo jam caliginoso ! 

In number the days of the year, 


'Tis here ; this oval box well fill'd 

Catharina, did nothing impede, 


With best tobacco, finely mill'd, 

Would feel herself happier here ; 


Beats all Anticyra's pretences 

For the close- woven arches of limes 


To disengage the encumber'd senses. 

On the banks of our river, I know, 


Nymph of transatlantic fame, 

Are sweeter to her many times 


Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy name, 

Than aught that the city can show. 


Whether reposing on the side 
Of Oroonoquo's spacious tide, 
Or listening with delight not small 
To Niagara's distant fall, 

So it is, when the mind is imbued 

With a well-judging taste from above, 


Then, whether embellish'd or rude, 


'Tis thine to cherish and to feed 

'Tis nature alone that we love. 


The pungent nose-refreshing weed, 

The achievements of art may amuse, 


Which, whether pulverized it gain 
A speedy passage to the brain, 

May even our wonder excite, 


But groves, hills, and vallies diffuse 


Or whether, touch'd with fire, it rise 

A lasting, a sacred delight. 


In circling eddies to the skies, 

Since then in the rural recess 


Does thought more quicken and refine 

Catharina alone can rejoice, 
May it still be her lot to possess 
The scene of her sensible choice ! 


Than all the breath of all the nine ; 
Forgive the bard, if bard he be, 


Who once too wantonly made free, 

To inhabit a mansion remote 


To touch with a satiric wipe 

From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, 


That symbol of thy power, the pipe ; 

And by Philomel's annual note 

To measure the life that she leads ! 


So may no blight infest thy plains, 


And no unseasonable rains ; 



And so may smiling peace once more 

With her book, and her voice, and her lyre, 


Visit America's sad shore ; 

To wing all her moments at home, 


And thou, secure from all alarms, 

And with scenes that new rapture inspire, 


Of thundering drums, and glittering arms, 

As oft as it suits her to roam, 


Rove unconfined beneath the shade 

She will have just the life she prefers, 


Thy wide -expanded leaves have made ; 

With little to hope or to fear, 


So may thy votaries increase, 

And ours would be pleasant as hers, 


And fumigation never cease. 

Might we view her enjoying it here. 


May Newton with renew'd delights 



Perform thine odoriferous rites, 

^ . 


While clouds of incense half divine 



Involve thy disappearing shrine ; 

CATHARINA: 


And so may smoke-inhaling Bull 



Be always filling, never full. 

THE SECOND PART. 
ON HER MARRIAGE TO GEORGE COURTENAY, ESQ. 

June, 3792. 




CATHARINA. 

Believe it or not, as you chuse, 


TO MISS STAPLETON, AFTERWARDS MRS. COURTENAY. 

The doctrine is certainly true, 




That the future is known to the muse, 


She came — she is gone — we have met — 

And poets are oracles too. 


And meet perhaps never again ; 

I. did but express a desire, 


The sun of that moment is set, 

To see Catharina at home, 


And seems to have risen in vain ; 

At the side of my friend George's fire, 


Catharina has fled like a dream, 

And lo — she is actually come. 


(So vanishes pleasure, alas !) 



But has left a regret and esteem 

Such prophecy some may despise, 


That will not so suddenly pass. 

But the wish of a poet and friend 


The last evening ramble we made, 

Perhaps is approved in the skies, 


Catharina, Maria, and I, 

And therefore attains to its end. 


Our progress was often delay'd 

'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth 


By the nightingale warbling nigh. 

From a bosom effectually warm'd 


We paused under many a tree, 

With the talents, the graces, and worth 


And much she was charm'd with a tone 

Of the person for Avhom it was form'd. 


Less sweet to Maria and me, 



Who so lately bad witness' d her own. 
My numbers that day she had sung, 

Maria 1 would leave us, I knew, 
To the grief and regret of us all, 

But less to our grief, could we view 
Catharina the Queen of the Hall. 


And gave them a grace so divine, 


As only her musical tongue 

And therefore I wish'd as I did, 


Could infuse into numbers of mine. 

And therefore this union of hands ; 


The longer I heard, I esteem'd 

Not a whisper was heard to forbid, 


The work of my fancy the more, 

But all cry, Amen ! to the bans. 


And even to myself never seem'd 

_ 


So tuneful a poet before. 

1 Lady Throckmorton. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


155 


Since therefore I seem to incur 

No danger of wishing in vain, 
When making good wishes for her, 

I will e'en to my wishes again ; 
With one I have made her a wife, 

And now I will try with another, 
Which I cannot suppress for my life, 

Haw soon I can make her a mother. 


ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 

OUT OF NORFOLK, 
THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM. 

O that those lips had language ! Life has pass'd 
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
" Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away !" 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Blest he the art that can immortalize, 
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it!) here shines on me still the same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 

welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
Who bidst me honour with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long, 

1 will obey, not willingly alone, 

But gladly, as the precept were her own ; 
And, while that face renews my filial grief, 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, 
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
A momentary dream, that thou art she. 

My mother ! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed 1 
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? 
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss ; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that maternal smile ! — it answers — Yes. 
I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 
But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art gone 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 
The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! 
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
What ardently I wish'd, I long believed, 
And disappointed still, was still deceived ; 
By expectation every day beguil'd, 
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, 
I learn'd at last submission to my lot, 
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day, 
Drew me to school along the public way, 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt 
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capt, 
'Tis now become a history little known, 
That once we call'd the pastoral house our own. 
Short-lived possession ! But the record fair, 
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 


Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced 
A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 
That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid, 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 
The biscuit, or confectionary plum ; 
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd 
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd : 
All this, and more endearing still than all, 
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, 
Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks, 
That humour interposed too often makes ; 
All this still legible in memory's page, 
And still to be so to my latest age, 
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, 
Not scorn'd in heaven, though little noticed here. 
Could time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, 
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 
The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
I pricked them into paper with a pin, 
(And thou wast happier than myself the while, 
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and 

smile) 
Could those few pleasant days again appear, 
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them 

here % 
I would not trust my heart ; — the dear delight 
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — 
But no — what here we call our life is such, 
So little to be loved, and thou so much, 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd) 
Shoots into port at some well haven'd isle, 
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; 
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the 

shore, 
"Where tempests never beat nor billows roar 1 ;" 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous. tide 
Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
Always from port withheld, always distress'd, — 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, 
Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass lost, 
And day by day some current's thwarting force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
Yet the thought, that thou art safe, and he ! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise, — 
The son of parents pass'd into the skies. 
And now, farewell ! — Time unrevoked has run 
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. 
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; 
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, 
Without the sin of violating thine ; 
And, while the wings of fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic show of thee, 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft, — 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. 


156 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


THE POPLAR FIELD. 


The poplars are fell'd ; farewell to the shade, 
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ! 
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, 
Nor Ouse on his hosom their image receives. 

Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view 
Of my favourite field, and the hank where they 

grew ; 
And now in the grass behold they are laid, 
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade ! 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat, 
Where the hazels afford him a sci'een from the heat, 
And the scene where his melody charm'd me before 
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 

My fugitive years are all hasting away, 
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, 
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 

The change both my heart and my fancy employs, 
I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys ; 
Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we 1 . 


ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, 

WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE. 

Go ! — thou art all unfit to share 

The pleasures of this place 
With such as its old tenants are, 

Creatures of gentler race. 

The squirrel here his hoard provides, 

Aware of wintry storms ; 
And woodpeckers explore the sides 

Of rugged oaks for worms. 

The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn 

With frictions of her fleece : 
And here I wander eve and morn, 

Like her, a friend to peace. 

Ah ! — I could pity thee exiled 

From this secure retreat; — 
I would not lose it to be styled 

The happiest of the great. 

But thou canst taste no calm delight ; 

Thy pleasure is to show 
Thy magnanimity in fight, 

Thy prowess, — therefore, go ! 

I care not whether east or north, 

So I no more may find thee ; 
The angry muse thus sings thee forth, 

And claps the gate behind thee. 

1 The stanza at first stood thus : — 

'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, 
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man; 
Though his life he a dream, his enjoyments, I see, 
Have a being less durable even than he. 


AN EPITAPH. 
1792. 

Here lies one who never drew 
Blood himself, yet many slew ; 
Gave the gun its aim, and figure 
Made in field, yet ne'er pull'd trigger. 
Armed men have gladly made 
Him their guide, and him obey'd ; 
At his signified desire, 
Would advance, present, and fire. 
Stout he was, and large of limb, 
Scores have fled at sight of him ! 
And to all this fame he rose 
Only following his nose. 
Neptune was he call'd ; not he 
Who controuls the boisterous sea, 
But of happier command, 
Neptune of the furrow'd land ; 
And, your wonder vain to shorten, 
Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton. 


EPITAPH ON FOP, 

A DOG BELONGING TO LADV THROCKMORTON. 

August, 1792. 

Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name, 
Here moulders one whose bones some honour 

claim ; 
No sycophant, although of spaniel race, 
And though no hound, a martyr to the chase. 
Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice ! 
Your haunts no longer echo to his voice ; 
This record of his fate exulting view, 
He died worn out with vain pursuit of you. 

" Yes" — the indignant shade of Fop replies — ■ 
" And worn with vain pursuit man also dies." 


ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE. 

January, 1793. 

In language warm as could be breathed or penn'd 
Thy picture speaks the original my friend, 
Not by those looks that indicate thy mind, 
They only speak thee friend of all mankind ; 
Expression here more soothing still I see, 
That friend of all a partial friend to me. 


EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELY. 

April, 1793. 


Tears flow, and cease not, where the good man lies, 
Till all who know him follow to the skies. 
Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep ; 
Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants, 

weep ; 
And justly — few shall ever him transcend 
As husband, parent, brother, master, friend. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


157 


ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S-BOWER, 

DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT. 

Spring of 1193. 

Thrive, gentle plant ! and weave a bower 

For Mary and for me, 
And deck with many a splendid flower 

Thy foliage large and free. 

Thou earnest from Eartham, and wilt shade, 

(If truly I divine) 
Some future day the illustrious head 

Of him who made thee mine. 

Should Daphne show a jealous frown, 

And envy seize the bay, 
Affirming none so fit to crown 

Such honour'd brows as they, 

Thy cause with zeal we shall defend, 

And with convincing power ; 
For why should not the Virgin's friend 

Be crown'd with Virgin's Bower ? 


TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM, 

ON 
RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE, MADE BY HERSELF. 

May 4, 1793. 

Mv gentle Anne, whom heretofore, 
When I was young, and thou no more 

Than plaything for a nurse, 
I danced and fondled on my knee, 
A kitten both in size and glee, — 

I thank thee for my purse. 

Gold pays the worth of all things here ; 
But not of love !— that gem's too dear 

For richest rogues to win it ; 
I, therefore, as a proof of love, 
Esteem thy present far above 

The best things kept within it. 


INSCRIPTION 

FOR A HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN. 

May, 1793. 

$ — ' — 

This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, 

Built as it has been in our waning years, 

A rest afforded to our weary feet, 

Preliminary to — the last retreat. 


TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 

ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN 
HAD FALLEN THERE. 

May, 1793. 

If Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he 

found, 
While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around, 
Might fitly represent the Church endow'd 
With heavenly gifts to heathens not allow'd ; 
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high, 
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry. 
Heaven grant us half the omen, —may we see 
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee ! 


A TALE, i 

June, 1793. 

In Scotland's realm, where trees are few, 

Nor even shrubs abound ; 
But where, however bleak the view, 

Some better things are found : 

For husband there and wife may boast 

Their union undefiled, 
And false ones are as rare almost 

As hedge-rows in the wild ; 

In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare 

The history chanced of late, — 
This history of a wedded pair, 

A chaffinch and his mate. 

The spring drew near, each felt a breast 

With genial instinct fill'd ; 
They pair'd, and would have built a nest, 

But found not where to build. 

The heaths uncover'd and the moors 

Except with snow and sleet, 
Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores 

Could yield them no retreat. 

Long time a breeding-place they sought, 

Till both grew vex'd and tired ; 
At length a ship arriving brought 
The good so long desired. 

A ship % — could such a restless thing 

Afford them place of rest ? 
Or was the merchant charged to bring 

The homeless birds a nest \ 

Hush ! — silent hearers profit most, — 

This racer of the sea 
Proved kinder to them than the coast, 

It served them with a tree. 

But such a tree ! 'twas shaven deal, 

The tree they call a mast, 
And had a hollow with a wheel 

Through which the tackle pass'd. 

Within that cavity aloft 

Their roofless home they fix'd, 

Form'd with materials neat and soft, 
Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd. 

Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor, 

With russet specks bedight ; 
The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore, 

And lessens to the sight. 

The mother-bird is gone to sea, 
As she had changed her kind ; 

But goes the male ? Far wiser he 
Is doubtless left behind. 

1 This tale is founded on an article of intelligence which 
the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for 
Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words: — 

i " Glasgow, May 23. 

" In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a 
gabbert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's 
nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel 
lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. 
Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspec- 
tion of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. 
The cock however visits the nest but seldom ; while the 
hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for 
food." 


I 

158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


No ;— soon as from ashore he saw 



The winged mansion move, 



He flew to reach it, by a law 

BEAU'S REPLY, 


Of never-failing love. 

Sir, when I flew to seize the bird 


Then perching at his consort's side, 

In spite of your command, 
A louder voice than yours I heard, 
And harder to withstand. 


Was briskly borne along, 
The billows and the blast defied, 


And cheer' d her with a song. 

You cried — forbear ! — but in my breast 


The seaman with sincere delight 

A mightier cried — proceed ! — • 


His feather'd shipmates eyes, 

'Twas nature, sir, whose strong behest 


Scarce less exulting in the sight 

ImpelPd me to the deed. 


Than when he tows a prize. 

Yet much as nature I respect, 


For seamen much believe in signs, 

I ventured once to break 


And from a chance so new 

(As you perhaps may recollect) 


Each some approaching good divines, 

Her precept for your sake ; 


And may his hopes be true ! 



And Avhen your linnet on a day, 


Hail, honour'd land ! a desert where 

Passing his prison door, 


Not even birds can hide, 

Had flutter'd all his strength away, 


Yet parent of this loving pair 

And panting press'd the floor ; 


Whom nothing could divide. 

Well knowing him a sacred thing, 


And ye who, rather than resign 

Not destined to my tooth, 


Your matrimonial plan, 

I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, 


Were not afraid to plough the brine 

And lick'd the feathers smooth. 


In company with man ; 

Let my obedience then excuse 


For whose lean country much disdain 

My disobedience now, 


We English often show, 

Nor some reproof yourself refuse 


Yet from a richer nothing gain 

From your aggrieved bow-wow ; 


But wantonness and woe ; 

If killing birds be such a crime, 


Be it your fortune, year by year, 

The same resource to prove, 
And may ye, sometimes landing here, 

(Which I can hardly see) 
What think you, sir, of killing time 
With verse address' d to me ? 


Instruct us how to love ! 



ANSWER 


ON 

A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, 

TO 

STANZAS ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH, 
BY MISS CATHARINE FANSHAWE, 


KILLING A YOUNG BIRD. 



July 15, 1793. 

IN RETURNING A POEM OF MR. COWPER'S, LENT TO HER ON 


CONDITION SHE SHOULD NEITHER SHOW IT, NOR TAKE A 


A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, 

COPY. 

1793. 


Well fed, and at his ease, 


Should wiser be than to pursue 

To be remember'd thus in fame, 


Each trifle that he sees. 

And in the first degree ; 
And did the few like her the same, 


But you have kill'd a tiny bird, 

The press might sleep for me. 


Which flew not till to-day, 
Against my orders, whom you heard 

So Homer, in the memory stored 

Of many a Grecian belle, 
Was once preserved — a richer hoard, 


Forbidding you the prey. 


Nor did you kill that you might eat, 

But never lodged so well. 


And ease a doggish pain ; 
For him, though chased with furious heat, 





You left where he was slain. 

TO THE 


Nor was he of the thievish sort, 

SPANISH ADMmAL COUNT GRAVINA, 


Or one Avhom blood allures, 

ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG ON A ROSE INTO 


But innocent was all his sport 

ITALIAN VERSE. 


Whom you have torn for yours. 

1793. 


My dog ! what remedy remains, 

My rose, Gravina, blooms anew ; 


Since teach you all I can, 

And steep'd not now in rain, 


I see you, after all my pains, 

But in Castalian streams by you, 


So much resemble man ! 

Will never fade again. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


159 


ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. 
Sept. 1793. 

The suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse, 
Whom all this elegance might well seduce ; 
Nor can our censure on the husband fall, 
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all. 


ON RECEIVING 

HEYNE'S VIRGIL FROM MR. HAYLEY. 
Oct. 1793. 

I should have deem'd it once an effort vain 
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain, 
But from that error now behold me free, 
Since I received him as a gift from thee. 


TO MARY. 

Autumn o/l793. 

The twentieth year is well nigh past, 
Since first our sky was overcast ; 
Ah would that this might be the last ! 

My Mary ! 
Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
I see thee daily weaker grow ; — 
'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 

My Mary ! 
Thy needles, once a shining store, 
For my sake restless heretofore, 
Now rust disused, and shine no more, 

My Mary ! 
For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 

My Mary ! 
But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, 
And all thy threads with magic art 
Have wound themselves about this heart, 

My Mary ! 
Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language utter'd in a dream' ; 
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 

My Mary ! 
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 

My Mary ! 
For could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see ? 
The sun would rise in vain for me, 

My Mary ! 
Partakers of thy sad decline, 
Thy hands their little force resign ; 
Yet gently prest, press gently mine, 

My Mary ! 
Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, 
That now at every step thou movest 
Upheld by two, yet still thou lovest, 

My Mary ! 
And still to love, though prest with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still, 

My Mary ! 


But ah ! by constant heed I know, 
How oft the sadness that I show, 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 

My Mary ! 
And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past, 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last, 

My Mary ! 


ON THE ICE ISLANDS, 

SEEN FLOATING IN THE GERMAN OCEAN. 

March 19,1799. 

What portents, from what distant region, ride, 
Unseen till now in ours, the astonish'd tide ? 
In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves 
Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves; 
But now, descending whence of late they stood, 
Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood ; 
Dire times were they, full-charged with human 
And these, scarce less calamitous than those, [woes ; 
What view we now ? More wondrous still ! Behold ! 
Like burnish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold ; 
And all around the pearl's pure splendour show, 
And all around the ruby's fiery glow. 
Come they from India, where the burning earth, 
All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth ; 
And where the costly gems, that beam around 
The brows of mightiest potentates, are found ? 
No. Never such a countless dazzling store 
Had left, unseen, the Ganges' peopled shore ; 
Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes, 
Should sooner far have mark'd and seized the prize. 
Whence sprang they then ? Ejected have they come 
From Ves'vius', or from ^Etna's burning womb ? 
Thus shine they self-illumed, or but display 
The borrow'd splendours of a cloudless day ? 
With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales, that 

breathe 
Now landward, and the current's force beneath, 
Have borne them nearer ; and the nearer sight, 
Advantaged more, contemplates them aright. 
Their lofty summits crested high, they show, 
With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow : 
The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe, 
Bleak Winter well-nigh saddens all the year, 
Their infant growth began. He bade arise 
Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes. 
Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow 
Left the tall cliff to join the flood below, 
He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast 
The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste. 
By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile, 
And long successive ages roll'd the while, 
Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand 
Tall as its rival mountains on the land. 
Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill, 
Or force of man, had stood the structure still ; 
But that, though firmly fix'd, supplanted yet 
By pressure of its own enormous weight, 
It left the shelving beach, — and with a sound 
That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around, 
Self -launch' d, and swiftly, to the briny wave, 
As if instinct with strong desire to lave, 
Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old, 
How Delos swam the iEgean deep, have told. 
But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore [wore, 

Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crown'd with laurel, 


160 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Even under wintry sides, a summer smile ; 
And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle. 
But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you 
He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. 
Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey, 
But, scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away. 
Hence ! Seek your home, nor longer rashly dan 
The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air ; 
Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast, 
In no congenial gulf for ever lost ! 


MONTES GLACIALES, 

IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES, 

March 11, 1799. 

En, quae prodigia, ex oris allata remotis, 
Oras adveniunt pavefacta per eequora nostras ! 
Non equidem priscae saeclum rediisse videtur 
Pyrrhae, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes 
Et sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora 
Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitus alti 
In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant. 
Quid vero hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu ? 
Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex aere vel auro 
Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis, 
Bacca caerulea, et flammas imitante pyropo. 
Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus 
Parturit omnigenas, quibus aeva per omnia sumptu 
Ingenti finx£re sibi diademata reges ? 
Vix hoc crediderim. Non fallunt talia acutos 
Mercatorum oculos : prius et quam littora Gangis 
Liquissent, avidis gratissima praeda fuissent. 
Ortos unde putemus ? An illos Ves'vius atrox 
Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus ^tna ? 
Luce micant propria, Phoebive, per aera purum 
Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela retorquent? 
Phoebi luce micant. Ventis et fluotibus altis 
Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis, 
Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est 
Multa onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis. 
Caetera sunt glacies. Procui hinc, ubi Bruma fere 

omnes 
Contristat menses, portenta haec horrida nobis 
Ilia strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo 
Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solutse 
Sole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu, 
Ilia gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese 
Mirum ccepit opus ; glacieque ab origine rerum 
In glaciem aggesta sublimes vertice tandem 
Aquavit montes, non crescere nescia moles. 
Sic immensa diu stetit, aeternumque stetisset, 
Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte, 
Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset, 
Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum 
Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragore, 
Dum ruit in pelagum, tanquam studiosa natandi, 
Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, 
Insula, in ^Egaeo fluitasse erratica ponto. 
Sed non ex glacie Delos ; neque torpida Delum 
Bruma inter rupes genuit nudum sterilemque. 
Sed vestita herbis erat ilia, ornataque nunquam 
Decidua lauro ; et Delum dilexit Apollo. 
At vos, errones horrendi, et caligine digni 
Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra, 
Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri 
Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite caelum ! 
Ite ! Redite ! Timete moras ; ni leniter austro 
Spirante, et nitidas Phcebo jaculante sagittas 
Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti ! 


THE SALAD. BY VIRGIL. 

June 8, 1799. 

The winter night now well nigh worn away, 
The wakeful cock proclaim'd approaching day, 
When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm 
Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm, 
Yawn'd, stretch'd his limbs, and anxious to provide 
Against the pangs of hunger unsupplied, 
By slow degrees his tatter'd bed forsook, 
And poking in the dark, explored the nook 
Where embers slept with ashes heap'd around, 
And with burnt fingers-ends the treasure found. 

It chanced that from a brand beneath his nose, 
Sure proof of latent fire, some smoke arose ; 
When trimming with a pin the incrusted tow, 
And stooping it towards the coals below, 
He toils, with cheeks distended, to excite 
The lingering flame, and gains at length a light. 
With prudent heed he spreads his hand before 
The quivering lamp, and opes his granary door. 
Small was his stock, but taking for the day, 
A measured stint of twice eight pounds away, 
With these his mill he seeks. A shelf at hand, 
Fixt in the wall, affords his lamp a stand : 
Then baring both his arms, a sleeveless coat 
He girds, the rough exuviae of a goat ; 
And with a rubber, for that use design'd, 
Cleansing his mill within, begins to grind ; 
Each hand has its employ ; labouring amain, 
This turns the winch, while that supplies the grain. 
The stone revolving rapidly, now glows, 
And the bruised corn a mealy current flows; 
While he, to make his heavy labour light, 
Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his right j 
And chants with rudest accent, to beguile 
His ceaseless toil, as rude a strain the while. 
And now, " Dame Cybale, come forth !" he cries ; 
But Cybale, still slumbering, nought replies. 

From Afric she, the swain's sole serving-maid, 
Whose face and form alike her birth betray'd ; 
With woolly locks, lips tumid, sable skin, 
Wide bosom, udders flaccid, belly thin, 
Legs slender, broad and most misshapen feet, 
Chapp'd into chinks, and parch'd with solar heat. 
Such, summon'd oft, she came ; at his command 
Fresh fuel heap'd, the sleeping embers fann'd, 
And made in haste her simmering skillet steam, 
Replenish'd newly from the neighbouring stream. 

The labours of the mill perform'd, a sieve 
The mingled flour and bran must next receive, 
Which shaken oft, shoots Ceres through refined, 
And better dress'd, her husks all left behind. 
This done, at once, his future plain repast, 
Unleaven'd, on a shaven board he cast, 
With tepid lymph, first largely soak'd it all a 
Then gather'd it with both hands to a ball, 
And spreading it again with both hands wide, 
With sprinkled salt the stiffen'd mass supplied ; 
At length, the stubborn substance, duly wrought, 
Takes from his palms impress'd the shape it ought, 
Becomes an orb, and quarter'd into shares, 
The faithful mark of just division bears. 
Last, on his hearth it finds convenient space, 
For Cybale before had swept the place, 
And there, with tiles and embers overspread, 
She leaves it — reeking in its sultry bed. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


10J 


Nor Sirnulus, while Vulcan thus, alone, 
His part perform'd, proves heedless of his own, 
But sedulous, not merely to subdue 
His hunger, hut to please his palate too, 
Prepares more savoury food. His chimney-side 
Could boast no gammon, salted well, and dried, 
And hook'd behind him : but sufficient store 
Of bundled anise, and a cheese it bore ; 
A broad round cheese, which, through its centre 

strung 
With a tough broom-twig, in the corner hung; 
The prudent hero therefore with address, 
And quick despatch, now seeks another mess. 

Close to his cottage lay a garden-ground, 
With reeds and osiers sparely girt around ; 
Small was the spot, but liberal to produce, 
Nor wanted aught that serves a peasant's use ; 
And sometimes even the rich would borrow thence, 
Although its tillage was his sole expense. 
For oft, as from his toils abroad he ceased, 
Home-bound by weather or some stated feast, 
His debt of culture here he duly paid, 
And only left the plough to wield the spade. 
He knew to give each plant the soil it needs, 
To drill the ground, and cover close the seeds ; 
And could with ease compel the wanton rill 
To turn, and wind, obedient to his will. 
There fiourish'd star- wort, and the branching beet, 
The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet, 
The skirret, and the leek's aspiring kind, 
The noxious poppy — quencher of the mind ! 
Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board, 
The lettuce, and the long huge-bellied gourd ; 
But these (for none his appetite controll'd 
With stricter sway) the thrifty rustic sold ; 
With broom-twigs neatly bound, each kind apart, 
He bore them ever to the public mart ; 
Whence, laden still, but with a lighter load, 
Of cash well earn'd, he took his homeward road, 
Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome, 
His gains, in flesh-meat for a feast at home. 
There, at no cost, on onions rank and red, 
Or the curl'd endive's bitter leaf, he fed : 
On scallions sliced, or with a sensual gust 
On rockets — foul provocatives of lust ; 
Nor even shunn'd, with smarting gums, to press 
Nasturtium, pungent face-distorting mess ! 

Some such regale now also in his thought, 
With hasty steps his garden-ground he sought ; 
There delving with his hands, he first displaced 
Four plants of garlick, large, and rooted fast ; 
The tender tops of parsley next he culls, 
Then the old rue-bush shudders as he pulls, 
And coriander last to these succeeds, 
That hangs on slightest threads her trembling 
seeds. 

Placed near his sprightly fire he now demands 
The mortar at his sable servant's hands ; 
When stripping all his garlick first, he tore 
The exterior coats, and cast them on the floor, 
Then cast away with like contempt the skin, 
Flimsier concealment of the cloves within. 
These search'd, and perfect found, he one by one 
Rinsed, and disposed within the hollow stone ; 
Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese, 
With his injected herbs he cover'd these, 
And tucking with his left his tunic tight, 
And seizing fast the pestle with his right, 
The garlick bruising first he soon express'd, 
And mix'd the various juices of the rest. 


He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below 
Lost in each other their own powers forego, 
And with the cheese in compound, to the sight 
Nor wholly green appear, nor wholly white. 
His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent ; 
He cursed full oft his dinner for its scent, 
Or with wry faces, wiping as he spoke 
The trickling tears, cried — " Vengeance on the 

smoke !" 
The work proceeds : not roughly turns he now 
The pestle, but in circles smooth and slow ; 
With cautious hand that grudges what it spills, 
Some drops of olive-oil he next instils ; 
Then vinegar with caution scarcely less ; 
And gathering to a ball the medley mess, 
Last, with two fingers frugally applied, 
Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side : 
And thus complete in figure and in kind, 
Obtains at length the Salad he design'd. 

And now black Cybale before him stands, 
The cake drawn newly glowing in her hands : 
He glad receives it, chasing far away 
All fears of famine for the passing day ; 
His legs enclosed in buskins, and his head 
In its tough casque of leather, forth he led 
And yoked his steers, a dull obedient pair, 
Then drove afield, and plunged the pointed share. 


THE CAST-AWAY. 

March 20, 1789. 


Obscurest night involved the sky, 
The Atlantic billows roar'd, 

When such a destined wretch as I, 
Wash'd headlong from on board, 

Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 

His floating home for ever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast 
Than he, with whom he went, 

Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
With warmer wishes sent. 

He loved them both, but both in vain, 

Nor him beheld, nor her again. 

Not long beneath the whelming brine, 

Expert to swim, he lay ; 
Nor soon he f©|| his strength decline, 

Or courage die away ; 
But waged with death a lasting strife, 
Supported by despair of fife. 

He shouted : nor his friends had fail'd 
To check the vessel's course, 

But so the furious blast prevail'd, 
That pitiless perforce, 

They left their outcast mate behind, 

And scudded still before the wind. 

Some succour yet they could afford ; 

And, such as storms allow, 
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 

Delay' d not to bestow. 
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, 
Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 


162 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he 
Their haste himself condemn, 

Aware that flight, in such a sea, 
Alone could rescue them ; 

Yet bitter felt it still to die 

Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives, who lives an hour 

In ocean, self-upheld ; 
And so long he, with unspent power, 

His destiny repelPd ; 
And ever, as the minutes flew, 
Entreated help, or cried — " Adieu I" 

At length, his transient respite past, 

His comrades, who before 
Had heard his voice in every blast, 

Could catch the sound no more : 
For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
The stifling wave, and then he sank. 

No poet wept him ; but the page 

Of narrative sincere, 
That tells his name, his worth, his age, 

Is wet with Anson's tear : 
And tears by bards or heroes shed 
Alike immortalize the dead. 

I therefore purpose not, or dream, 

Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date : 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 

No voice divine the storm allay'd, 

No light propitious shone, 
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,' 

We perish'd, each alone : 
But I beneath a rougher sea, 
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. 


SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM, 

CORRUPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI NUPER 
EXORTAM. 


Perfida, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore, 

Nou armis, laurum Gallia fraude petit. 
Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit 

Undique privatas patriciasque domos. 
Nequicquam conata sua, fcedissima sperat 

Posse tamen nostra nos superare manu. 
Gallia, vana struis ! Precibus nunc utere ! Vinces, 

Nam mites timidis supplicibusque sumus. 


TRANSLATION. 

False, cruel, disappointed, stung to the heart, 
France quits the warrior's for the assassin's part, 
To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys, 
Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze. 
Her sons too weak to vanquish us alone, 
She hires the worst and basest of our own. 
Kneel, France ! a suppliant conquers us with ease, 
We always spare a coward on his knees. 


MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION 


WILLIAM NORTHCOT. 

Hie sepultus est 
Inter suorum lacrymas 

GULIELMUS NORTHCOT, 
GULIELMI et MARI.E Alius 

Unicus, unice dilectus, 

Qui floris ritu succisus est semihiantis, 

Aprilis die septimo, 

1780, Mt. 10. 

Care, vale ! Sed non seternum, care, valeto ! 

Namque iterum tecum, sim modd dignus, ero. 
Turn nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros, 

Nee tu marcesces, nee lacrymabor ego. 

TRANSLATION. 

Farewell ! a But not for ever," Hope replies, 
Trace but his steps and meet him in the skies ! 
There nothing shall renew our parting pain, 
Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep again. 


A RIDDLE. 

I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold, 
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told. 
I am lawful, unlawful — a duty, a fault, 
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when 

bought ; 
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, 
And yielded with pleasure when taken by force. 


ANSWER. 

FROM THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, VOL. LXXVI. P. 1224. 

A riddle by Cowper 

Made me swear like a trooper ; 
But my anger, alas ! was in vain ; 

For remembering the bliss 

Of beauty's soft Kiss, 
I now long for such riddles again. j. t. 


EPIGRAM ON HIS MISTAKE IN TRANSLATING 
HOMER. 

Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse, 

If, bound in rhyming tethers, 
He had committed this abuse 

Of changing ewes for wethers ; 

But, male for female is a trope, 

Or rather bold misnomer, 
That would have startled even Pope, 

When he translated Homer. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


163 


STANZAS 

SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF 

THE PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON 1 , 

Anno Domini 1787. 

Pallida Mors cequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas," 

Regumque turres. Horace. 

Pale death with equal foot strikes wide the door 
Of royal halls and hovels of the poor. 

While thirteen moons saw smoothly run 

The Nen's barge-laden wave, 
All these, life's rambling journey done, 

Have found their home, the grave. 

Was man (frail always) made more frail 

Than in foregoing years ? 
Did famine or did plague prevail, 

That so much death appears ? 

No ; these were vigorous as their sires, 

Nor plague nor famine came ; 
This annual tribute Death requires, 

And never waives his claim. 

Like crowded forest-trees we stand, 

And some are mark'd to fall ; 
The axe will smite at God's command, 

And soon shall smite us all. 

Green as the bay tree, ever green, 

With its new foliage on, 
The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, 

I pass'd, — and they were gone. 

Read, ye that run, the awful truth 

With which I charge my page ! 
A worm is in the bud of youth, 

And at the root of age. 

No present health can health insure 

For yet an hour to come ; 
No medicine, though it oft can cure, 

Can always balk the tomb. 

And oh ! that humble as my lot, 

And scorn' d as is my strain, 
These truths, though known, too much forgot, 

I may not teach in vain. 

So prays your Clerk with all his heart, 

And, ere he quits the pen, 
Begs you for once to take his part, 

And answer all — Amen ! 


ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
For the Year 1788. 

Quod adest, memento 
Componere cequus. Ccetera fluminis 
Ritu/eruntur. Horace. 

Improve the present hour, for all beside 
Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide. 


Could I, from Heaven inspired, as sure presage 
To whom the rising year shall prove his last, 

As I can number in my punctual page, 
And item down the victims of the past ; 
» Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton 


How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet 
On which the press might stamp him next to die ; 

And, reading here his sentence, how replete 
With anxious meaning, heavenward turn his eye ! 

Time then would seem more precious than the joys 
In which he sports away the treasure now ; 

And prayer more seasonable than the noise 
Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow. 

Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink 
Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, 

Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think, 
Told that his setting sun must rise no more. 

Ah self-deceived ! Could I prophetic say 
Who next is fated, and who next to fall, 

The rest might then seem privileged to play ; 
But, naming none, the Voice now speaks to all. 

Observe the dappled foresters, how light 
They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade ; 

One falls — the rest, wide scatter'd with affright, 
Vanish at once into the darkest shade. 

Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd 
Still need repeated warnings, and at last, 

A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd, 
Die self-accused of life run all to waste ? 

Sad waste ! for which no after-thrift atones ! 

The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin : 
Dewdrops may deck the turf that hides the bones, 

But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within. 

Learn then, ye living ! by the mouths be taught 
Of all those sepulchres, instructors true, 

That, soon or late, death also is your lot, 

And the next opening grave may yawn for you. 


ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

For the Year 1789. 


— Placiddque ibi demum morte quievit. Virg. 
There calm at length he breathed his soul away. 


" most delightful hour by man 
Experienced here below, 
The hour that terminates his span, 
His folly and his woe ! 

" Worlds should not bribe me back to tread 
Again life's dreary waste, 
To see again my day o'erspread 
With all the gloomy past. 

w My home henceforth is in the skies, 
Earth, seas, and sun, adieu ! 
All heaven unfolded to my eyes, 
I have no sight for you." 

So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd 

Of faith's supporting rod : 
Then breathed his soul into its rest, 

The bosom of his God. 

• 

He was a man among the few 

Sincere on virtue's side ; 
And all his strength from Scripture di'ew, 

To hourly use applied. 
m2 


164 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


That rule he prized, by that he fear'd, 
He hated, hoped, and loved ; 

Nor ever frowu'd, or sad appear'd, 
But when his heart had roved. 

For he was frail as thou or I, 

And evil felt within : 
But when he felt it, heaved a sigh, 

And loathed the thought of sin. 

Such lived Aspasio ; and at last 
Call'd up from earth to heaven, 

The gulf of death triumphant pass'd, 
By gales of blessing driven. 

His joys be mine, each reader cries, 
When my last hour arrives : 

They shall be yours, my verse replies, 
Such only be your lives. 


ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

For the Year 1790. 

Ne commonentem recta sperne. Buchanan. 

Despise not my good counsel. 

He who sits from day to day 

Where the prison'd lark is hung, 

Heedless of his loudest lay, 

Hardly knows that he has sung. 

Where the watchman in his round 
Nightly lifts his voice on high, 

None, accustom'd to the sound, 
Wakes the sooner for his cry. 

So your verse-man I, and Clerk, 
Yearly in my song proclaim 

Death at hand — yourselves his mark — 
And the foe's unerring aim. 

Duly at my time I come, 

Publishing to all aloud, — 
Soon the grave must be your home, 

And your only suit a shroud. 

But the monitory strain, 

Oft repeated in your ears, 
Seems to sound too much in vain, 

Wins no notice, wakes no fears. 

Can a truth, by all confess'd 
Of such magnitude and weight, 

Grow, by being oft impress'd, 
Trivial as a parrot's prate ? 

Pleasure's call attention wins, 

Hear it often as we may ; 
New as ever seem our sins, 

Though committed every day. 

Death and judgment, heaven and hell — 

These alone, so often heard, 
No more move us than the bell 

When some stranger is interr'd. 

then, ere the turf or tomb 

Cover us from every eye, 
Spirit of instruction ! come, 

Make us learn that we must die. 


Virq. 


ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

For the Year 1792. 

Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
Atque metus omnes et inexorabilefalum 
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari . 

Happy the mortal who has traced effects 

To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet, 

And death and roaring hell's voraeious fires ! 

Thankless for favours from on high, 
Man thinks he fades too soon ; 

Though 'tis his privilege to die, 
Would he improve the boon. 

But he, not wise enough to scan 

His blest concerns aright, 
Would gladly stretch life's little span 

To ages, if he might ; 

To ages in a world of pain, 

To ages, where he goes 
Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain, 

And hopeless of repose. 

Strange fondness of the human heart, 

Enamour' d of its harm ! 
Strange world, that costs it so much smart, 

And still has power to charm. 

Whence has the world her magic power ? 

Why deem we death a foe ? 
Recoil from weary life's best hour, 

And covet longer woe \ 

The cause is Conscience : — Conscience oft 

Her tale of guilt renews ; 
Her voice is terrible though soft, 

And dread of death ensues. 

Then anxious to be longer spared 
Man mourns his fleeting breath : 

All evils then seem light compared 
With the approach of death. 

'Tis judgment shakes him ; there's the fear 
That prompts the wish to stay : 

He has ineurr'd a long arrear, 
And must despair to pay. 

Pay % — follow Christ, and all is paid ; 

His death your peace ensures ; 
Think on the grave where he was laid, 

And calm descend to yours. 


ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 

For the Year 1793. 


Be sacris autem hcec sit una senlentia, ut conserventur. 

Cic. de Leg. 

But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that thinga 
sacred be inviolate. 


He lives who lives to God alone, 
And all are dead beside ; 

For other source than God is none 
Whence life can be supplied. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 


165 


To live to God is to requite 

His love as best we may ; 
To make his precepts our delight, 

His promises our stay. 

But life, within a narrow ring 

Of giddy joys comprised, 
Is falsely named, and no such thing, 

But rather death disguised. 

Can life in them deserve the name, 

Who only live to prove 
For what poor toys they can disclaim 

An endless life above ? 

Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel ; 

Much menaced, nothing dread ; 
Have wounds which only God can heal, 

Yet never ask his aid ? 

Who deem his house a useless place, 
Faith, want of common sense ; 


And ardour in the Christian race, 
A hypocrite's pretence ? 

Who trample order ; and the day 
Which God asserts his own 

Dishonour with unhallow'd play, 
And worship chance alone ? 

If scorn of God's commands, impress'd 

On word and deed, imply 
The better part of man unbless'd 

With life that cannot die ; 

Such want it, and that want, uncured 
Till man resigns his breath, 

Speaks him a criminal, assured 
Of everlasting death. 

Sad period to a pleasant course ! 

Yet so will God repay 
Sabbaths profaned without remorse, 

And mercy cast away. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 


ON THE PICTURE OF A SLEEPING CHILD. 

Sweet babe, whose image here express'd 

Does thy peaceful slumbers show ; 
Guilt or fear, to break thy rest, 

Never did thy spirit know. 
Soothing slumbers, soft repose, 

Such as mock the painter's skill, 
Such as innocence bestows, 

Harmless infant, lull thee still ! 


THE THRACIAN. 

Thracian parents, at his birth, 

Mourn their babe with many a tear, 
But with undissembled mirth 

Place him breathless on his bier. 
Greece and Rome with equal scorn, 

" O the savages I" exclaim, 
" Whether they rejoice or mourn, 

Well entitled to the name !" 
But the cause of this concern 

And this pleasure would they trace, 
Even they might somewhat learn 

From the savages of Thrace. 


RECIPROCAL KINDNESS 

THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE. 

Androcles from his injured lord in dread 
Of instant death, to Libya's desert fled. [heat, 
Tired with his toilsome flight, and parch'd with 
He spied, at length, a cavern's cool retreat, 


But scarce had given to rest his weary frame, 
When, hugest of his kind, a Hon came : 
He roar'd approaching ; but the savage din 
To plaintive murmurs changed, — arrived within, 
And with expressive looks, his lifted paw 
Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw. 
The fugitive, through terror at a stand, 
Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand, 
But bolder grown, at length inherent found 
A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound. 
The cure was wrought; he wiped the sanious 

blood, 
And firm and free from pain the Hon stood. 
Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day, 
Regales his inmate with the parted prey ; 
Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared, 
Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared. 
But thus to live — still lost — sequester'd still — 
Scarce seem'd his lord's revenge a heavier ill. 
Home ! native home ! might he but repair ! 
He must, he will, though death attends him there. 
He goes, and doom'd to perish on the sands 
Of the full theatre unpitied stands ; 
When lo ! the self -same lion from his cage 
Flies to devour him, famish'd into rage. 
He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey 
The man, his healer, pauses on his way, 
And soften'd by remembrance into sweet 
And kind composure, crouches at his feet. 

Mute with astonishment the assembly gaze : 
But why, ye Romans \ Whence your mute amaze ? 
All this is natural : nature bade him rend 
An enemy ; she bids him spare a friend. 


166 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 


A MANUAL. 

MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING AND NOT TO 
IE FOUND IN ANY CATALOGUE. 

There is a book, which we may call 

(Its excellence is such) 
Alone a library, though small ; 

The ladies thumb it much. 

Words none, things numerous it contains ; 

And, things with words compared, 
Who needs be told, that has his brains, 

Winch merits most regard ? 

Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue 

A golden edging boast ; 
And open'd it displays to view 

Twelve pages at the most. 

Nor name, nor title, stamp'd behind, 

Adorns its outer part ; 
But all within 'tis richly lined, 

A magazine of art. 

The whitest hands that secret hoard 

Oft visit ; and the fair 
Preserve it in their bosoms stored, 

As with a miser's care. 

Thence implements of every size, 

And form'd for various use, 
(They need but to consult their eyes) 

They readily produce. 

The largest and the longest kind 

Possess the foremost page, 
A sort most needed by the blind, 

Or nearly such from age. 

The full-charged leaf, which next ensues, 

Presents in bright array 
The smaller sort, which matrons use, 

Not quite so blind as they. 

The third, the fourth, the fifth supply 

What their occasions ask, 
Who with a more discerning eye 

Perform a nicer task. 

But still with regular decrease 

From size to size they fall, 
In every leaf grow less and less ; 

The last are least of all, 

! what a fund of genius, pent 

In narrow space, is here ! 
This volume's method and intent 

How luminous and clear ! 

It leaves no reader at a loss 

Or posed, whoever reads : 
No commentator's tedious gloss, 

Nor even index needs. 

Search Bodley's many thousands o'er ! 

No book is treasured there, 
Nor yet in Granta's numerous store, 

That may with this compare. 

No ! — rival none in either host 

Of* this was ever seen, 
Or, that contents could justly boast, 

So brilliant and so keen. 


AN ENIGMA. 


A needle small, as small can be, 
In bulk and use, surpasses me, 

Nor is my purchase dear ; 
For little, and almost for nought, 
As many of my kind are bought 

As days are in the year. 
Yet though but little use we boast, 
And are procured at little cost, 

The labour is not light ; 
Nor few artificers it asks, 
All skilful in their several tasks, 

To fashion us aright. 
One fuses metal o'er the fire, 
A second draws it into wire, 

The shears another plies, 
Who clips in lengths the brazen thread 
For him, who, chafing every shred, 

Gives all an equal size. 
A fifth prepares, exact and round, 
The knob, with which it must be crown'd ; 

His follower makes it fast : 
And with his mallet and his file 
To shape the point, employs awhile 

The seventh and the last. 
Now therefore, OEdipus ! declare 
What creature, wonderful, and rare, 

A process, that obtains 
Its purpose with so much ado, 
At last produces ! — tell me true, 

And take me for your pains ! 

SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED 

IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 


None ever shared the social feast, 

Or as an inmate or a guest, 

Beneath the celebrated dome 

Where once Sir Isaac had his home, 

Who saw not (and with some delight 

Perhaps he view'd the novel sight) 

How numerous at the tables there, 

The sparrows beg their daily fare. 

For there, in every nook and cell, 

Where such a family may dwell, 

Sure as the vernal season comes 

Their nests they weave in hope of crumbs, 

Which kindly given, may serve with food 

Convenient their unfeather'd brood ; 

And oft as with its summons clear 

The warning bell salutes their ear, 

Sagacious listeners to the sound, 

They flock from all the fields around, 

To reach the hospitable hall, 

None more attentive to the call. 

Arrived, the pensionary band, 

Hopping and chirping, close at hand, 

Solicit what they soon receive, 

The sprinkled, plenteous donative. 

Thus is a multitude, though large, 

Supported at a trivial charge ; 

A single doit would overpay 

The expenditure of every day, 

And who can grudge so small a grace 

To suppliants, natives of the place ? 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 


167 


FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. 

As in her ancient mistress' lap 

The youthful tabby lay, 
They gave each other many a tap, 

Alike disposed to play. 

But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, 

And with protruded claws 
Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm, 

Mere wantonness the cause. 

At once, resentful of the deed, 
She shakes her to the ground 

With many a threat that she shall bleed 
With still a deeper wound. 

But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest ; 

It was a venial stroke : 
For she that will with kittens jest, 

Should bear a kitten's joke. 


INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. 

Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains — 

And seldom another it can — 
To seek a retreat while he reigns, 

In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man 
Who never can seem to intrude, 

Though in all places equally free, 
Come ! oft as the season is rude, 

Thou art sure to be welcome to me. 

At sight of the first feeble ray, 

That pierces the clouds of the east, 
To inveigle thee every day 

My windows shall show thee a feast ; 
For, taught by experience I know 

Thee mindful of benefit long, 
And that, thankful for all I bestow, 

Thou wilt pay me with many a song. 

Then soon as the swell of the buds 

Bespeaks the renewal of spring, 
Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods, 

Or where it shall please thee to sing : 
And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost, 

Come again to my window or door, 
Doubt not an affectionate host, 

Only pay, as thou pay'dst me before. 

Thus music must needs be confest 

To flow from a fountain above ; 
Else how should it work in the breast 

Unchangeable friendship and love ? 
And who on the globe can be found, 

Save your generation and ours, 
That can be delighted by sound, 

Or boasts any musical powers ? 


STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. 

The shepherd touch'd his reed ; sweet Philomel 
Essay'd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain, 

And treasuring, as on her ear they fell, 
The numbers, echoed note for note again. 


The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before 
A rival of his skill, indignant heard, 

And soon (for various was his tuneful store) 
In loftier tones defied the simple bird. 

She dared the task, and rising, as he rose, 

With all the force, that passion gives, inspired, 

Return'd the sounds awhile, but in the close, 
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired. 

Thus strength, not skill, prevail'd. O fatal strife, 
By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun ! 

And sad victory, which cost thy life, 
And he may wish that he had never won ! 


ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, 

WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER 
BIRTHDAY, 1728. 

Ancient dame how wide and vast, 

To a race like ours appears, 
Rounded to an orb at last, 

All thy multitude of years ! 

We, the herd of human kind, 
Frailer and of feebler powers ; 

We, to narrow bounds confined, 
Soon exhaust the sum of ours. 

Death's delicious banquet, we 

Perish even from the womb, 
Swifter than a shadow flee, 

Nourish'd, but to feed the tomb. 

Seeds of merciless disease 

Lurk in all that we enjoy ; 
Some, that waste us by degrees, 

Some, that suddenly destroy. 

And if life o'erleap the bourn, 

Common to the sons of men, 
What remains, but that we mourn, 

Dream, and dote, and drivel then ? 

Fast as moons can wax and wane, 
Sorrow comes ; and while we groan, 

Pant with anguish and complain 
Half our years are fled and gone. 

If a few, (to few 'tis given) 

Lingering on this earthly stage, 

Creep and halt with steps uneven, 
To the period of an age ; 

Wherefore live they, but to see 
Cunning, arrogance, and force, 

Sights lamented much by thee, 
Holding their accustom' d course ? 

Oft was seen, in ages past, 

All that we with wonder view ; 

Often shall be to the last ; 
Earth produces nothing new. 

Thee we gratulate ; content, 

Should propitious Heaven design 

Life for us, as calmly spent, 

Though but half the length of thine. 


168 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 


THE CAUSE WON. 


Two neighbours furiously dispute ; 
A field— the subject of the suit. 
Trivial the spot, yet such the rage 
With which the combatants engage, 
'Twere hard to tell, who covets most 
The prize — at whatsoever cost. 
The pleadings swell. Words still suffice 
No single word but has its price : 
No term but yields some fair pretence 
For novel and increased expense. 

Defendant thus becomes a name, 
Which he, that bore it, may disclaim ; 
Since both, in one description blended, 
Are plaintiffs — when the suit is ended. 


THE SILK-WORM. 

The beams of April, ere it goes, 

A worm, scarce visible, disclose ; 

All winter long content to dwell 

The tenant of his native shell. 

The same prolific season gives 

The sustenance by which he lives, 

The mulberry-leaf, a simple store, 

That serves him — till he needs no more ! 

For, his dimensions once complete, 

Thenceforth none ever sees him eat ; 

Though, till his growing time be past, 

Scarce ever is he seen to fast. 

That hour arrived, his work begins ; 

He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins ; 

Till circle upon circle wound 

Careless around him and around, 

Conceals him with a veil, though slight, 

Impervious to the keenest sight. 

Thus self-enclosed, as in a cask, 

At length he finishes his task : 

And, though a worm when he was lost, 

Or caterpillar at the most, 

When next we see him, wings he wears, 

And in papilio-pomp appears ; 

Becomes oviparous ; supplies 

With future worms and future flies 

The next ensuing year ;— and dies ! 

Well were it for the world, if all 

Who creep about this earthly ball, 

Though shorter-lived than most he be, 

Were useful in their kind as he. 


THE INNOCENT THIEF. 

Not a flower can be found in the fields, 
Or the spot that we till for our pleasure, 

From the largest to least, but it yields 
The bee, never-wearied, a treasure. 

Scarce any she quits unexplored, 

With a diligence truly exact ; 
Yet, steal what she may for her hoard, 

Leaves evidence none of the fact. 


Her lucrative task she pursues, 
And pilfers with so much address, 

That none of their odour they lose, 
Nor charm by their beauty the less. 

Not thus inoffensively preys 

The canker-worm, indwelling foe ! 

His voracity not thus allays 

The sparrow, the finch, or the crow. 

The worm, more expensively fed, 
The pride of the garden devours ; 

And birds peck the seed from the bed, 
Still less to be spared than the flowers. 

But she with such delicate skill, 
Her pillage so fits for her use, 

That the chemist in vain with his still 
Would labour the like to produce. 

Then grudge not her temperate meals, 
Nor a benefit blame as a theft ; 

Since, stole she not all that she steals, 
Neither honey nor wax would be left. 


DENNER'S OLD WOMAN. 

In this mimic form of a matron in years, 
How plainly the pencil of Denner appears ! 
The matron herself, in whose old age we see 
Not a trace of decline, what a wonder is she ! ' 
No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging low, 
No wrinkle, or deep-furrow'd frown on the brow ! 
Her forehead indeed is here circled around 
With locks like the ribbon with which they are 

bound ; 
While glossy and smooth, and as soft as the skin 
Of a delicate peach, is the down of her chin ; 
But nothing unpleasant, or sad, or severe, 
Or that indicates life in its winter, is here. 
Yet all is express'd, with fidelity due, 
Nor a pimple, or freckle, conceal'd from the view. 

Many, fond of new| sights, or who cherish a taste 
For the labours of art, to the spectacle haste ; 
The youths all agree, that could old age inspire 
The passion of love, hers would kindle the fire, 
And the matrons with pleasure confess that they 

see 
Ridiculous nothing or hideous in thee. 
The nymphs for themselves scarcely hope a decline, 
wonderful woman ! as placid as thine. 

Strange magic of art ! which the youth can en- 


To peruse, half-enamour'd, the features of age ; 
And force from the virgin a sigh of despair, 
That she, when as old, shall be equally fair ! 
How great is the glory that Denner has gain'd, 
Since Apelles not more for his Venus obtain'd ! 


THE TEARS OF A PAINTER. 

Apelles, hearing that his boy 
Had just expired, his only joy ! 
Although the sight with anguish tore him, 
Bade place his dear remains before him. 
He seized his brush, his colours spread ; 
And — " Oh ! my child, accept," — he said, 


TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. 


" ('Tis all that I can now bestow) 
This tribute of a father's woe !" 
Then, faithful to the two-fold part, 
Both of his feelings and his art, 
He closed his eyes, with tender care, 
And form'd at once a fellow pair. 
His brow with amber locks beset, 
And lips he drew, not livid yet ; 
And shaded all that he had done 
To a just image of his son. 

Thus far is well. But view again 
The cause of thy paternal pain ! 
Thy melancholy task fulfil ! 
It needs the last, last touches still. 
Again his pencil's powers he tries, 
For on his lips a smile he spies : 
And still his cheek unfaded shows 
The deepest damask of the rose. 
Then, heedful to the finish'd whole, 
With fondest eagerness he stole, 
Till scarce himself distinctly knew 
The cherub copied from the true. 

Now, painter, cease ! Thy task is done. 
Long lives this image of thy son ; 
*Nor short-lived shall the glory prove, 
Or of thy labour, or thy love. 


THE MAZE. 

From right to left, and to and fro, 
Caught in a labyrinth, you go, 
And turn, and turn, and turn again, 
To solve the mystery, but in vain ; 
Stand still and breathe, and take from me 
A clew, that soon shall set you free ! 
Not Ariadne, if you met her, 
Herself could serve you with a better. 
You enter'd easily — find where — 
And make, with ease, your exit there ! 


NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER. 

The lover, in melodious verses, 
His singular distress rehearses, 
Still closing with a rueful cry, 
" Was ever such a wretch as I ? " 
Yes ! thousands have endured before 
All thy distress ; some, haply more, 
Unnumber'd Corydons complain, 
And Strephons, of the like disdain : 
And if thy Chloe be of steel, 
Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel ; 
Not her alone that censure fits, 
Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits. 


THE SNAIL. 

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, 
The Snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, 
As if he grew there, house and all 
Together. 

Within that house secure he hides, 
When danger imminent betides 
Of storm, or other harm besides 

Of weather. 

Give but his horns the slightest touch, 
His self-collecting power is such, 
He shrinks into his house with much 
Displeasure. 

Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, 
Except himself has chattels none, 
Well satisfied to be his own 

Whole treasure. 

Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, 
Nor partner of his banquet needs, 
And if he meets one, only feeds 

The faster. 

Who seeks him must be worse than blind, 
(He and his house are so combined) 
If, finding it, he fails to find 

Its master. 


THE CANTAB. 

With two spurs or one ; and no great matter which, 
Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch, 
Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast, 
Paid part into hand, — you must wait for the rest ; 
Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse, 
And out they both sally for better or worse ; 
His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather ; 
And in violent haste to go not knowing whither ; 
Through the fields and the towns, (see !) he scam- 
pers along, 
And is look'd at, and laugh'd at, by old and by 

young. 
Till at length overspent, and his sides smear'd with 

blood, 
Down tumbles his horse, man and all in the mud. 
In a waggon or chaise shall he finish his route % 
Oh ! scandalous fate ! he must do it on foot. 

Young gentlemen, hear ; — I am older than you ! 
The advice, that I give, I have proved to be true. 
Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it, 
The faster you ride, you're the longer about it. 


COMPLIMENTARY POEMS TO MILTON, 


TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN AND ITALIAN. 


THE NEAPOLITAN, JOHN BAPTIST MANSO, 

MARQUIS OF VILLA, 

TO THE ENGLISHMAN, JOHN MILTON. 

What features, form, mien, manners, with a mind 
how intelligent ! and how refined ! 
Were but thy piety from fault as free, 
Thou would'st no Angle hut an Angel be. 


AN EPIGRAM 

ADDRESSED TO THE ENGLISHMAN, JOHN MILTON, A POET 

WORTHY OF THREE LAURELS, THE GRECIAN, LATIN, 

AND ETRUSCAN, BY JOHN SALSILLI, OF ROME. 

Meles and Mincio, both your urns depress ! 
Sebetus, boast henceforth thy Tasso less ! 
But let the Thames o'erpeer all floods, since he 
For Milton famed shall, single, match the three. 


TO JOHN MILTON.. 

Greece, sound thy Homer's, Rome, thy Virgil's 

name, 
But England's Milton equals both in fame. 

Selvaggi. 


AN ODE, 

ADDRESSED TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS ENGLISHMAN, MR. JOHN 

MILTON, BY SIGNOR ANTONIO FRANCINI, 

GENTLEMAN, OF FLORENCE. 


Exalt me, Clio, to the skies, 

That I may form a starry crown 
Beyond what Helicon supplies 
In laureate garlands of renown ; 
To nobler worth be brighter glory given, 
And to a heavenly mind a recompense from heaven. 

Time's wasteful hunger cannot prey 

On everlasting high desert, 
Nor can oblivion steal away 

Its record graven on the heart ; 
Lodge but an arrow, virtue, on the bow [foe. 

That binds my lyre, and death shall be a vanquish'd 

In ocean's blazing flood enshrined 

Whose vassal tide around her swells, 
Albion, from other climes disjoin'd, 
The prowess of the world excels ; 
She teems with heroes, that to glory rise, 
With more than human force in our astonish'd eyes. 

To virtue, driven from other lands, 

Their bosom yields a safe retreat ; 
Her law alone the deed commands ; 
Her smiles they feel divinely sweet. 
Confirm my record, Milton, generous youth ! 
And by true virtue prove thy virtue's praise a truth. 


Zeuxis, all energy and flame, 

Set ardent forth in his career ; 
Urged to his task by Helen's fame 
Resounding ever in his ear ; 
To make his image to her beauty true, [drew. 
From the collected fair each sovereign charm he 

The bee, with subtlest skill endued, 

Thus toils to earn her precious juice 
From all the flowery myriads strew'd 
O'er meadow and parterre, profuse ; 
Confederate voices one sweet air compound, 
And various chords consent in one harmonious 
sound. 
An artist of celestial aim, 

Thy genius, caught by moral grace, 
With ardent emulation's flame 
The steps of virtue toil'd to trace, 
Observed in every land who brightest shone, 
And, blending all their best, made perfect good 
thy own. 
From all, in Florence born, or taught 

Our country's sweetest accent there, 
Whose works, with learned labour wrought, 
Immortal honours justly share, 
Thou hast such treasure drawn of purest ore, 
That not even Tuscan bards can boast a richer store. 

Babel confused, and with her towers 

Unfinish'd spreading wide the plain, 
Has served but to evince thy powers 
With all her tongues confused in vain, 
Since not alone thy England's purest phrase 
But every polished realm thy various speech dis- 
plays. 
The secret things of heaven and earth 

By nature, too reserved, conceal'd 
From other minds of highest worth, 
To thee are copiously reveal'd ; 
Thou know'st them clearly, and thy views attain 
The utmost bounds prescribed to moral truths' 
domain. 
Let time no more his wing display, 

And boast his ruinous career, 
For virtue rescued from his sway 
His injuries may cease to fear ; 
Since all events, that claim remembrance, find 
A chronicle exact in thy capacious mind. 

Give me, that I may praise thy song, 

Thy lyre, by which alone I can, 
Which, placing thee the stars among, 
Already proves thee more than man ; 
And Thames shall seem Permessus, while his stream 
Graced with a swan like thee, shall be my favourite 
theme. 

I, who beside the Arno, strain 

To match thy merit with my lays, 
Learn, after many an effort vain, 

To admire thee rather than to praise, 
And that by mute astonishment alone, [be shown. 
Not by the faltering tongue, thy worth may best 


TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON. 

Begun September, 1791. Finished March, 1792. 


Cranslattons of tf)e ICattrt $onttf. 


ELEGIES. 


ELEGY I. 
TO CHARLES DEODATI. 


At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come, 

Charged with thy kindness, to their destined home; 

They come, at length, from Deva's western side, 

Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. 

Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst he, 

Though horn of foreign race, yet horn for me, 

And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam, 

Must seek again so soon his wonted home. 

I well content, where Thames with influent tide 

My native city laves, meantime reside, 

Nor zeal nor duty now my steps impel 

To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. 

Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I,' 

That, to the musing hard, all shade deny. 

'Tis time that I a pedant's threats disdain, 

And fly from wrongs my soul will ne'er sustain. 

If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent, 

Beneath my father's roof, he banishment, 

Then call me banish' d, I will ne'er refuse 

A name expressive of the lot I chuse. 

I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore, 

Rome's hapless bard had suffer'd nothing more ; 

He then had equal'd even Homer's lays, 

And Virgil ! thou hadst won but second praise. 

For here I woo the muse, with no control ; 

And here my books — my life — absorb me whole. 

Here too I visit, or to smile, or weep, 

The winding theatre's majestic sweep; 

The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits 

My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits ; 

Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir, 

Suitor, or soldier now unarm'd, be there ; 

Or some coif 'd brooder o'er a ten years' cau se, 

Thunder the Norman gibberish of the laws. 

The lacquey there oft dupes the wary sire, 

And artful speeds the enamour'd son's desire. 

There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove, 

What love is, know not, yet, unknowing, love. 

Or if impassion'd Tragedy wield high 

The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly 

Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye, 

I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief, 

At times, even bitter tears yield sweet relief : 

As when from bliss untasted torn away, 

Some youth dies, hapless on his bridal day, 

Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below, 

Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful woe, 


When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords, 

Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. 

Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, 

I dwell ; but when spring calls me forth to roam, 

Expatiate in our proud suburban shades 

Of branching elm, that never sun pervades. 

Here many a virgin troop I may descry, 

Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. 

Oh forms divine ! Oh looks that might inspire 

Even Jove himself, grown old, with young desire! 

Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes, 

Out-sparkling every star that gilds the skies, 

Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestow'd 

By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road ! 

Bright locks, Love's golden snare! these falling 

low, 
Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow ! 
Cheeks too, more winning sweet than after shower 
Adonis turn'd to Flora's favourite flower ! 
Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shared the em- 
brace 
Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place ! 
Give place, ye turban'd fair of Persia's coast ! 
And ye, not less renown' d, Assyria's boast ! 
Submit, ye nymphs of Greece ! ye, once the bloom 
Of I lion ! and all ye, of haughty Rome, 
Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains 
Redundant, and still live in classic strains ! 
To British damsels beauty's palm is due ; 
Aliens ! to follow them is fame for you. 
Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands, 
Whose towering front the circling realms com- 
mands, 
Too blest abode ! no loveliness we see 
In all the earth, but it abounds in thee. 
The virgin multitude that daily meets, 
Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets, 
Outnumbers all her train of starry fires, 
With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. 
Fame says, that wafted hither by her doves, 
With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, 
Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more, 
Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore. 
But lest the sightless boy inforce my stay, 
I leave these happy walls, while yet I may. 
Immortal Moly shall secure my heart 
From all the sorcery of Circsean art, 
And I will even repass Cam's reedy pools 
To face once more the warfare of the schools. 
Meantime accept this trifle ! rhymes though few, 
Yet such, as prove thy friend's remembrance true! 


172 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


ELEGY II. 

ON THE 

DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT 
CAMBREDGE. 

COMPOSED BY MILTON IN THE SEVENTEENTH YEAR 
OF HIS AGE. 


Thee, whose refulgent staff, and summons clear, 
Minerva's flock long time was wont to obey, 

Although thyself an herald, famous here, 

The last of heralds, Death, has snatch'd away. 

He calls on all alike, nor even deigns 

To spare the office that himself sustains. 

Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd 
By Leda's paramour in ancient time, 

But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay'd, 
Or iEson-like to know a second prime, 

Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won 

New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son. 

Commission'd to convene, with hasty call, 

The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou 

So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam's hall, [stand ! 
Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command ; 

And so Eurybates, when he address'd 

To Peleus' son, Atrides' proud behest. 

Dread queen of sepulchres ! whose rigorous laws 
And watchful eyes run through the realms below: 

Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva's cause, 
Too often to the muse not less a foe, 

Chuse meaner marks, and with more equal aim 

Pierce useless drones, earth's burthen and its 
shame ! 

Flow, therefore, tears for him, from every eye, 
All ye disciples of the Muses, weep ! 

Assembling, all, in robes of sable dye, 

Around his bier, lament his endless sleep ; 

And let complaining elegy rehearse, 

In every school, her sweetest, saddest verse. 


ELEGY III. 
ON THE 

DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 

COMPOSED IN THE AUTHOR'S SEVENTEENTH YEAR. 

Silent I sat, dejected, and alone, 

Making in thought the public woes my own, 

When, first, arose the image in my breast 

Of England's suffering by that scourge, the Pest ! 

How Death, his funeral torch and scythe in hand, 

Entering the lordliest mansions of the land, 

Has laid the gem-illumined palace low, 

And level'd tribes of nobles at a blow. 

I, next, deplored the famed paternal pair, 

Too soon to ashes turn'd, and empty air ! 

The heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies, 

All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs ; 

But thee far most I mourn 'd, regretted most, 

Winton's chief shepherd, and her worthiest boast ! 

Pour'd out in tears I thus complaining said : 

" Death, next in power to him who rules the dead ! 

Is't not enough that all the woodlands yield 

To thy fell force, and every verdant field, 


That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine, 
And even the Cyprian queen's own roses, pine ; 
That oaks themselves, although the running rill 
Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will ; 
That all the winged nations, even those 
Whose heaven-directed flight the future shows, 
And all the beasts, that in dark forests stray, 
And all the herds of Proteus are thy prey? 
Ah envious ! arm'd with powers so unconfined ! 
Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind ? 
Why take delight, with darts, that never roam, 
To chase a heaven-born spirit from her home ?" 

While thus I mourn' d, the star of evening stood, 
Now newly risen above the western flood, 
And Phoebus from his morning goal again 
Had reach'd the gulfs of the Iberian main. 
I wish'd repose, and on my couch reclined, 
Took early rest, to night and sleep resign'd : 
When— Oh for words to paint what I beheld ! 
I seem'd to wander in a spacious field, 
Where all the champaign glow'd with purple light 
Like that of sun-rise on the mountain height ; 
Flowers over all the field, of every hue 
That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew. 
Nor Chloris, with whom amorous zephyrs play, 
E'er dress'd Alcinous' garden half so gay. 
A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd 
O'er golden sands, but sands of purer gold ; 
With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flowers, 
With airs awaken'd under rosy bowers : 
Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'er 
The sun's abode on India's utmost shore. 

While I, that splendour and the mingled shade 
Of fruitful vines, with wonder fixt survey'd, 
At once, with looks that beam'd celestial grace, 
The seer of Winton stood before my face. 
His snowy vesture's hem descending low 
His. golden sandals swept ; and pure, as snow 
New-fallen, shone the mitre on his brow. 
Where'er he trod a tremulous sweet sound 
Of gladness shook the flowery scene around : 
Attendant angels clap their starry wings, 
The trumpet shakes the sky, all ether rings, 
Each chants his welcome, folds him to his breast, 
And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest : 
" Ascend, my son ! thy father's kingdom share ! 
My son ! henceforth be freed from every care ! " 

So spake the voice, and at its tender close 
With psaltry's sound the angelic band arose j 
Then night retired, and chased by dawning day 
The visionary bliss pass'd all away. 
I mourn'd my banish'd sleep, with fond concern J 
Frequent to me may dreams like this return ! 


ELEGY IV. 

TO HIS TUTOR, THOMAS YOUNG, 

CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT HAMBURGH. 

WRITTEN IN THE AUTHOR'S EIGHTEENTH YEAR. 

Hence, my epistle — skim the deep — fly o'er 
Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore ! 
Haste — lest a friend should grieve for thy delay, 
And the gods grant, that nothing thwart thy way ! 
I will myself invoke the king, who binds, 
In his Sicanian echoing vault, the winds, 
With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng 
Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


173 


But rather to ensure thy happier haste, 
Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou may'st ; 
Or that, whence young Triptolemus of yore 
Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore. 
The sands, that line the German coast, descried, 
To opulent Hamburga turn aside ! 
So call'd, if legendary fame be true, 
From Hama, whom a club-arm'd Cimbrian slew. 
There lives, deep-learn' d and primitively just, 
A faithful steward of his Christian trust, 
My friend, and favourite inmate of my heart, 
That now is forced to want its better part. 
What mountains now, and seas, alas, how wide ! 
From me this other, dearer self divide, 
Dear, as the sage renown'd for moral truth 
To the prime spirit of the Attic youth ! 
Dear, as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son, 
His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won ! 
Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine 
In young Achilles' eyes, as he in mine. 
First led by him through sweet Aonian shade, 
Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey' d ; 
And favour'd by the muse, whom I implored, 
Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd. 
But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd 
To Aries, has new-tinged his fleece with gold, 
And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows gay, 
And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away, 
Since last delighted on his looks I hung, 
Or my ear drank the music of his tongue : 
Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed ; 
Aware thyself, that there is urgent need ! 
Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see 
Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee ; 
Or turning, page by page, with studious look, 
Some bulky father, or God's holy book ; 
Or ministering (which is his weightiest care) 
To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare. 
Give him, whatever his employment be, 
Such gratulation, as he claims, from me ; 
And, with a downcast eye, and carriage meek, 
Addressing him, forget not thus to speak ! 

" If, compass'd round with arms thou canst 

attend 
To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend. 
Long due, and late, I left the English shore ; 
But make me welcome for that cause the more ! 
Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer, 
The slow epistle came, though late, sincere. 
But wherefore this \ why palliate I the deed, 
For which the culprit's self could hardly plead ? 
Self- charged, and self-condemn'd, his proper 

part 
He feels neglected, with an aching heart ; 
But thou forgive : delinquents, who confess, 
And pray forgiveness, merit anger less ; 
From timid foes the lion turns away, 
Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey ; 
Even pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare, 
Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer ; 
And heaven's dread thunderbolt arrested stands 
By a cheap victim, and uplifted hands. 
Long had he wish'd to write, but was withheld, 
And, writes at last, by love alone compell'd ; 
For fame, too often true when she alarms, 
Reports thy neighbouring fields a scene of arms ; 
Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd, 
And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepared. 
Enyo wastes thy country wide around, 
And saturates with blood the tainted ground ; 


Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more, 
But goads his steeds to fields of German gore : 
The ever verdant olive fades and dies, 
And Peace, the trumpet-hating goddess flies, 
Flies from that earth which justice long had left, 
And leaves the world of its last guard bereft. 

" Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime 
alone 
Thou dwell'st, and helpless in a soil unknown ; 
Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand 
The aid denied thee in thy native land. 
Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more 
Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore ! 
Lea vest thou to foreign care the worthies, given 
By Providence, to guide thy steps to heaven ? 
His ministers, commission' d to proclaim 
Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name ? 
Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed, 
In Stygian night to lie for ever dead ! 
So once the venerable Tishbite stray'd 
An exiled fugitive from shade to shade, 
When, flying Ahab, and his fury wife, 
In lone Arabian wilds, he shelter'd life ; 
So, from Philippi, wander'd forth forlorn 
Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn ; 
And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more 
The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shore. 

" But thou take courage ! strive against despair ! 
Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care ! 
Grim war indeed on every side appears, 
And thou art menaced by a thousand spears ; 
Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend 
Even the defenceless bosom of my friend. 
For thee the segis of thy God shall hide, 
Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side. 
The same, who vanquish'd under Sion's towers 
At silent midnight, all Assyria's powers ; 
The same, who overthrew in ages past 
Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste ! 
Their king he fill'd and them with fatal fears 
By mimic sounds of clarions in their ears, 
Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar, 
Of clashing armour, and the din of war. 

" Thou, therefore, (as the most afflicted may) 
Still hope, and triumph o'er thy evil day ! 
Look forth, expecting happier times to come, 
And to enjoy, once more, thy native home !" 


elegy v. 
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 

WRITTEN IN THE AUTHOR'S TWENTIETH YEAR. 


Time, never wandering from his annual round, 
Bids Zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the 

ground ; 
Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain, 
And earth assumes her transient youth again. 
Dream I, or also to the spring belong 
Increase of genius, and new powers of song ? 
Spring gives them, and, how strange soe'er it 
Impels me now to some harmonious themes, [seems, 
Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill 
By day, by night, my raptured fancy fill ; 
My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within 
A sacred sound that prompts me to begin. 
Lo, Phoebus comes ! with his bright hair he blends 
The radiant laurel wreath ; Phoebus descends ; 
I mount, and, undepress'd by cumberous clay, 
Through cloudy regions win my easy way ; 


174 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


Rapt, through poetic shadowy haunts I fly ; 
The shrines all open to my dauntless eye, 
My spirit searches all the realms of light, 
And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight. 
But this ecstatic trance — this glorious storm 
Of inspiration-— what will it perform ? 
Spring claims the verse, that with his influence 
And shall be paid with what himself bestows, [glows, 

Thou, veil'd with opening foliage, lead'st the 
Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel 1 in song ; [throng 
Let us, in concert, to the season sing, 
Civic and sylvan heralds of the Spring ! 

With notes triumphant Spring's approach de- 
To Spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear I [clare ! 
The orient left and ^Ethiopia's plains, 
The Sun now northward turns his golden reins ; 
Night creeps not now, yet rules with gentle sway, 
And drives her dusky horrors swift away ; 
Now less fatigued, on this ethereal plain 
Bootes follows his celestial wain ; 
And now the radiant sentinels above, 
Less numerous, watch around the courts of Jove, 
For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly, 
And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky. 
Now haply says some shepherd, while he views, 
Recumbent on a rock, the reddening dews, 
This night, this surely, Phoebus miss'd the fair, 
Who stops his chariot by her amorous care. 
Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow, 
Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow ; 
Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear, 
Blesses his aid, who shortens her career. 
Come — Phoebus cries — Aurora come — too late 
Thou linger'st, slumbering, with thy wither'd mate ! 
Leave him, and to Hymettus' top repair ! 
Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there. 
The goddess, with a blush, her love betrays, 
But mounts, and driving rapidly, obeys. 
Earth now desires thee, Phoebus ! and to engage 
Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age ; 
Desires thee, and deserves ; for who so sweet, 
When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat ? 
Her breath imparts to every breeze that blows, 
Arabia's harvest, and the Paphian rose. 
Her lofty front she diadems around 
With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd ; 
Her dewy locks with various flowers new-blown, 
She interweaves, various, and all her own, 
For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired, 
Taenarian Dis himself with love inspired. 
Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the nymph refuse ! 
Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs, sues ; 
Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing, 
And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. 
Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires 
The amorous Earth to engage thy warm desires, 
But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim, 
Divine Physician ! to that glorious name. 
If splendid recompense, if gifts can move 
Desire in thee, (gifts often purchase love) 
She offers all the wealth her mountains hide, 
And all that rests beneath the boundless tide. 
How oft, when headlong from the heavenly steep, 
She sees thee playing in the western deep, 
How oft she cries — " Ah Phoebus ! why repair 
Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there ? 
CanTethyswin thee ? wherefore shouldst thou lave 
A face so fair in her unpleasant wave ? 
Come, seek my green retreats, and rather chuse 
To cool thy tresses in my crystal dews, 


The grassy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest ; 
Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast, 
And breathing fresh, through many a humid rose, 
Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose ! 
No fears I feel like Semele to die ; 
Nor let thy burning wheels approach too nigh, 
For thou canst govern them ; here therefore rest, 
And lay thy evening glories on my breast !" [flame, 
Thus breathes the wanton Earth her amorous 
And all her countless offspring feel the same ; 
For Cupid now through every region strays, 
Brightening his faded fires with solar rays ; 
His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound, 
And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound ; 
Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried, 
Nor even Vesta at her altar-side ; 
His mother too repairs her beauty's wane, 
And seems sprung newly from the deep again. 
Exulting youths the Hymeneal sing, 
With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and vallies ring ; 
He, new-attired, and by the season drest, 
Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest. 
Now, many a golden-cinctured virgin roves 
To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves, 
All wish, and each alike, some favourite youth 
Hers, in the bonds of Hymeneal truth. 
Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again, 
Nor Phillis wants a song, that suits the strain ; 
With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere, 
And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear ; 
Jove feels himself the season, sports again 
With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. 
Now too the Satyrs, in the dusk of eve, 
Their mazy dance through flowery meadows weave, 
And neither god nor goat, but both in kind, 
Silvanus, wreathed with cypress, skips behind. 
The Dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells 
To roam the banks and solitary dells; 
Pan riots now, and from his amorous chafe 
Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe ; 
And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize, 
In chase of some enticing Oread flies ; 
She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound, 
And hidden lies, but wishes to be found. 
Our shades entice the Immortals from above, 
And some kind power presides o'er every grove ; 
And long, ye powers, o'er every grove preside, 
For all is safe and blest, where ye abide ! 
Return, Jove ! the age of gold restore — [roar ? 
Why chuse to dwell, were storms and thunder 
At least, thou, Phoebus ! moderate thy speed 1 
Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed, 
Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole 
Too soon to Night's encroaching long controul ! 


ELEGY VI. 

TO CHARLES DEODATI, 

Who, while he spent his Christmas in the country, sent 
the Author a poetical Epistle, in which he requested 
that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused 
on account of the many feasts to which his friends in- 
vited him, and which would not allow him leisure to 
finish them as he wished. 

With no rich viands overcharged, I send [friend ; 
Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd 
But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away 
From what she loves, from darkness into day ? 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


175 


Art thou desirous to be told how well 
I love thee, and in verse ? verse cannot tell, 
For verse has hounds, and must in measure move ; 
But neither hounds nor measure knows my love. 
How pleasant, in thy lines described, appear 
December's harmless sports, and rural cheer ! 
French spirits kindling with cerulean fires, 
And all such gambols as the time inspires ! 

Think not that wine against good|verse offends ; 
The muse and Bacchus have been always friends, 
Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found 
With ivy, rather than with laurel, crown'd. 
The nine themselves ofttimes have join'd the song 
And revels of the Bacchanalian throng ; 
Not even Ovid could in Scythian air 
Sing sweetly — why ? no vine would flourish there. 
What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's muse ? 
Wine, and the rose, that sparkling wine bedews. 
Pindar with Bacchus glows ; — his every line 
Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine, 
While, with loud crash o'erturn'd, the chariot lies 
And brown with dust the fiery courser flies. 
The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays 
So sweet in Glycera's and Chloe's praise. 
Now too the plenteous feast and mantling bowl 
Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul ; 
The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow, 
And casks not wine alone, but verse bestow. 
Thus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend, 
Whom Bacchus, and whom Ceres, both befriend : 
What wonder then, thy verses are so sweet, 
In which these triple powers so kindly meet ? 
The lute now also sounds, with gold in-wrought, 
And touch'd, with flying fingers, nicely taught, 
In tapestried halls high roof'd, the sprightly lyre 
Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. 
If dull repletion fright the muse away, 
Sights, gay as these, may more invite her stay : 
And, trust me, while the ivory keys resound, 
Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, 
Apollo's influence, like ethereal flame, 
Shall animate, at once, thy glowing frame, 
And all the muse shall rush into thy breast, 
By love and music's blended powers possest. 
For numerous powers light Elegy befriend, 
Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend ; 
Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, 
And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love. 
Hence to such bards we grant the copious use 
Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice. 
But they, who demi-gods and heroes praise, 
And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful days, 
Who now the counsels of high heaven explore, 
Now shades, that echo the Cerberean roar, 
Simply let these, like him of Samos, live, 
Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give ; 
In beechen goblets let their beverage shine, 
Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine ! 
Their youth should pass in innocence, secure 
From stain licentious, and in manners pure, 
Pure as the priest, when robed in white he stands, 
The fresh lustration ready in his hands. 
Thus Linus lived, and thus, as poets write, 
Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight ; 
Thus exiled Chalcas, thus the bard of Thrace, 
Melodious tamer of the savage race ; 
Thus train'd by temperance, Homer led, of yore, 
His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore, 
Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign, 
And shoals insidious with the siren train ; 


And through the realms where grizly spectres 
Whose tribes he fetter'd in a gory spell ; [dwell, 
For these are sacred bards, and, from above, 
Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove. 

Would'st thou, (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine 
Would'st thou be told my occupation here 1 [ear) 
The promised King of peace employs my pen, 
The eternal covenant made for guilty men, 
The new-born Deity with infant cries 
Filling the sordid hovel, where he lies : 
The hymning Angels, and the herald star, 
That led the wise, who sought him from afar, 
And idols on their own unhallow'd shore 
Dash'd, at his birth, to be revered no more ! 

This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse 
The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse ; 
Verse, that, reserved in secret, shall attend 
Thy candid voice, my critic, and my friend ! 


ELEGY VII. 
COMPOSED IN THE AUTHOR'S NINETEENTH YEAR. 

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires, 

That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires, 

Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts, 

And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts. 

"Go, child," I said, " transfix the timorous dove ! 

An easy conquest suits an infant love ; 

Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be 

Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee ! 

Why aim thy idle arms at human kind ? 

Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind." 

The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire, 
(None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire. 

It was the spring, and newly risen day 
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May ; 
My eyes too tender for the blaze of light, 
Still sought the shelter of retiring night, 
When Love approach'd, in painted plumes array 'd; 
The insidious god his rattling darts betray'd, 
Nor less his infant features, and the sly 
Sweet intimations of his threatening eye. 

Such the Sigean boy is seen above, 
Filling the goblet for imperial Jove ; 
Such he, on whom the nymphs bestow'd their 
Hylas, who perish'd in a Naiad's arms, [charms, 
Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire, 
And added threats, not destitute of fire. 
" My power," he said, " by others' pain alone, 
'Twere best to learn ; now learn it by thy own ! 
With those who feel my power that power attest, 
And in thy anguish be my sway contest ! 
I vanquished Phoebus, though returning vain 
From his new triumph o'er the Python slain, 
And when he thinks on Daphne, even he 
Will yield the prize of archery to me. 
A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped, 
Behind him kill'd, and conquer 1 d as he fled : 
Less true the expert Cydonian, and less true 
The youth whose shaft his latent Procris slew. 
Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend, 
By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend. 
At me should Jove himself a bolt design, 
His bosom first should bleed transfixt by mine. 
But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain, 
Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain, 
Thy muse, vain youth ! shall not thy peace ensure, 
Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure." 


176 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air, 
Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair. 

That thus a child should bluster in my ear, 
Provoked my laughter, more than moved my fear. 
I shunn'd not, therefore, public haunts, but stray'd 
Careless in city or suburban shade, 
And passing, and repassing, nymphs, that moved 
With grace divine, beheld where'er I roved. 
Bright shone the vernal day, with double blaze, 
As beauty gave new force to Phoebus' rays. 
By no grave scruples check'd, I freely eyed 
The dangerous show, rash youth my only guide, 
And many a look of many a fair unknown 
Met full, unable to controul my own. 
But one I mark'd (then peace forsook my breast) 
One — oh how far superior to the rest ! 
What lovely features ! such the Cyprian queen 
Herself might wish, and Juno wish her mien. 
The very nymph was she, whom when I dared 
His arrows, Love had even then prepared ; 
Nor was himself remote, nor unsupplied 
With torch well-trimm'd and quiver at his side ; 
Now to her lips he clung, her eye-lids now, 
Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow ; 
And with a thousand wounds from every part 
Pierced, and transpierced, my undefended heart. 
A fever, new to me, of fierce desire 
Now seized my soul, and I was all on fire, 
But she, the while, whom only I adore, 
Was gone, and vanish'd, to appear no more. 
In silent sadness I pursue my way ; 
I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay, 
And while I follow her in thought, bemoan 
With tears, my soul's delight so quickly flown. 
When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lemnian coast, 
So Vulcan sorrow' d for Olympus lost, 
And so Oeclides, sinking into night, 
From the deep gulf look'd up to distant light. 

Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain, 
Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain % 
Oh could I once, once more behold the fair, 
Speak to her, tell her, of the pangs I bear, 
Perhaps she is not adamant, would show 
Perhaps some pity at my tale of woe. 
Oh inauspicious flame ! — 'tis mine to prove 
A matchless instance of disastrous love. 
Ah spare me, gentle power ! — If such thou be, 
Let not thy deeds and nature disagree ; 
Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine 
With vow and sacrifice, save only thine. 
Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts, 
Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts. 
Remove ! no — grant me still this raging woe ! 
Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know : 
But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see 
One destined mine) at once both her and me. 

Such were the trophies, that, in earlier days, 
By vanity seduced, I toil'd to raise, 
Studious, yet indolent, and urged by youth, 
That worst of teachers ! from the ways of truth ; 
Till learning taught me, in his shady bower, 
To quit love's servile yoke, and spurn his power. 
Then, on a sudden, the fierce flame supprest, 
A frost continual settled on my breast, 
Whence Cupid fears his flames extinct to see, 
And Venus dreads a Diomede in me. 


EPIGRAMS. 


ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS, i 


Praise in old times the sage Prometheus won, 
Who stole eethereal radiance from the sun ; 
But greater he, whose bold invention strove 
To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. 


TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME. 2 


Another Leonora once inspired 

Tasso, with fatal love to frenzy fired ; 

But how much happier, lived he now, were he, 

Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee ! 

Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine, 

With Adriana's lute of sound divine, 

Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll, 

Or idiot apathy benumb his soul, 

You still, with medicinal sounds might cheer 

His senses wandering in a blind career ; 

And sweetly breathing through his wounded breast, 

Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest. 


TO THE SAME. 


Naples, too credulous, ah ! boast no more 
The sweet-voiced Siren buried on thy shore, 
That, when Parthenope deceased, she gave 
Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic grave, 
For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse 
Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course, 
Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains, 
Of magic song, both gods and men detains. 


THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD. 

A FABLE. 

A peasant to his lord paid yearly court, 
Presenting pippins, of so rich a sort 
That he, displeased to have a part alone, 
Removed the tree, that all might be his own. 
The tree, too old to travel, though before 
So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more. 
The 'squire, perceiving all his labour void, 
Cursed his own pains, so foolishly employ'd. 
And " Oh," he cried, " that I had lived content 
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant ! 
My avarice has expensive proved to me, 
Has cost me both my pippins, and my tree." 

1 The Poems on the subject of the Gunpowder Treason 
I have not translated, both because the matter of them is 
unpleasant, and because they are written with an aspe- 
rity, which, however it might be warranted in Milton's 
day, would be extremely unseasonable now. C. 

2 I have translated only two of the three poetical com- 
pliments addressed to Leonora, as they appear to me far 
superior to what I have omitted. C. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


177 


TO CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, 

WITH CROMWELL'S PICTURE. 

Christina, maiden of heroic mien ! 

Star of the North ! of northern stars the queen ! 

Behold what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how 

The iron casque still chafes my veteran brow, 

While following fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil 

The dictates of a hardy people's will. 

But soften'd, in thy sight, my looks appear, 

Not to all queens or kings alike severe. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR, 

A PHYSICIAN. 


Learn, ye nations of theearth, 
The condition of your birth ; 
Now be taught your feeble state ; 
Know, that all must yield to fate ! 

If the mournful rover, Death, 

Say but once — " Resign your breath ! ' 

Vainly of escape you dream, 

You must pass the Stygian stream. 

Could the stoutest overcome 
Death's assault, and baffle doom, 
Hercules had both withstood, 
Undiseased by Nessus' blood. 

Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain 
By a trick of Pallas slain, 
Nor the chief to Jove allied 
By Achilles' phantom died. 

Could enchantments life prolong, 
Circe, saved by magic song, 
Still had lived, and equal skill 
Had preserved Medea still. 

Dwelt in herbs, and drugs, a power 
To avert man's destined hour, 
Learn'd Machaon should have known 
Doubtless to avert his own. 

Chiron had survived the smart 
Of the Hydra-tainted dart, 
And Jove's bolt had been, with ease, 
Foil'd by Asclepiades. 

Thou too, sage ! of whonV forlorn 
Helicon and Cirrha mourn, 
Still hadst fill'd thy princely place, 
Regent of the gowned race ; 

Hadst advanced to higher fame 
Still, thy much-ennobled name, 
Nor in Charon's skiff explored 
The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd. 

But resentful Proserpine, 
Jealous of thy skill divine, 
Snapping short thy vital thread, 
Thee too number'd with the dead. 


Wise and good ! untroubled be 
The green turf, that covers thee ! 
Thence, in gay profusion, grow 
All the sweetest flowers that blow ! 
Pluto's consort bid thee rest ! 
yEacus pronounce thee blest, 
To her home thy shade consign, 
Make Elysium ever thine ! 


ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF ELY. 

WRITTEN IN THE AUTHOR'S SEVENTEENTH YEAR. 

My lids with grief were tumid yet, 

And still my sullied cheek was wet 

With briny tears, profusely shed 

For venerable Winton dead ; 

When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound, 

Alas ! are ever truest found, 

The news through all our cities spread 

Of yet another mitred head 

By ruthless fate to death consign'd, 

Ely, the honour of his kind ! 

At once a storm of passion heaved 
My boiling bosom ; much I grieved, 
But more I raged, at every breath 
Devoting Death himself to death. 
With less revenge did Naso teem, 
When hated Ibis was his theme ; 
With less, Archilochus, denied 
The lovely Greek, his promised bride. 
But lo ! while thus I execrate, 
Incensed, the minister of fate, 
Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear, 
Wafted on the gale I hear. 

" Ah, much deluded ! lay aside 
Thy threats, and anger misapplied ! 
Art not afraid with sounds like these 
To offend, where thou canst not appease ? 
Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus ?) 
The son of Night and Erebus ; 
Nor was of fell Erinnys born 
On gulfs where Chaos rules forlorn : 
But, sent from God, his presence leaves, 
To gather home his ripen'd sheaves, 
To call encumber'd souls away 
From fleshly bonds to boundless day, 
(As when the winged hours excite, 
And summon forth the morning-light) 
And each to convoy to her place 
Before the Eternal Father's face. 
But not the wicked : — them, severe 
Yet just, from all their pleasures here 
He hurries to the realms below, 
Terrific realms of penal woe ! 
Myself no sooner heard his call, 
Than, 'scaping through my prison-wall, 
I bade adieu to bolts and bars, 
And soar'd, with angels, to the stars, 
Like him of old, to whom 'twas given 
To mount, on fiery wheels, to heaven. 
Bootes' waggon, slow with cold, 
Appall'd me not ; nor to behold 
The sword, that vast Orion draws, 
Or even the Scorpion's horrid claws. 
Beyond the Sun's bright orb I fly, 
And, far beneath my feet, descry 
Night's dread goddess, seen with awe, 
Whom her winged dragons draw. 


178 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


Thus, ever wondering at ray speed, 

Augmented still as I proceed, 

I pass the planetary sphere, 

The Milky Way — and now appear 

Heaven's crystal battlements, her door 

Of massy pearl, and emerald floor. 

But here I cease. For never can 
The tongue of once a mortal man 
In suitable description trace 
The pleasures of that happy place ; 
Suffice it, that those joys divine 
Are all, and all for ever, mine ! " 


NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME. 

Ah, how the human mind wearies herself 

With her own wandei'ings, and, involved in gloom 

Impenetrable, speculates amiss ! 

Measuring, in her folly, things divine 

By human ; laws inscribed on adamant 

By laws of man's device, and counsels fixt 

For ever, by the hours that pass and die. 

How ? — shall the face of nature then be plough'd 
Into deep Avrinkles, and shall years at last 
On the great parent fix a sterile curse ? 
Shall even she confess old age, and halt, 
And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows ? 
Shall foul antiquity with rust and drought, 
And famine, vex the radiant worlds above ? 
Shall time's unsated maw crave and ingulf 
The very heavens, that regulate his flight ? 
And was the Sire of all able to fence 
His works, and to uphold the circling worlds, 
But, through improvident and heedless haste, 
Let slip the occasion ? — so then — all is lost — 
And in some future evil hour, yon arch 
Shall crumble and come thundering down, the poles 
Jar in collision, the Olympian king- 
Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth 
The terrors of the Gorgon shield in vain, 
Shall rush to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl'd 
Down into Lemnos, through the gate of heaven. 
Thou also, with precipitated wheels, 
Phoebus ! thy own son's fall shalt imitate, 
With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep 
Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss, 
At the extinction of the lamp of day. 
Then too shall Haemus, cloven to his base, 
Be shatter' d, and the huge Ceraunian hills, 
Once weapons of Tartarean Dis, immersed 
In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. 

No. The Almighty Father surer laid 
His deep foundations, and providing well 
For the event of all, the scales of fate 
Suspended in just equipoise, and bade 
His universal works, from age to age, 
One tenour hold, perpetual, undisturb'd. 

Hence the prime mover wheels itself about 
Continual, day by day, and with it bears 
In social measure swift the heavens around. 
Not tardier now is Saturn than of old, 
Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars. 
Phcebus, his vigour unimpair'd, still shows 
The effulgence of his youth, nor needs the god 
A downward course, that he may warm the vales ; 
But ever rich in influence, runs his road, 
Sign after sign, through all the heavenly zone. 
Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star 


From odoriferous Ind, whose office is 

To gather home betimes the ethereal flock, 

To pour them o'er the skies again at eve, 

And to discriminate the night and day. 

Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes, and wanes, 

Alternate, and with arms extended still, 

She welcomes to her breast her brother's beams. 

Nor have the elements deserted yet 

Their functions : thunder, with as loud a stroke 

As erst, smites through the rocks, and scatters 

them. 
The east still howls, still the relentless north 
Invades the shuddering Scythian, still he breathes 
The winter, and still rolls the storms along. 
The king of ocean, with his wonted force, 
Beats on Pelorus ; o'er the deep is heard 
The hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell ; 
Nor swim the monsters of the iEgean sea 
In shallows, or beneath diminish'd waves. 
Thou too, thy ancient vegetative power 
Enjoy 'st, O Earth ! Narcissus still is sweet, 
And, Phcebus ! still thy favourite, and still 
Thy favourite, Cytherea ! both retain 
Their beauty ; nor the mountains, ore-enrich'd 
For punishment of man, with purer gold 
Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the deep. 

Thus, in unbroken series, all proceeds ; 
And shall, till wide involving either pole, 
And the immensity of yonder heaven, 
The final flames of destiny absorb 
The world, consumed in one enormous pyre ! 


ON THE PLATONIC IDEA, 

AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLE. 

Ye sister powers, who o'er the sacred groves 
Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all, 
Mnemosyne ! and thou, who in thy grot 
Immense, reclined at leisure, hast in charge 
The archives, and the ordinances of Jove, 
And dost record the festivals of heaven, 
Eternity ! — inform us who is He, 
That great original by nature chosen 
To be the archetype of human kind, 
Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles 
Themselves coeval, one, yet everywhere, 
An image of the god who gave him being ? 
Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove, 
He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though 
Of common nature with ourselves, exists 
Apart, and occupies a local home. 
Whether, companion of the stars, he spend 
Eternal ages, roaming at his will [dwell 

From sphere to sphere the tenfold heavens ; or 
On the moon's side that nearest neighbours earth ; 
Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit 
Among the multitude of souls ordain'd 
To flesh and blood, or whether (as may chance) 
That vast and giant model of our kind 
In some far distant region of this globe 
Sequester'd stalk, with lifted head on high 
O'ertowering Atlas, on whose shoulders rest 
The stars, terrific even to the gods. 
Never the Theban seer, whose blindness proved 
His best illumination, him beheld 
In secret vision ; never him the son 
Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night 
Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd ; 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


17S> 


Him never knew the Assyrian priest, who yet 

The ancestry of Ninus chronicles, 

And Belus, and Osiris far-renown'd ; 

Nor eyen thrice great Hermes, although skill'd 

So deep in mystery, to the worshipers 

Of Isis show'd a prodigy like him. 

And thou, who hast immortalized the shades 
Of Academus, if the schools received 
This monster of the fancy first from thee, 
Either recal at once the banish'd hards 
To thy republic, or thyself evinced 
A wilder fabulist, go also forth. 


TO HIS FATHER. 

Oh that Pieria's spring would through my breast 

Pour its inspiring influence, and rush 

No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood ! 

That, for my venerable Father's sake 

All meaner themes renounced, my muse, on wings 

Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain. 

For thee, my Father ! howsoe'er it please, 

She frames this slender work, nor know I aught 

That may thy gifts more suitably requite ; 

Though to requite them suitably would ask 

Returns much nobler, and surpassing far 

The meagre stores of verbal gratitude : 

But, such as I possess, I send thee all. 

This page presents thee in their full amount 

With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought ~, 

Nought, save the riches that from airy dream 

In secret grottos, and in laurel bowers, 

I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquired. 

Verse is a work divine ; despise not thou 
Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) 
Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still 
Some scintillations of Promethean fire, 
Bespeaks him animated from above. 
The gods love verse ; the infernal powers them- 
Confess the influence of verse, which stirs [selves 
The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains 
Of adamant both Pluto and the Shades. 
In verse the Delphic priestess, and the pale 
Tremulous Sibyl, make the future known, 
And he who sacrifices, on the shrine [bull, 

Hangs verse, both when he smites the threatening 
And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide 
To scrutinize the fates envelop 'd there. 
We too, ourselves, what time we seek again 
Our native sides, and one eternal now 
Shall be the only measure of our being, 
Crown'd all with gold, and chanting to the lyre 
Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above, 
And make the starry firmament resound. 
And, even now, the fiery spirit pure 
That wheels yon circling orbs, directs, himself, 
Their mazy dance with melody of verse 
Unutterable, immortal, hearing which 
Huge Ophiuchus holds his hiss suppress'd, 
Orion soften'd, drops his ardent blade, 
And Atlas stands unconscious of his load. 
Verse graced of old the feasts of kings, ere yet 
Luxurious dainties, destined to the gulf 
Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere 
Lyseus deluged yet the temperate board. 
Then sat the bard, a customary guest 
To share the banquet, and his length of locks 
Wth beechen honours bound, proposed in verse 


The characters of heroes and their deeds 

To imitation, sang of Chaos old, 

Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search 

Of acorns fallen, and of the thunder-bolt 

Not yet produced from Etna's fiery cave. 

And what avails, at last, tune without voice, 

Devoid of matter ? Such may suit perhaps 

The rural dance, but such was ne'er the song 

Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood still to hear, 

And the oaks follow'd. Not by chords alone 

Well touch'd, but by resistless accents more, 

To sympathetic tears, the ghosts themselves 

He moved : these praises to his verse he owes. 

Nor thou persist, I pray thee, still to slight 
The sacred nine, and to imagine vain 
And useless, powers, by whom inspired, thyself 
Art skilful to associate verse with airs 
Harmonious, and to give the human voice 
A thousand modulations, heir by right 
Indisputable of Arion's fame. 
Now say, what wonder is it, if a son 
Of thine delight in verse, if so conjoin'd 
In close affinity, we sympathize 
In social arts, and kindred studies sweet ? 
Such distribution of himself to us 
Was Phoebus' choice ; thou hast thy gift, and 1 
Mine also, and between us we receive, 
Father and son, the whole inspiring god. 

No ! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume 
Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle muse, 
My Father ! for thou never badest me tread 
The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on 
To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son 
To the insipid clamours of the bar, 
To laws voluminous, and ill observed ; 
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill 
My mind with treasure, led'st me far away 
From city din to deep retreats, to banks 
And streams Aonian, and, with free consent, 
Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. 
I speak not now, on more important themes 
Intent, of common benefits, and such 
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, 
My Father ! who, when I had open'd once 
The stores of Roman rhetoric, and learn'd 
The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks, 
Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove, 
Thyself didst counsel me to add the flowers 
That Gallia boasts ; those too with which the smooth 
Italian his degenerate speech adorns, 
That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; 
And Palestine's prophetic songs divine. 
To sum the whole, whate'er the heaven contains, 
The earth beneath it, and the air between, 
The rivers and the restless deep, may all 
Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish 
Concurring with thy will ; science herself, 
All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head, 
And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart, 
I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. 

Go now and gather dross, ye sordid minds, 
That covet it ; what could my Father more ? 
What more could Jove himself, unless he gave 
His own abode, the heaven in which he reigns ? 
More eligible gifts than these were not 
Apollo's to his son, had they been safe, 
As they were insecure, who made the boy 
The world's vice- luminary, bade him rule 
The radiant chariot of the day, and bind 
To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath. 


180 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


I therefore, although last and least, my place 
Among the learned in the laurel grove 
Will hold, and where the conqueror's ivy twines, 
Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng 
Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 
Away then, sleepless care, complaint away, 
And, envy, with thy " jealous leer malign!" 
Nor let the monster calumny shoot forth 
Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes ! 
Ye all are impotent against my peace, 
For I am privileged, and bear my breast 
Safe, and too high for your viperean wound. 

But thou, my Father ! since to render thanks 
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds 
Thy liberality, exceeds my power, 
Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, 
And bear them treasured in a grateful mind ! 
Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth, 
My voluntary numbers, if ye dare 
To hope longevity, and to survive 
Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd 
In the oblivious Lethsean gulf, 
Shall to futurity perhaps convey 
This theme, and by these praises of my sire 
Improve the Fathers of a distant age ! 


TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, 

MUCH INDISPOSED. 

The original is written in a measure called Scazon, 
which signifies limping, and the measure is so deno- 
minated, because, though in other respects Iambic, it 
terminates with a Spondee, and has consequently a more 
tardy movement. 

The reader will immediately see that this property of 
the Latin verse cannot be imitated in English. 

My halting Muse, that dragg'st by choice along 

Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song, 

And likest that pace, expressive of thy cares, 

Not less than Diopeia's sprightlier airs, 

When, in the dance, she beats, with measured tread, 

Heaven's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed ; 

Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine 

Prefers, with partial love, such lays as mine. 

Thus writes that Milton then, who wafted o'er 

From his own nest, on Albion's stormy shorey 

Where Eurus, fiercest of the ^Eolian band, 

Sweeps, with ungovern'd rage, the blasted land, 

Of late to more serene Ausonia came 

To view her cities of illustrious name, 

To prove, himself a witness of the truth, 

How wise her elders, and how learn'd her youth. 

Much good, Salsillus ! and a body free 

From all disease, that Milton asks for thee, 

Who now endurest the languor, and the pains, 

That bile inflicts, diffused through all thy veins, 

Relentless malady ! not moved to spare 

By thy sweet Roman voice, and Lesbian air ! 

Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies, 
And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies, 
Pythius, or Psean, or what name divine 
Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine ! ] 
Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills, that melt 
With vinous dews, where meek Evander dwelt, 
If aught salubrious in your confines grow, 
Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's woe, 
That, render'd to the Muse he loves, again 
He may enchant the meadows with his strain. ■ . 


Numa, reclined in everlasting ease, 

Amid the shade of dark embowering trees, 

Viewing with eyes of unabated fire 

His loved iEgeria, shall that strain admire : 

So soothed, the tumid Tiber shall revere 

The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year, 

Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein, 

And guide them harmless, till they meet the main. 


TO GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, 

MARQUIS OF VILLA. 

MILTON'S ACCOUNT OF MANSO. 
Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian 
nobleman of the highest estimation among his country- 
men, for genius, literature, and military accomplishments. 
To him Torquato Tasso addressed his Dialogues on Friend- 
ship, for he was much the friend of Tasso, who has also 
celebrated him among the other princes of his country, 
in his poem entitled Gerusalemme Conquistata, book xx. 
Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortesi, 
Risplende il Manso. 
During the author's stay at Naples, he received at the 
hands of the Marquis a thousand kind offices and civi- 
lities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, sent him 
this poem a short time before his departure from that city. 

These verses also to thy praise the nine, 

Oh Manso ! happy in that theme design, 

For Gallus, and Maecenas gone, they see 

None such besides, or whom they love as thee ; 

And if my verse may give the meed of fame, 

Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. 

Already such, it shines in Tasso's page, 

(For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age, 

And, next, the Muse consign' d (not unaware 

How high the charge) Marino to thy care, 

Who, singing, to the nymphs, Adonis' praise, 

Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. 

To thee alone the poet would entrust 

His latest vows, to thee alone his dust ; 

And thou with punctual piety hast paid, 

In labour'd brass, thy tribute to his shade. 

Nor this contented thee, — but lest the grave 

Should aught absorb of theirs, which thou couldst 

All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach [save, 

The life, lot, genius, character of each, 

Eloquent as the Carian sage, who true 

To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. 

I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come 
Chill'd by rude blasts, that freeze my northern home, 
Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim, 
And thine, for Phcebus' sake, a deathless name. 
Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye 
A muse scarce rear'd beneath our sullen sky, 
Who feai's not, indiscreet as she is young, 
To seek in Latium hearers of her song. 
We too, where Thames with his unsullied waves 
The tresses of the blue-hair'd Ocean laves, 
Hear oft by night, or slumbering seem to hear, 
O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling 
And we could boast a Tityrus of yore, [clear, 

Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. 

Yes, dreary as we own our northern clime, 
Even we to Phoebus raise the polish'd rhyme. 
We too serve Phoebus ; Phoebus has received 
(If legends old may claim to be believed) 
No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear, 
The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year, 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


181 


The fragrant crocus, and to grace his fane, 
Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train ; 
Druids, our native hards in ancient time, 
Who gods and heroes praised in hallow'd rhyme. 
Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround 
Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound, 
They name the virgins, who arrived of yore, 
With British offerings, on the Delian shore ; 
Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung, 
Upis, on whose hlest lips the future hung, 
And Hecaerge, with the golden hair, [bare. 

All deck'd Avith Pictish hues, and all with bosoms 

Thou, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime 
Shall ring with Tasso's praise in after-time, 
Or with Marino's, shalt be known their friend, 
And with an equal flight to fame ascend. 
The world shall hear how Phoebus and the nine 
Wei'e inmates once, and willing guests of thine. 
Yet Phoebus, when of old constrain'd to roam 
The earth, an exile from his heavenly home, 
Enter'd, no willing guest, Admetus' door, 
Though Hercules had ventured there before. 
But gentle Chiron's cave was near, a scene 
Of rural peace, clothed with perpetual green, 
And thither, oft as respite he required 
From rustic clamours loud, the god retired. 
There, many a time, on Peneus' bank reclined 
At some oak's root, with ivy thick entwined, 
Won by his hospitable friend's desire, 
He soothed his pains of exile with the lyre. 
Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore, 
Nor Oeta felt his load of forests more ; 
The upland elms descended to the plain, 
And soften'd lynxes wonder'd at the strain. 
Well may we think, dear to all above ! 
Thy birth distinguish'd by the smile of Jove, 
And that Apollo shed his kindliest power, 
And Maia's son, on that propitious hour, 
Since only minds so born can comprehend 
A poet's worth, or yield that worth a friend. 
Hence, on thy yet unfaded cheek appears 
The lingering freshness of thy greener years ; 
Hence, in thy front and features we admire 
Nature unwither'd and a mind entire. 
Oh might so true a friend to me belong, 
So skill'd to grace the votaries of song, 
Should I recal hereafter into rhyme 
The kings and heroes of my native clime, 
Arthur, the chief, who even now prepares, 
In subterraneous being, future wars, 
With all his martial knights, to be restored, 
Each to his seat around the federal board, 
And oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse 
Our Saxon plunderers, in triumphant verse ! 
Then, after all, when, with the past content, 
A life I finish, not in silence spent, 
Should he, kind mourner, o'er my death-bed bend, 
I shall but need to say — K Be yet my friend !" 
He, too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe 
To honour me, and with the graceful wreath 
Or of Parnassus, or the Paphian isle, 
Shall bind my brows, — but I shall rest the while. 
Then also, if the fruits of faith endure, 
And virtue's promised recompense be sure, 
Borne to those seats, to which the blest aspire 
By purity of soul, and virtuous fire,. 
These rites, as fate permits, I shall survey 
With eyes illumined by celestial day, 
And, every cloud from my pure spirit driven, 
Joy in the bright beatitude of heaven ! 


ON THE DEATH OF DAMON. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Thyrsis and Damon, shepherds and neighbours, had 
always pursued the same studies, and had, from their 
earliest days, heen united in the closest friendship. 
Thyrsis, while traveling for improvement, received in- 
telligence of the death of Damon, and, after a time, 
returning and finding it true, deplores himself, and his 
solitary condition, in this poem. 

By Damon is to he understood Charles Deodati, con- 
nected with the Italian city of Lucca by his father's side, 
in other respects an Englishman ; a youth of uncommon 
genius, erudition, and virtue. 

Ye nymphs of Himera, (for ye have shed 
Erewhile for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead, 
And over Bion's long-lamented bier, 
The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear) 
Now through the villas laved by Thames, rehearse 
The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse, - [found 
What sighs he heaved, and how with groans pro- 
He made the woods, and hollow rocks resound, 
Young Damon dead ; nor even ceased to pour 
His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour. 

The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear, 
And golden harvest twice enrich'd the year, 
Since Damon's lips had gasp'd for vital air 
The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there ; 
For he, enamour'd of the Muse, remain'd 
In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain'd, 
But, stored at length with all he wish'd to learn, 
For his flock's sake now hasted to return ; 
And when the shepherd had resumed his seat 
At the elm's root, within his old retreat, 
Then 'twas his lot, then, all his loss to know, [woe. 
And, from his burden'd heart, he vented thus his 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
Alas ! what deities shall I suppose 
In heaven, or earth, concern'd for human woes, 
Since, oh my Damon ! their severe decree 
So soon condemns me to regret of thee ! 
Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid 
With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade ? 
Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls 
And separates sordid from illustrious souls, 
Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign 
A happier lot, with' spirits worthy thine ! 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
Whate'er befal, unless by cruel chance 
The wolf first give me a forbidding glance, 
Thou shalt not moulder undeplored, but long 
Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue ; 
To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay, 
And, after him, to thee the votive lay, 
While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love, 
Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove, 
At least, if ancient piety and truth, 
With all the learned labours of thy youth, 
May serve thee aught, or to have left behind 
A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind. 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
Yes, Damon ! such thy sure reward shall be ; 
But ah, what doom aAvaits unhappy me % 
Who now my pains and perils shall divide, 
As thou wast wont, for ever at my side, 
Both when the rugged frost annoy'd our feet, 
And when the herbage all was parch'd with heat; I 


182 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


Whether the grim wolfs ravage to prevent, 
Or the huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went ? 
Whose converse, now, shall calm my stormy day, 
With charming song, who now beguile my way? 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
In whom shall I confide ? whose counsel find 
A balmy medicine for my troubled mind ? 
Or whose discourse, with innocent delight, 
Shall fill me now, and cheat the wintry night, 
While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear, 
And blackening chesnuts start and crackle there, 
While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm, 
And the wind thunders through the neighbouring- 
elm? 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, 
And Pan sleeps hidden by the sheltering beech, 
When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge, 
And the stretch'd rustic snores beneath the hedge, 
Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein 
Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again? 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares than those of feeding you. [are due 
Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown 
With tangled boughs, I wander now alone, 
Till night descend, while blustering wind and shower 
Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bower. 

<e Go, seek your home, my lambs : my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
Alas ! what rampant weeds now shame my fields, 
And what a mildew'd crop the furrow yields ! 
My rambling vines, unwedded to the trees, 
Bear shrivel'd grapes, my myrtles fail to please, 
Nor please me more my flocks ; they, slighted, turn 
Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn. 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
iEgon invites me to the hazel grove, 
Amyntas, on the river's bank to rove, 
And young Alphesibceus to a seat 
Where branching elms exclude the mid-day heat. 
' Here fountains spring, — here mossy hillocks rise ; 
Here Zephyr whispers, and the stream replies.' 
Thus each persuades, but, deaf to every call, 
I gain the thickets, and escape them all. 

" Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts 
To other cares, than those of feeding you. [are due 
Then Mopsus said, (the same who reads so well 
The voice of birds, and what the stars foretel, 
For he by chance had noticed my return) 
' What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern? 
Ah Thyrsis ! thou art either crazed with love, 
Or some sinister influence from above ; 
Dull Saturn's influence oft the shepherds rue ; 
His leaden shaft oblique has pierced thee through.' 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are, 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
The nymphs amazed, my melancholy see, 
And ( Thyrsis !' cry, ' what will become of thee? 
What wouldst thou, Thyrsis ? such should notappear 
The brow of youth, stern, gloomy, and severe ; 
Brisk youth should laugh, and love, — ah shun the 

fate 
Of those twice wretched mopes ! who love too late ! ' 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are, 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
/Egle with Hyas came to soothe my pain, 
And Baucis' daughter, Dryope the vain, 


Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat 
Known far and near, and for her self-conceit ; 
Chloris too came, whose cottage on the lands, 
That skirt the Idumanian current, stands ; 
But all in vain they came, and but to see 
Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me. 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are, 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Ah blest indifference of the playful herd, 
None by his fellow chosen, or preferr'd ! 
No bonds of amity the flocks enthral, 
But each associates, and is pleased with all ; 
So graze the dappled deer in numerous droves, 
And all his kind alike the zebra loves ; 
The same law governs where the billows roar, 
And Proteus' shoals o'erspread the desert shore ; 
The sparrow, meanest of the feather'd race, 
His fit companion finds in every place, 
With whom he picks the grain that suits him best, 
Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest, 
And whom if chance the falcon make his prey, 
Or hedger with his well-aim'd arrow slay, 
For no such loss the gay survivor grieves ; 
New love he seeks, and new delight receives. 
We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice, 
Scorning all others, in a single choice. 
We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind, 
And if the long-sought good at last we find, 
When least we fear it, death our treasure steals, 
And gives our heart a wound, that nothing heals. 

" Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Ah, what delusion lured me from my flocks, 
To traverse Alpine snows and rugged rocks ! 
What need so great had I to visit Rome, 
Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb ? 
Or had she flourish'd still as when, of old, 
For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold, 
What need so great had I to incur a pause 
Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause, 
For such a cause to place the roaring sea, [me ? 
Rocks, mountains, woods, between my friend and 
Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, composed 
Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eyelids closed, 
And, at the last, had said — l Farewell, — ascend,— 
Nor even in the skies forget thy friend ! ' 

" Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Although well pleased, ye tuneful Tuscan swains ! 
My mind the memory of your worth retains, 
Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn 
My Damon lost ; — he too was Tuscan born, 
Born in your Lucca, city of renown ! 
And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own. 
Oh how elate was I, when stretch'd beside 
The murmuring course of Arno's breezy tide, 
Beneath the poplar grove I pass'd my hours, 
Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flowers, 
And hearing, as I lay at ease along, 
Your swains contending for the prize of song ! 
I also dared attempt, (and, as it seems, 
Not much displeased attempting) various themes, 
For even I can presents boast from you, 
The shepherd's pipe, and osier basket too, 
And Dati, and Francini, both have made 
My name familiar to the beechen shade, 
And they are learn'd, and each in every place 
Renown'd for song, and both of Lydian race. 

" Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


183 


While bright the dewy grass with moon-beanis 

shone, 
And I stood hurdling in my kids alone, 
How often have I said, (but thou hadst found 
Ere then thy dark cold lodgment under ground) 
Nov/ Damon sings, or springes sets for hares, 
Or wicker-work for various use prepares I 
How oft, indulging fancy, have I plann'd 
New scenes of pleasure, that I hoped at hand, 
CalPd thee abroad as I was wont, and cried, 
What hoa ! my friend, — come lay thy task aside, 
Haste, let us forth together, and beguile 
The heat beneath yon whispering shades awhile, 
Or on the margin stray of Colne's clear flood, 
Or where Cassibelan's grey turrets stood ! 
There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach 
Thy friend the name and healing powers of each, 
From the tall blue-bell to the dwarfish weed, 
What the dry land and what the marshes breed, 
For all their kinds alike to thee are known, 
And the whole art of Galen is thy own. 
Ah, perish Galen's art, and wither'd be 
The useless herbs that gave not health to thee ! 
Twelve evenings since, as in poetic dream 
I meditating sat some statelier theme, 
The reeds no sooner touch'd my lip, though new, 
And unessay'd before, than wide they flew, 
Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustain 
The deep-toned music of the solemn strain ; 
And I am vain perhaps, but I will tell 
How proud a theme I chuse, — ye groves, farewell ! 
a Go, go, my lambs, untendecl homeward fare. ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be, 
How with his barks he plough'd the British sea, 
First from Rutupia's towering headland seen, 
And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen ; 
Of Brennus and Belinus, brothers bold, 
And of Arviragus, and how of old 
Our hardy sires the Armorican controll'd, 
And of the wife of Gorlo'i's, who, surprised 
By Uther, in her husband's form disguised, 
(Such was the force of Merlin's art) became 
Pregnant with Arthur of heroic fame. 
These themes I now revolve, — and oh — if Fate 
Proportion to these themes my lengthen'd date, 
Adieu my shepherd's reed ! yon pine-tree bough 
Shall be thy future home ; there dangle thou 
Forgotten and disused, unless ere long 
Thou change thy Latian for a British song ; 
A British ? — even so, — the powers of man 
Are bounded ; little is the most he can : 
And it shall well suffice me, and shall be 
Fame, and proud recompense enough for me, 
If Usa, golden-hair'd, my verse may learn, 
If Alain bending o'er his crystal urn, 
Swift- whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream, 
Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem, 
Tamar's ore-tinctured flood, and, after these, 
The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades. 

a Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
All this I kept in leaves of laurel-rind 
Enfolded safe, and for thy view design'd, 
This, and a gift from Manso's hand beside, 
(Manso, not least his native city's pride) 
Two cups, that radiant as their giver shone, 
Adorn'd by sculpture with a double zone. 
The spring was graven there ; here slowly wind 
The Red-sea shores with groves of spices lined ; 


Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs 

The sacred, solitary Phoenix shows, 

And watchful of the dawn, reverts her head, 

To see Auroi'a leave her watery bed.— 

In other part, the expansive vault above, 

And there too, even there, the god of love ; 

With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displays 

A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze, 

Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls, 

Nor aims at vulgar minds, or little souls, 

Nor deigns one look below, but aiming high 

Sends every arrow to the lofty sky ; 

Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn 

The power of Cupid, and enamour'd burn. 

" Thou also, Damon, (neither need I fear 
That hope delusive) thou art also there ; 
For whither should simplicity like thine 
Retire 1 where else such spotless virtue shine ? 
Thou dwell'st not (thought profane) in shades 

below, 
Nor tears suit thee ; — cease then my tears to flow ! 
Away with grief, on Damon ill bestow'd ! 
Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode, 
Has pass'd the showery arch, henceforth resides 
With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides 
Quaffs copious immortality and joy, 
With hallow'd lips ! — Oh ! blest without alloy, 
And now enrich'd with all that faith can claim, 
Look down, entreated by whatever name, 
If Damon please thee most (that rural sound 
Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around) 
Or if Diodatus, by which alone 
In those ethereal mansions thou art known. 
Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste 
Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste, 
The honours, therefore, by divine decree 
The lot of virgin worth, are given to thee ; 
Thy brows encircled with a radiant band, 
And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand, 
Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice, 
And join with seraphs thy according voice, 
Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatic lyre 
Guides the blest orgies of the blazing quire." 


AN ODE ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE, 

LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 

ON A LOST VOLUME OF MY POEMS, WHICH HE DESIRED ME 
TO REPLACE, THAT HE MIGHT ADD THEBI TO MY OTHER 
WORKS DEPOSITED IN THE LIBRARY. 


This Ode is rendered without rhyme, that it might more 
adequately represent the original, which, as Milton 
himself informs us, is of no certain measure. It may 
possibly for this reason disappoint the reader, though it 
cost the writer more labour than the translation of any 
other piece in the whole collection. 

STROPHE. 

My twofold book ! single in show, 

But double in contents, 
Neat, but not curiously adorn'd, 

Which, in his early youth, 
A poet gave, no lofty one in truth,' 
Although an earnest wooer of the muse — 
Say while in cool Ausonian shades, 

Or British wilds he roam'd, 
Striking by turns his native lyre, 
. By turns the Daunian lute, 

And stepp'd almost in air ; 


184 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON. 


ANTISTROPHE. 

Say, little book, what furtive hand 
Thee from thy fellow-books convey' d, 
What time, at the repeated suit 
Of my most learned friend, 
I sent thee forth, an honour'd traveller, 
From our great city to the source of Thames, 

Cserulean sire ; 
Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring 
Of the Aonian choir, 
Durable as yonder spheres, 
And through the endless lapse of years 
Secure to be admired ? 

STROPHE II." 

Now what god, or demigod, 
For Britain's ancient genius moved 
(If our afflicted land 
Have expiated at length the guilty sloth 
Of her degenerate sons) 
Shall terminate our impious feuds, 
And discipline, with hallow'd voice, recal ? 
Recal the Muses too, 
Driven from their ancient seats 
In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore, 
And with keen Phoebean shafts 
Piercing the unseemly birds, 
Whose talons menace us, 
Shall drive the harpy race from Helicon afar ? 

ANTISTROPHE. 

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd, 

Whether by treachery lost* 
Or indolent neglect, thy. bearer's fault, 

From all thy kindred books, 
To some dark cell, or cave forlorn, 
Where thou endurest, perhaps, 
The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand, 

Be comforted — 
For lo ! again the splendid hope appears 

That thou may'st yet escape 
The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings 
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove ! 

STROPHE III. 

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains 

That though by promise his, 
Thou yet appear'st not in thy place 
Among the literary noble stores, 

Given to his care, 
But, absent, leavest his numbers incomplete. 
He, therefore, guardian vigilant 
Of that unperishing wealth, 
Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge, 
Where he intends a richer treasure far 
Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son 
Illustrious, of the fair Creusa born) 
In the resplendent temple of his god, 
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine. 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, 
The muses' favourite haunt ; 
Resume thy station in Apollo's dome, 

Dearer to him 
Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill ! 
Exulting go, 


Since now a splendid lot is also thine, 
And thou art sought by my propitious friend ; 
For there thou shalt be read 
With authors of exalted note, 
The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome. 


Ye then, my words, no longer vain, 
And worthless deem'd by me ! 
Whate'er this steril genius has produced 
Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent, 
An unmolested happy home, 
Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend ; 
Where never flippant tongue profane 
Shall entrance find, 
And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude 
Shall babble far remote. 
Perhaps some future distant age, 
Less tinged with prejudice and better taught, 
Shall furnish minds of power 
To judge more equally. 
Then, malice silenced in the tomb, 
Cooler heads and sounder hearts, 
Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise 
I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim. 


TRANSLATIONS OF THE ITALIAN 
POEMS. 


SONNET. 


Fair Lady ; whose harmonious name the Rhine, 
Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear, 
Base were indeed the wretch, who could forbear 
To love a spirit elegant as thine, 

That manifests a sweetness all divine, 

Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, 
And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, 
Tempering thy virtues to a softer shine. 

When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay, 
Such strains, as might the senseless forest move, 
Ah then — turn each his eyes and ears away, 

Who feels himself unworthy of thy love ! 
Grace can alone preserve him, ere the dart 
Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. 


SONNET. 

As on a hill-top rude, when closing day 

Imbrowns the scene, some pastoral maiden fair 
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, 
Borne from its native genial airs away, 

That scarcely can its tender bud display, 

So, on my tongue these accents, new and rare, 
Are flowers exotic, which Love waters there, 
While thus, sweetly scornful ! I essay 

Thy praise, in verse to British ears unknown, 
And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain ; 
So Love has wilPd, and ofttimes Love has shown 

That what he wills, he never wills in vain. 
Oh that this hard and steril breast might be 
To Him, who plants from heaven, a soil as free ! 


TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL. 


185 


CANZONE. 

They mock my toil — the nymphs and amorous 

swains — 
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry, 
Love-songs in language that thou little know'st ? 
How darest thou risk to sing these foreign strains % 
Say truly, — find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd, 
And that thy fairest flowers here fads and die ? 
Then with pretence of admiration high — 
Thee other shores expect, and other tides ; 
Rivers, on whose grassy sides 
Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind 
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides ; 
Why then this burthen, better far declined ? 

Speak, Muse ! for me. — The fair one said, who 
My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, [guides 
" This is the language in which Love delights." 


SONNET. 

TO CHARLES DEODATI. 

Charles — and I say it wondering — thou must 
That I, who once assumed a scornful air, [know 
And scoff' d at Love, am fallen in his snare ; 
(Full many an upright man has fallen so.) 

Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow 
Of golden locks, or damask cheek ; more rare 
The heartfelt beauties of my foreign fair, 
A mien majestic, with dark brows that show 

The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind ; 

Words exquisite of idioms more than one, 
And song, whose fascinating power might bind, 

And from her sphere draw down the labouring 
moon, 
With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill 
My ears with wax, she Avould enchant me still. 


SONNET. 

Lady ! it cannot be, but that thine eyes 

Must be my sun, such radiance they display, 
And strike me even as Phoebus him, whose way 
Through horrid Libya's sandy desert lies. 

Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise 
Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they, 
New as to me they are, I cannot say, 
But deem them, in the lover's language — sighs. 

Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals, 
Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend 
To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals. 

While others to my tearful eyes ascend, 

Whence my sad nights in showers are ever 

drown'd, 
Till my Aurora come, her brow with roses bound. 


SONNET. 

Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground, 
Uncertain whither from myself to fly, 
To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh 
Let me devote my heart, which I have found 

By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound, 
Good, and addicted to conceptions high : 
When tempests shake the world, and fire the 

sky, 

It rests in adamant self-wrapt around, 
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude, 

From hopes and fears that vulgar minds abuse, 
As fond of genius and fix'd fortitude, 
Of the resounding lyre, and every muse. 
Weak you will find it in one only part, 
Now pierced by Love's immedicable dart. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN CLASSICS. 


VIRGIL'S ^ENEID, BOOK VIII. LINE 18. 

Thus Italy was moved ; — nor did the chief 
iEneas in his mind less tumult feel. 
On every side his anxious thought he turns, 
Restless, unfix'd, not knowing what to chuse. 
And as a cistern that in brim of brass 
Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun 
Smite on it, or the moon's resplendent orb, 
The quivering light now flashes on the walls, 
Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof : 
Such were the wavering motions of his mind. 
'Twas night — and weary nature sunk to rest ; 
The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more. 
At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp 
And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink, 
The father of his country sought repose. 
When lo ! among the spreading poplar boughs, 
Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose 
The god of Tiber : clear transparent gauze 
Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown'd : 


And these his gracious words to soothe his care : 
" Heaven-born, who bring'st our kindred home 

again 
Rescued, and givest eternity to Troy, 
. Long have Laurentum and the Latian plains 
Expected thee : behold thy fix'd abode. 
Fear not the threats of war, the storm is pass'd, 
The gods appeased. For proof that what thou 

hear'st 
Is no vain forgery or delusive dream, 
Beneath the grove that borders my green bank, 
A milk-white swine, with thirty milk-white young, 
Shall greet thy wondering eyes. Mark well the 

place, 
For 'tis thy place of rest, there end thy toils : 
There, twice ten years elapsed, fair Alba's walls 
Shall rise, fair Alba, by Ascanius' hand. 
Thus shall it be ; — now listen, while I teach 
The means to accomplish these events at hand. 
The Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung, 
Following Evander's standard and his fate, 


186 


TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL. 


High on these mountains, a well chosen spot, 
Have built a city, for their grandsire's sake 
Named Pallenteum. These perpetual war 
Wage with the Latians : join'd in faithful league 
And arms confederate, add them to your camp. 
Myself between my winding banks will speed 
Your well-oar'd barks to stem the opposing tide. 
Rise, goddess-born, arise ; and with the first 
Declining stars, seek Juno in thy prayer, 
And vanquish all her wrath with suppliant vows. 
When conquest crowns thee, then remember me. 
I am the Tiber, whose cerulean stream 
Heaven favours ; I with copious flood divide 
These grassy banks, and cleave the fruitful meads ; 
My mansion, this, — and lofty cities crown [deep, 
My fountain head." — He spoke and sought the 
And plunged his form beneath the closing flood. 

iEneas at the morning dawn awoke, 
And, rising, with uplifted eye beheld 
The orient sun, then dipp'd his palms, and scoop'd 
The brimming stream, and thus address'd the sides: 
" Ye nymphs, Laurentian nymphs, who feed the 

source 
Of many a stream, and thou, with thy blest flood, 
Tiber ! hear, accept me, and afford, 
At length afford, a shelter from my woes. 
Where'er in secret cavern under ground 
Thy waters sleep, where'er they spring to fight, 
Since thou hast pity for a wretch like me, 
My offerings and my vows shall wait thee still : 
Great horned Father of Hesperian floods, 
Be gracious now, and ratify thy word !" 
He said, and chose two galleys from his fleet, 
Fits them with oars, and clothes the crew in arms. 
When lo ! astonishing and pleasing sight, 
The milk-white dam, with her unspotted brood, 
Lay stretch'd upon the bank, beneath the grove. 
To thee, the pious prince, Juno, to thee 
Devotes them all, all on thine altar bleed. 
That livelong night old Tiber smooth'd his flood, 
And so restrain'd it that it seern'd to stand 
Motionless as a pool, or silent lake, 
That not a billow might resist their oars. 
With cheerful sound of exhortation soon 
Their voyage they begin ; the pitchy keel 
Slides through the gentle deep ; the quiet stream 
Admires the unwonted burthen that it bears, 
Well polish'd arms, and vessels painted gay. 
Beneath the shade of various trees, between 
The umbrageous branches of the spreading groves 
They cut their liquid way, nor day nor night 
They slack their course, unwinding as they go 
The long meanders of the peaceful tide. 

The glowing sun was in meridian height, 
When from afar they saw the humble walls 
And the few scatter'd cottages, which now 
The Roman power has equal' d with the clouds ; 
But such was then Evander's scant domain. 
They steer to shore, and hasten to the town. 

It chanced, the Arcadian monarch on that day, 
Before the walls, beneath a shady grove, 
Was celebrating high, in solemn feast, 
Alcides and his tutelary gods. 
Pallas, his son, was there, and there the chief 
Of all his youth ; with these, a worthy tribe, 
His poor but venerable senate, burnt 
Sweet incense, and their altars smoked with blood. 
Soon as they saw the towering masts approach, 
Sliding between the trees, while the crew rest 
Upon their silent oars, amazed they rose, 


Not without fear, and all forsook the feast. 
But Pallas undismay'd, his javelin seized, 
Rush'd to the bank, and from a rising ground 
Forbade them to disturb the sacred rites. 
" Ye stranger youth ! what prompts you to explore 
This untried way ? and whither do ye steer ? 
Whence, and who are ye ? Bring ye peace or war ?" 
vEneas from his lofty deck holds forth 
The peaceful olive branch, and thus replies : 
" Trojans and enemies to the Latian state, 
Whom they with unprovoked hostilities 
Have driven away, thou seest. We seek Evander ; 
Say this, — and say beside, the Trojan chiefs 
Are come, and seek his friendship and his aid." 
Pallas with wonder heard that awful name, 
And "Whosoe'er thou art," he cried, "come forth; 
Bear thine own tidings to my father's ear, 
And be a welcome guest beneath our roof." 
He said, and press'd the stranger to his breast ; 
Then led him from the river to the grove, 
Where, courteous, thus iEneas greets the king : 
" Best of the Grecian race, to whom I bow 
(So wills my fortune) suppliant, and stretch forth 
In sign of amity this peaceful branch, 
I fear'd thee not, although I knew thee well 
A Grecian leader, born in Arcady, 
And kinsman of the Atridre. Me my virtue, 
That means no wrong to thee, — the oracles, 
Our kindred families allied of old, 
And thy renown diffused through every land, 
Have all conspired to bind in friendship to thee, 
And send me not unwilling to thy shores. 
Dardanus, author of the Trojan state, 
(So say the Greeks) was fair Electra's son ; 
Electra boasted Atlas for her sire, 
Whose shoulders high sustain the eethereal orbs. 
Your sire is Mercury, whom Maia bore, 
Sweet Maia, on Cyllene's hoary top. 
Her, if we credit aught tradition old, 
Atlas of yore, the selfsame Atlas, claim'd 
His daughter. Thus united close in blood, 
Thy race and ours one common sire confess. 
With these credentials fraught, I would not send 
Ambassadors with artful phrase to sound 
And win thee by degrees, but came myself ; 
Me, therefore, me thou seest ; my life the stake : 
'Tis I, iEneas, who implore thine aid. 
Should Daunia, that now aims the blow at thee, 
Prevail to conquer us, nought then, they think, 
Will hinder, but Hesperia must be theirs, 
All theirs, from the upper to the nether sea. 
Take then our friendship and return us thine ! 
We too have courage, we have noble minds, 
And youth well tried and exercised in arms." 
Thus spoke yEneas. He with fix'd regard 
Survey'd him speaking, features, form and mien. 
Then briefly thus, — " Thou noblest of thy name, 
How gladly do I take thee to my heart, 
How gladly thus confess thee for a friend ! 
In thee I trace Anchises ; his thy speech, 
Thy voice, thy countenance. For I well remember 
Many a day since, when Priam journey 'd forth 
To Salamis, to see the land where dwelt 
Hesione, his sister, he push'd on 
Even to Arcadia's frozen bounds. 'Twas then 
The bloom of youth was glowing on my cheek ; 
Much I admired the Trojan chiefs, and much 
Their king, the son of great Laomedon, 
But most Anchises, towering o'er them all. 
A youthful longing seized me to accost 


TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL. 


187 


The hero, and embrace him ; I drew near, 
And gladly led him to the walls of Pheneus. 
Departing, he distinguish'd me with gifts, 
A costly quiver stored with Lycian darts, 
A robe inwove with gold, with gold imhoss'd 
Two bridles, those which Pallas uses now. 
The friendly league thou hast solicited 
I give thee therefore, and to-morrow all 
My chosen youth shall wait on your return. 
Meanwhile, since thus in friendship ye are come, 
Rejoice with us, and join to celebrate 
These annual rites, which may not be delay'd, 
And be at once familiar at our board." 

He said, and bade replace the feast removed ; 
Himself upon a grassy bank disposed 
The crew ; but for iEneas order'd forth 
A couch spread with a lion's tawny shag, 
And bade him share the honours of his throne. 
The appointed youth with glad alacrity 
Assist the labouring priest to load the board 
With roasted entrails of the slaughter'd beeves, 
Well-kneaded bread and mantling bowls. Well 
iEneas and the Trojan youth regale [pleased, 

On the huge length of a well-pastured chine. 

Hunger appeased, and tables all dispatch' d, 
Thus spake Evander : " Superstition here, 
In this old solemn feasting, has no part. 
No, Trojan friend, from utmost danger saved, 
In gratitude this worship we renew. 
Behold that rock which nods above the vale, 
Those bulks of broken stone dispersed around ; 
How desolate the shatter'd cave appears, 
And what a ruin spreads the incumber'd plain. 
Within this pile, but far within, was once 
The den of Cacus ; dire his hateful form, 
That shunn'd the day, half monster and half man. 
Blood newly shed stream'd ever on the ground 
Smoking, and many a visage pale and wan 
Nail'd at his gate, hung hideous to the sight. 
Vulcan begot the brute : vast was his size, 
And from his throat he belch'd his father's fires. 
But the day came that brought us what Ave wish'd, 
The assistance and the presence of a god. 
Flush 1 d with his victory and the spoils he won 
From triple-form'd Geryon lately slain, 
The great avenger, Hercules, appear'd. 
Hither he drove his stately bulls, and pour'd 
His herds along the vale. But the sly thief, 
Cacus, that nothing might escape his hand 
Of villany or fraud, drove from the stalls 
Four of the lordliest of his bulls, and four 
The fairest of his heifers ; by the tail 
He dragg'd them to his den, that, there conceal' d, 
No footsteps might betray the dark abode. 
And now his herd with provender sufficed, 
Alcides would be gone : they as they, went 
Still bellowing loud, made the deep-echoing woods 
And distant hills resound : when hark ! one ox, 
Imprison'd close within the vast recess, 
Lows in return, and frustrates all his hope. 
Then fury seized Alcides, and his breast 
With indignation heaved : grasping his club 
Of knotted oak, swift to the mountain top 
He ran, he flew. Then first was Cacus seen 
To tremble, and his eyes bespoke his fears. 
Swift as an eastern blast he sought his den, 
And dread, increasing, wing'd him as he went. 
Drawn up in iron slings above the gate, 
A rock was hung enormous. Such his haste, 
He burst the chains, and dropp'd it at the door, 


Then grappled it with iron work within 
Of bolts and bars by Vulcan's art contrived. 
Scarce was he fast, when panting for revenge 
Came Hercules ; he gnash'd his teeth with rage, 
And quick as lightning glanced his eyes around 
In quest of entrance. Fiery red and stung 
With indignation, thrice he wheel'd his course 
About the mountain ; thrice, but thrice in vain, 
He strove to force the quarry at the gate, 
And thrice sat down o'erwearied in the vale. 
There stood a pointed rock, abrupt and rude, 
That high o'erlook'd the rest, close at the back 
Of the fell monster's den, where birds obscene 
Of ominous note resorted, choughs and daws. 
This, as it lean'd obliquely to the left, 
Threatening the stream below, he from the right 
Push'd with his utmost strength, and to and fro 
He shook the mass, loosening its lowest base; 
Then shoved it from its seat ; down fell the pile ; 
Sky thunder'd at the fall ; the banks gave way, 
The affrighted stream flows upward to his source. 
Behold the kennel of the brute exposed, 
The gloomy vault laid open. So, if chance 
Earth yawning to the centre should disclose 
The mansions, the pale mansions of the dead, 
Loathed by the gods, such would the gulf appear, 
And the ghosts tremble at the sight of day. 
The monster braying with unusual din 
Within his hollow lair, and sore amazed 
To see such sudden inroads of the light, 
Alcides press'd him close with what at hand 
Lay readiest, stumps of trees, and fragments huge 
Of millstone size. He, (for escape was none) 
Wondrous to tell ! forth from his gorge discharged 
A smoky cloud that darken'd all the den ; 
Wreath after wreath he vomited amain 
The smothering vapour mix'd with fiery sparks : 
No sight could penetrate the veil obscure. 
The hero, more provoked, endured not this, 
But with a headlong leap he rush'd to where 
The thickest cloud envelop'd his abode ; 
There grasp 'd he Cacus, spite of all his fires, 
Till crush'd within his arms, the monster shows 
His bloodless throat, now dry with panting hard, 
And his press'd eyeballs start. Soon he tears down 
The barricade of rock, the dark abyss 
Lies open ; and the imprison'd bulls, the theft 
He had with oaths denied, are brought to light ; 
By the heels the miscreant carcass is dragg'd forth, 
His face, his eyes, all terrible, his breast 
Beset with bristles, and his sooty jaws 
Are view'd with wonder never to be cloy'd. 
Hence the celebrity thou seest, and hence 
This festal day. Potitius first enjoin'd 
Posterity these solemn rites ; he first 
With those who bear the great Pinarian name 
To Hercules devoted, in the grove 
This altar built, deem'd sacred in the highest 
By us, and sacred ever to be deem'd. 
Come, then, my friends, and bind your youthful 

brows 
In praise of such deliverance, and hold forth 
The brimming cup ; your deities and ours 
Are now the same ; then drink, and freely too." 
So saying, he twisted round his reverend locks 
A variegated poplar wreath, and fill'd 
His right hand with a consecrated bowl. 
At once all pour libations on the board, 
All offer prayer. And now the radiant sphere 
Of day descending, eventide drew near ; 


188 


TRANSLATION FROM OVID. 


When first Potitius with the priests advanced, 
Begirt with skins, and torches in their hands. 
High piled with meats of savoury taste, they ranged 
The chargers, and renew'd the grateful feast. 
Then came the Salh, crown'd with poplar too, 
Circling the blazing altars ; here the youth 
Advanced, a choir harmonious, there were heard 
The reverend seers responsive ; praise they sung, 
Much praise in honour of Alcides' deeds ; 
How first with infant gripe two serpents huge 
He strangled, sent from Juno ; next they sung, 
How Troja and Oechalia he destroyed, 
Fair cities both, and many a toilsome task 
Beneath Eurystheus, (so his stepdame will'd) 
Achieved victorious. Thou, the cloud-born pair, 
Hylseus fierce and Pholus, monstrous twins, 
Thou slew'st the minotaur, the plague of Crete, 
And the vast lion of the Nemean rock ; 
Thee Hell, and Cerberus, Hell's porter, fear'd 
Stretch' d in his den upon his half-gnaw'd bones. 
Thee no abhorred form, not even the vast 
Typhoeus could appal, though clad in arms. 
Hail, true-born son of Jove, among the gods 
At length enroll'd, nor least illustrious thou, 
Haste thee propitious, and approve our songs ! — 
Thus hymn'd the chorus ; above all they sing 
The cave of Cacus, and the flames he breathed. 
The whole grove echoes, and the hills rebound. 

The rites perform'd, all hasten to the town : 
The king, bending with age, held as he went 
iEneas and his Pallas by the hand, 
With much variety of pleasing talk 
Shortening the way. iEneas, with a smile, 
Looks round him, charm'd with the delightful scene, 
And many a question asks, and much he learns 
Of heroes far renown'd in ancient times. 
Then spake Evander : " These extensive groves 
Were once inhabited by fauns and nymphs 
Produced beneath their shades, and a rude race 
Of men, the progeny uncouth of elms 
And knotted oaks. They no refinement knew 
Of laws or manners, civilized, to yoke 
The steer, with foi'ecast provident to store 
The hoarded grain, or manage what they had, 
But browsed like beasts upon the leafy boughs, 
Or fed, voracious on their hunted prey. 
An exile from Olympus, and expell'd 
His native realm by thunder-bearing Jove, 
First Saturn came. He from the mountains drew 
This herd of men untractable and fierce, 
And gave them laws ; and call'd his hiding place 
This growth of forests, Latium. Such the peace 
His land possess'd, the golden age was then, 
So famed in story ; till by slow degrees 
Far other times, and of far different hue, 
Succeeded, thirst of gold and thirst of blood. 
Then came Ausonian bands, and armed hosts 
From Sicily; and Latium often changed 
Her master and her name. At length arose 
Kings, of whom Tybris of gigantic form 
Was chief ; and we Italians since have call'd 
The river by his name ; thus Albula 
(So was the country call'd in ancient days) 
Was quite forgot. Me from my native land 
An exile, through the dangerous ocean driven, 
Resistless fortune and relentless fate 
Placed where thou seest me. Phoebus, and 
The nymph Carmentis, with maternal care 
Attendant on my wanderings, fix'd me here." 
[Ten lines omitted.] 


He said, and show'd him the Tarpeian rock, 
And the rude spot where now the capitol 
Stands all magnificent and bright with gold, 
Then overgrown with thorns. And yet even then 
The swains beheld that sacred scene with awe ; 
The grove, the rock, inspired religious fear. 
" This grove, he said, that crowns the lofty top 
Of this fair hill, some deity, we know, 
Inhabits, but what deity we doubt. 
The Arcadians speak of Jupiter himself, 
That they have often seen him, shaking here 
His gloomy segis, while the thunder-storms 
Came rolling all around him. Turn thine eyes, 
Behold that ruin ; those dismantled walls, 

Where once two towns, Janiculum , 

By Janus this, and that by Saturn built, 
Saturnia." Such discourse brought them beneath 
The roof of poor Evander ; thence they saw, 
Where now the proud and stately forum stands, 
The grazing herds wide scatter'd o'er the field. 
Soon as he enter'd — " Hercules, he said, 
Victorious Hercules, on this threshold trod, 
These walls contain'd him, humble as they are. 
Dare to despise magnificence, my friend, 
Prove thy divine descent by worth divine, 
Nor view with haughty scorn this mean abode." 
So saying, he lead iEneas by the hand, 
And placed him on a cushion stuff'd with leaves, 
Spread with the skin of a Lybistian bear. 

[The Episode of Venus and Vulcan omitted.] 

While thus in Lemnos Vulcan was employ'd, 
Awaken' d by the gentle dawn of day, 
And the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves 
Of his low mansion, old Evander rose. 
His tunic and the sandals on his feet, 
And his good sword well girded to his side, 
A panther's skin dependent from his left 
And over his right shoulder thrown aslant, 
Thus was he clad. Two mastiffs follow'd him, 
His whole retinue and his nightly guard. 


OVID. TRIST. LIB. V. ELEG. XII. 

Scribis, ut oblectem. 


Yoxr bid me write to amuse the tedious hours, 
And save from withering my poetic powers ; 
Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow 
From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe. 
Restless amidst unceasing tempests toss'd, 
Whoe'er has cause for sorrow, I have most. 
Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain ! 
Or childless Niobe from tears refrain, 
Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train ? 
Does grief or study most befit the mind, 
To this remote, this barbarous nook confined \ 
Could you impart to my unshaken breast 
The fortitude by Socrates possess'd, 
Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine ; 
For what is human strength to wrath divine ? 
Wise as he was, and heaven pronounced him so, 
My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low. 
Could I forget my country, thee and all, 
And even the offence to which I owe my fall, 
Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein, 
While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain^ 


TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 


189 


Add that the fatal rust of long disuse 

Unfits me' for the service of the muse. 

Thistles and weeds are all we can expect 

From the best soil impoverish'd by neglect ', 

Unexercised, and to his stall confined, 

The fleetest racer would be left behind ; 

The best built bark that cleaves the watery way, 

Laid useless by, would moulder and decay. 

No hope remains that time shall me restore, 

Mean as I was, to what I was before. 

Think how a series of desponding cares 

Benumbs the genius and its force impairs. 

How oft, as now, on this devoted sheet, 

My verse constrain'd to move with measured feet, 

Reluctant and laborious limps along, 

And proves itself a wretched exile's song. 

What is it tunes the most melodious lays ? 

'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise ; 

A noble thirst, and not unknown to me, 

While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea. 

But can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame ? 

No, rather let the world forget my name. 

Is it because that world approved my strain, 

You prompt me to the same pursuit again ? 

No, let the nine the ungrateful truth excuse, 

I charge my hopeless ruin on the muse, 

And, like Perillus, meet my just desert, 

The victim of my own pernicious art ; 

Fool that I was to be so warn'd in vain, 

And shipwreck'd once, to tempt the deep again ! 

Ill fares the bard in this unletter'd land, 

None to consult, and none to understand. 

The purest verse has no admirers here, 

Their own rude language only suits their ear. 

Rude as it is, at length familiar grown, 

I learn it, and almost unlearn my own. 

Yet to say truth, even here the Muse disdains 

Confinement, and attempts her former strains, 

But finds the strong desire is not the power, 

And what her taste condemns, the flames devour. 

A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom, 

And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome ; 

But oh the cruel art, that could undo 

Its votary thus ! would that could perish too ! 


HO. LIB. I. ODE IX. 

Vides, ut altd stet nive candidum 
Soracte; 

Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow, 
The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow, 

The streams, congeal' d, forget to flow ? 
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile 

Of fuel on the hearth ; 
Broach the best cask, and make old whiter smile 

With seasonable mirth. 

This be our part, — let heaven dispose the rest ; 

If Jove command, the winds shall sleep, 
That now wage war upon the foamy deep, 
And gentle gales spring from the balmy west. 
Even let us shift to-morrow as we may, 
When to-morrow's pass'd away, 
We at least shall have to say, 
We have lived another day ; 
Your auburn locks will soon be s'ilver'd o'er, 
Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more. 


HOR. LIB. I. ODE XXXVIII. 

Persicos odi, puer, apparatus. 

Boy, I hate their empty shows j 
Persian garlands I detest ; 

Bring not me the late-blown rose, 
Lingering after all the rest. 

Plainer myrtle pleases me, 

Thus outstretch'd beneath my vine ; 
Myrtle more becoming thee, 

Waiting with thy master's wine. 


ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME ODE. 

Boy ! I detest all Persian fopperies, 
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting ; 
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee, 
Where latest roses linger ; 

Bring me alone, (for thou wilt find that readily) 
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage 
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking 
Beneath my vine's cool shelter. 


HOR. LIB. II. ODE XV. 

Otium Divos rogat in patenti. 

Ease is the weary merchant's prayer, 
Who ploughs by night the iEgean flood, 

When neither moon nor stars appear, 
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud. 

For ease the Mede with quiver graced, 
For ease the Thracian hero sighs ; 

Delightful ease all pant to taste, 
A blessing which no treasure buys. 

For neither gold can lull to rest, 
Nor all a Consul's guard beat off 

The tumults of a troubled breast, 
The cares that haunt a gilded roof. 

Happy the man whose table shows 
A few clean ounces of old plate ; 

No fear intrudes on his repose, 
No sordid wishes to be great. 

Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay ! 

Ah, why forsake our native home, 
To distant climates speed away ? 

For self sticks close where'er we roam ! 

Care follows hard, and soon o'ertakes 
The well rigg'd ship, the warlike steed ; 

Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes ; 
Not the wind flies with half her speed. 

From anxious fears of future ill 

Guard well the cheerful, happy now ; 

Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile, 
No blessing is unmix'd below. 

Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds, 
Thy numerous flocks around thee graze, 

And the best purple Tyre affords 
Thy robe magnificent displays. 

On me indulgent heaven bestow'd 
A rural mansion, neat and small ; 

This lyre ; — and as for yonder crowd, 
The happiness to hate them all. 


190 


TRANSLATIONS OF LATIN VERSES. 


EPIGRAMS, 

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN. 

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT. 

Thou mayst of double ignorance boast. 
Who know'st not, that thou nothing know'st. 

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY. 

That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be, 
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee ! 

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS. 

I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend ; 
For when at worst, they say, things always mend. 

RETALIATION. 

The works of ancient bards divine, 

Aulus, thou scorn'st to read ; 
And should posterity read thine, 

It would be strange indeed ! 


When little more than boy in age, 
I deem'd myself almost a sage ; 
But now seem worthier to be styled, 
For ignorance — almost a child. 


SUNSET AND SUNRISE. 

Contemplate, when the sun declines, 
Thy death, with deep reflection ; 

And when again he rising shines, 
Thy day of resurrection 1 


IN BREVITATEM VITJE SPATII HOMINIBUS 
CONCESSI. 

BY DR. JORTIN. 

Hei mihi ! Lege rata sol occidit atque resurgit, 
Lunaque mutatee reparat dispendia formae, 
Astraque purpurei telis extincta diei, 
Rursus nocte vigent. Humiles telluris alumni, 
Graminis herba virens, et florum picta propago, 
Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit, 
Cum Zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereni 
Temperies anni, foecundo e cespite surgunt. 
Nos domini rerum, nos, magna et pulchra minati, 
Cum breve ver vitse robustaque transiit iotas, 
Deficiraus ; nee nos ordo revolubilis auras 
Reddit in sethereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvit. 


ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE. 

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. 

January 1784. 

Suns that set, and moons that wane, 
Rise, and are restored again ; 
Stars that orient day subdues, 
Night at her return renews. 
Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth 
Of the genial womb of earth, 
Suffer but a transient death 
From the winter's cruel breath. 
Zephyr speaks ; serener skies 
Warm the glebe, and they arise. 
We, alas ! earth's haughty kings, 
We, that promise mighty things, 
Losing soon life's happy prime, 
Droop and fade in little time. 
Spring returns, but not our bloom ; 
Still 'tis winter in the tomb. 


VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD. 

BY DR. VINCENT. 

Abut senex ! periit senex amabilis ! 

Quo non fuit jucundior. 
Lugete vos, setas quibus maturior 

Senem colendum preestitit, 
Seu quando, viribus valentioribus 

Firmoque fretus pectore, 
Florentiori vos juventute excolens 

Cura fovebat patria ; 
Seu quando fractus, jamque donatus rude, 

Vultu sed usque blandulo, 
Miscere gaudebat suas facetias 

His annuis leporibus. 
Vixit probus, puraque simplex indole, 

Blandisque comis moribus, 
Et dives sequa mente, — charus omnibus, 

Unius 1 auctus munere. 
Ite tituli ! meritis beatioribus 

Aptate laudes debitas ! 
Nee invidebat ille, si quibus favens 

Fortuna plus arriserat. 
Placide senex ! levi quiescas cespite, 

Etsi superbum nee vivo tibi 
Decus sit inditum, nee mortuo 

Lapis notatus nomine. 


THE SAME IN ENGLISH. 

Our good old friend is gone, gone to his rest, 
Whose social converse was itself a feast. 
ye of riper age, who recollect 
How once ye loved and eyed him with respect, 
Both in the firmness of his better day, 
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway, 
And when, impair'd by time and glad to rest, 
Yet still with looks in mild complacence drest, 


1 He was usher and under master of Westminster near 
fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was 
near seventy, with a handsome pension from the King. 


TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. 


191 


He took his annual seat and mingled here 

His sprightly vein with yours, — now drop a tear. 

In morals blameless as in manners meek, 

He knew no wish that he might blush to speak, 

But, happy in whatever state below, 

And richer than the rich, in being so, 

Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed 

At length from one, as made him rich indeed. 


Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here ! 
Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere, 
The brows of those whose more exalted lot 
He could congratulate, but envied not. 

Light lie the turf, good senior ! on thy breast, 
And tranquil as thy mind was be thy rest ! 
Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame, 
And not a stone now chronicles thy name. 


TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. 


FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS. 

A Spartan, his companion slain, 

Alone from battle fled ; 
His mother, kindling with disdain 

That she had borne him, struck him dead ; 
For courage, and not birth alone, 
In Sparta, testifies a son ! 


ON THE SAME, BY PALLADAS. 

A Spartan 'scaping from the fight, 

His mother met him in his flight, 

Upheld a falchion to his breast, 

And thus the fugitive adclress'd : 

" Thou canst but live to blot with shame 

Indelible thy mother's name, 

While every breath that thou shalt draw 

Offends against thy country's law ; 

But, if thou perish by this hand, 

Myself indeed throughout the land, 

To my dishonour, shall be known 

The mother still of such a son ; 

But Sparta will be safe and free, 

And that shall serve to comfort me." 


AN EPITAPH. 

My name — my country — what are they to thee ? 
What, whether base or proud my pedigree ? 
Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men ; 
Perhaps I fell below them all ; what then ? 
Suffice it, stranger ! that thou seest a tomb ; 
Thou know'st its use ; it hides— no matter whom. 


ANOTHER. 

Take to thy bosom, gentle Earth ! a swain 
With much hard labour in thy service worn ; 
He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain, 
And he these olives that the vale adorn. 
He fill'd with grain the glebe ; the rills he led 
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful 

bowers ; 
Thou, therefore, Earth ! lie lightly on his head, 
His hoary head, and deck his grave with flowers. 


ANOTHER. 


Painter, this likeness is too strong, 
And we shall mourn the dead too long. 


ANOTHER. 


At threescore winters' end I died 
A cheerless being, sole and sad ; 
The nuptial knot I never tied, 
And wish my father never had. 


BY CALLIMACHUS. 

At morn we placed on his funereal bier 
Young Melanippus ; and at eventide, 
Unable to sustain a loss so dear, 
By her own hand his blooming sister died. 

Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race, 
Annihilated by a double blow, 
Nor son could hope, nor daughter more to embrace, 
And all Cyrene sadden' d at his woe. 

ON MILTIADES. 

Miltiades ! thy valour best 
(Although in every region known) 
The men of Persia can attest, 
Taught by thyself at Marathon. 


ON AN INFANT. 

Bewail not much, my parents ! me, the prey 
Of ruthless Hades, and sepulchred here. 
An infant, in my fifth scarce finish'd year, 
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay, 
Your young Callimachus ; and if I knew 
Not many joys, my griefs were also few. 


BY HERACLIDES. 

In Cnidus born, the consort I became 
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name. 
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride, 
But bore two children at a birth, and died. 
One child I leave to solace and uphold 
Euphron hereafter, when infirm and old. 
And one, for his remembrance sake, I bear 
To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there. 


102 TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. 

ON THE REED. 

ON FLATTERERS. 

I was of late a barren plant, 
Useless, insignificant, 

No mischief worthier of our fear 

In nature can be found 

Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore, 
A native of the marshy shore ; 
But gather'd for poetic use, 
And plunged into a sable juice, 
Of which my modicum I sip 
With narrow mouth and slender lip, 

Than friendship, in ostent sincere, 
But hollow and unsound ; 

For lull'd into a dangerous dream 

We close infold a foe, 
Who strikes, when most secure we seem, 

The inevitable blow. 

At once, although by nature dumb, 
All eloquent I have become, 



And speak with fluency untired, 


As if by Phoebus' self inspired. 

ON A TRUE FRIEND. 

Hast thou a friend ? ■ Thou hast indeed 

„ 

A rich and large supply, 


Treasure to serve your every need, 


Well managed, till you die. 

TO HEALTH. 


Eldest born of powers divine ! 

— -* 

Bless'd Hygeia ! be it mine 

ON THE SWALLOW. 

To enjoy what thou canst give, 
And henceforth with thee to live : 


Attic maid ! with honey fed, 

For in power if pleasure be, 

Bear'st thou to thy callow brood 

Wealth or numerous progeny, 

Yonder locust from the mead, 

Or in amorous embrace, 

Destined their delicious food ? 

Where no spy infests the place ; 


Or in aught that heaven bestows 

Ye have kindred voices clear, 

To alleviate human woes, 

Ye alike unfold the wing, 

When the wearied heart despairs 

Migrate hither, sojourn here, 

Of a respite from its cares ; 

Both attendant on the spring ! 

These and every true delight 


Flourish only in thy sight ; 

Ah, for pity drop the prize ; 

And the sister Graces three 

Let it not with truth be said, 

Owe, themselves, their youth to thee, 

That a songster gasps and dies, 

Without whom we may possess 

That a songster may be fed. 

Much, but never happiness. 


ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH, 


Poor in my youth, and in life's later scenes 

ON THE ASTROLOGERS. 

Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour, 

The astrologers did all alike presage 

Who nought enjoy'd while young, denied the 
means ; 

My uncle's dying in extreme old age ; 
One only disagreed. But he was wise, 

And nought when old enjoy'd, denied the power. 

And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries. 

~^— 

♦ 

ON A BATH, BY PLATO. 

Did Cytherea to the skies 

ON AN OLD WOMAN. 

From this pellucid lymph arise ? 


Or was it Cytherea's touch, 

Mycilla dyes her locks, 'tis said ; 

When bathing here, that made it such ? 

But 'tis a foul aspersion ; 


She buys them black ; they therefore need 
No subsequent immersion. 




ON A FOWLER, BY ISIODORUS. 

* 

With seeds and birdlime, from the desert air 


Eumelus gather'd free, though scanty, fare. 

ON INVALIDS. 

No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss, 


Nor luxury knew, save liberty, nor bliss. 


Far happier are the dead, methinks, than they 

Thrice thirty years he lived, and to his heirs 

Who look for death, and fear it every day. 

His seeds bequeath'd, his birdlime, and his snares. 


TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. 


193 


ON NIOBE. 


Charon ! receive a family on board, 
Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawl ; 

Apollo and Diana, for a word 

By me too proudly spoken, slew us all. 


ON A GOOD MAN. 

Traveller, regret not me ; for thou shalt find 

Just cause of sorrow none in my decease, 
Who, dying, children's children left behind, 

And with one wife lived many a year in peace : 
Three virtuous youths espoused my daughters 
three, 

And oft their infants in my bosom lay, 
Nor saw I one, of all derived from me, 

Touch'd with disease, or torn by death away. 
Their duteous hands my funeral rites bestow'd, 

And me, by blameless manners fitted well 
To seek it, sent to the serene abode 

Where shades of pious men for ever dwell. 


ON A MISER. 

They call thee rich ! — I deem thee poor, 
Since, if thou darest not use thy store, 
But savest it only for thine heirs, 
The treasure is not thine, but theirs. 


ANOTHER. 


A miser, traversing his house, 

Espied, unusual there, a mouse, 

And thus his uninvited guest 

Briskly inquisitive address'd : 

" Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it 

I owe this unexpected visit ? " 

The mouse her host obliquely eyed, 

And, smiling, pleasantly replied : 

" Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard ! 

I come to lodge, and not to board. " 


ANOTHER. 

Art thou some individual of a kind 
Long-lived by nature as the rook or hind ? 
Heap treasure, then, for if thy need be such, 
Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much. 
But man thou seem'st, clear therefore from thy 
This lust of treasure — folly at the best ! [breast 
For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb, 
To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom ? 


ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY. 

Rich, thou hadst many lovers ; — poor, hast none, 

So surely want extinguishes the flame, 
And she who call'd thee once her pretty one, 
And her Adonis, now inquires thy name. 


Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where 

In what strange country can thy parents live, 
Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware 


ON THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Happy songster, perch'd above, 
On the summit of the grove, 
Whom a dewdrop cheers to sing 
With the freedom of a king ! 
From thy perch survey the fields 
Where prolific nature yields 
Nought that, willingly as she, 
Man surrenders not to thee. 
For hostility or hate 
None thy pleasures can create. 
Thee it satisfies to sing 
Sweetly the return of spring, 
Herald of the genial hours, 
Harming neither herbs nor flowers. 
Therefore man thy voice attends 
Gladly, — thou and he are friends ; 
Nor thy never-ceasing strains 
Phoebus or the muse disdains 
As too simple or too long, 
For themselves inspire the song. 
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying, 
Ever singing, sporting, playing, 
What has nature else to show 
Godlike in its kind as thou % 


ON HERMOCRATIA. 

Hermocratia named — save only one, 
Twice fifteen births I bore, and buried none ; 
For neither Phoebus pierced my thriving joys, 
Nor Dian — she my girls, or he my boys. 
But Dian rather, when my daughters lay 
In parturition, chased their pangs away. 
And all my sons, by Phoebus' bounty, shared 
A vigorous youth, by sickness unimpair'd. 
Niobe ! far less prolific ! see 
Thy boast against Latona shamed by me ! 


FROM MENANDER. 

Fond youth ! who dream'st that hoarded gold 

Is needful, not alone to pay 
For all thy various items sold, 

To serve the wants of every day ; 

Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat, 
For savoury viands season'd high ; 

But somewhat more important yet— 
I tell thee what it cannot buy. 

No treasure, hadst thou more amass'd 
Than fame to Tantalus assign'd, 

Would save thee from a tomb at last, 
But thou must leave it all behind. 


j 124 TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. 

I give thee, therefore, counsel wise ; 
Confide not vainly in thy store, 

ON A THIEF. 

However large — much less despise 
Others comparatively poor ; 

When Aulus, the nocturnal thief, made prize 
Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of the skies, 

But in thy more exalted state 

Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine, 

A just and equal temper show, 

Who when an infant stole Apollo's kine, 

That all who see thee rich and great 

And whom, as arbiter and overseer 

May deem thee worthy to be so. 

Of our gymnastic sports, we planted here ; 


" Hermes," he cried, " you meet no new disaster ; 
Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master." 


ON PALLAS BATHING, 

♦ . 

FROM A HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS. 

ON PEDIGREE. 

Nor oils of balmy scent produce, 

FROM EPICHARMUS. 

Nor mirror for Minerva's use, 



Ye nymphs who lave her ; she, array'd 

My mother ! if thou love me, name no more 

In genuine beauty, scorns their aid. 

My noble birth ! Sounding at every breath 

Not even when they left the skies 

My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly, 

To seek on Ida's head the prize 

As to their only refuge, all from whom 

From Paris' hand, did Juno deign, 
Or Pallas in the crystal plain 

Nature withholds all good besides ; they boast 

Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs 

Of Simois' stream her locks to trace, 

Of their forefathers, and from age to age 

Or in the mirror's polish'd face, 

Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race : 

Though Venus oft with anxious care 

But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name, 

Adjusted twice a single hair. 

Derived from no forefathers ? Such a man 

Lives not ; for how could such be born at all ? 

■ — ♦ — 

And if it chance that, native of a land 

TO DEMOSTHENES. 

Far distant, or in infancy deprived 


Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace 

It flatters and deceives thy view, 

His origin, exist, why deem him sprung 

This mirror of ill-polish'd ore ; 
For were it just, and told thee true, 
Thou wouldst consult it never more. 

From baser ancestry than theirs who can ? 

My mother ! he whom nature at his birth 

Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although 


An ^Ethiop and a slave, is nobly born. 

ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER. 



ON ENVY. 

You give your cheeks a rosy stain, 



With washes dye your hair ; 

Pity, says the Theban bard, 

But paint and washes both are vain 

From my wishes I discard ; 

To give a youthful air. 

Envy, let me rather be, 

Those 'wrinkles mock your daily toil, 
No labour will efface 'em, 

Rather far, a theme for thee ! 
Pity to distress is shown, 

You wear a mask of smoothest oil, 

Envy to the great alone. 

Yet still with ease we trace 'em. 

So the Theban : but to shine 


Less conspicuous be mine ! 

An art so fruitless then forsake, 

I prefer the golden mean, 

Which though you much excel in, 

Pomp and penury between ; 

You never can contrive to make 

For alarm and peril wait 

Old Hecuba young Helen. 

Ever on the loftiest state, 


And the lowest, to the end, 
Obloquy and scorn attend. 


ON AN UGLY FELLOW. 


Beware, my friend ! of crystal brook, 

BY PHILEMON. 

Or fountain, lest that hideous hook, 


Thy nose, thou chance to see ; 

Oft we enhance our ills by discontent, 

And give them bulk beyond what nature meant. 

A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry — 

Narcissus' fate would then be thine, 

And self-detested thou wouldst pine, 

As self-enamour'd he. 

" He's dead indeed, but he was born to die " — 

1 . 

Such temperate grief is suited to the size 


And burthen of the loss ; is just and wise. 

ON A BATTERED BEAUTY. 

But to exclaim, " Ah ! wherefore was I born, 

■ 

Thus to be left for ever thus forlorn ? " 

Hajr, wax, rouge, honey, teeth you buy, 

Who thus laments his loss invites distress, 

A multifarious store ! 

And magnifies a woe that might be less, 

A mask at once would all supply, 

Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd, 

Nor would it cost you more. 

And leaving reason's remedy behind. 


TRANSLATIONS OF ENGLISH VERSES. 


195 


BY MOSCHUS. 

I slept when Venus enter'd : to my bed 
A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led, 
A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said : 

" Shepherd, receive my little one ! I bring 
An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing." 
She said, and left him. I, suspecting nought, 
Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught, 
How reed to reed Pan first with osier bound, 
How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound, 
How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire 
Of Phcebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre. 
Such were my themes ; my themes nought heeded 
But ditties sang of amorous sort to me, [he, 

The pangs that mortals and immortals prove 
From Venus' influence, and the darts of love. 
Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught ; 
His lessons I retain'd, and mine forgot. 


TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM OF HOMER I. 

Pay me my price, potters ! and I will sing. 

Attend, Pallas ! and with lifted arm 

Protect their oven ; let the cups and all 

The sacred vessels blacken well, and, baked 

With good success, yield them both fair renown 

And profit, whether in the market sold 

Or streets, and let no strife ensue between us. 

But, oh ye potters ! if with shameless front 

Ye falsify your promise, then I leave 

No mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong. 

Come Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come, 

And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread, 

Omodamus, delay ! Fire seize your house ! 

May neither house nor vestibule escape ! 

May ye lament to see confusion mar 

And mingle the whole labour of your hands, 

And may a sound fill all your oven, such 

As of a horse grinding his provender, 

While all your pots and flagons bounce within. 

Come hither also, daughter of the sun, 

Circe the sorceress, and with thy drugs 

Poison themselves, and all that they have made ! 

Come also, Chiron, with thy numerous troop 

Of centaurs, as well those who died beneath 

The club of Hercules, as who escaped, 

And stamp their crockery to dust ; down fall 

Their chimney ; let them see it with their eyes, 

And howl to see the ruin of their art, 

While I rejoice ; and if a potter stoop 

To peep into his furnace, may the fire 

Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men 

Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith. 


1 No title is prefixed to this piece, but it appears to be a 
translation f one of the 'Eiriypd/JLiiiaTa of Homer called 
e O Kdfxivos, or the Furnace. Herodotus, or whoever was 
the author of the Life of Homer ascribed to him, observes, 
"certain potters, while they were busy in baking their 
ware, seeing Homer at a small distance, and having heard 
much said of his wisdom, called to him, and promised 
him a present of their commodity and of such other 
things as they could afford, if he would sing to them, 
when he sang as follows." 


TRANSLATIONS 


THE FABLES OF GAY. 


LEPUS MULTIS AMICUS. 

Lusus amicitia est, uni nisi dedita, ceu fit, 
Simplice ni nexus fcedere, lusus amor. 

Incerto genitore puer, non ssepe paternae 
Tutamen novit, deliciasque domus : 

Quique sibi fidos fore multos sperat, amicus 
Mirum est huic misero si ferat ullus opem. 

Comis erat, mitisque, et nolle et velle paratus 

Cum quovis, Gaii more modoque, Lepus. 
Hie, quot in sylvis et quot spatiantur in agris 

Quadrupedes, norat conciliare sibi ; 
Et quisque innocuo, invitoque lacessere quenquam 

Labra tenus saltern fidus amicus erat. 
Ortum sub lucis dum pressa cubilia linquit, 

Rorantes herbas, pabula sueta, petens, 
Venatorum audit clangores pone sequentum, 
Fulmineumque sonum territus erro fugit. 
Corda pavor pulsat, sursum sedet, erigit aures, 

Respicit, et sentit jam prope adesse necem. 
Utque canes fallat, late circumvagus, illuc, 

Unde abiit, mira calliditate redit ; 
Viribus at fractis tandem se projicit ultro 
In media miserum semianimemque via. 
Vix ibi stratus, equi sonitum pedis audit, et, oh spe 

Quam laeta adventu cor agitatur equi ! 
Dorsum (inquit) mini, chare, tuum concede, tuoque 

Auxilio nares fallere, vimque canum. 
Me meus, ut nosti, pes prodit — fidus amicus 

Fert quodcunque lubens, nee grave sentit, onus. 
Belle miselle lepuscule (equus respondet) amara 

Omnia quae tibi sunt, sunt et amara mihi. 
Verum age— sume animos — multi, me pone,bonique 

Adveniunt, quorum sis cito sah r us ope. 
Proximus armenti dominus bos solicitatus 
Auxilium his verbis se dare posse negat. 
Quando quadrupedum, quot vivunt, nullus amicum 

Me nescire potest usque fuisse tibi, 
Libertate sequus, quam cedit amicus amico, 
Utar, et absque metu ne tibi displiceam ; 
Hinc me mandat amor. Juxta istum messis 
acervum 
Me mea, prae cunctis chara, juvenca manet ; 
Et quis non ultro qusecunque negotia linquit, 

Pareat ut dominee, cum vocat ipsa, suae ? 
Neu me crudelem dicas — discedo — sed hircus, 

Cujus ope effugias integer, hircus adest. 
Febrem (ait hircus) habes. Heu, sicca ut lumina 
languent ! 
Utque caput, collo deficiente, jacet ! 
Hirsutum mihi tergum ; et forsan lseserit segrum ; 

Vellere eris melius fultus, ovisque venit. 
Me mihi fecit onus natura, ovis inquit, anhelans 

Sustineo lanse pondera tanta mese ; 
Me nee velocem nee fortem jacto, solentque 

Nos etiam ssevi dilacerare canes. 
Ultimus accedit vitulus, vitulumque precatur 
Ut periturum alias ocyus eripiat. 


19(5 


TRANSLATIONS OF ENGLISH VERSES. 


Remne ego, respondet vitulus, suscepero tantam, 

Non depulsus adhuc ubere, natus heri ? 
Te, quern maturi canibus validique relinquunt, 

Incolumem potero reddere parvus ego ? 
Praeterea tollens quem illi aversantur, amicis 

Forte parum videar consuluisse meis. 
Ignoscas oro. Fidissima dissociantur 

Corda, et tale tibi sat liquet esse meura, 
Ecce auteiu ad calces canis est ! te quanta perempto 

Tristitia est nobis ingruitura ! — Vale ! 


AVARUS ET PLUTUS. 

Icta fenestra Euri flatu stridebat, a varus 

Ex somno trepidus surgit, opumque memor. 
Lata silenter humi ponit vestigia, quemque 

Respicit ad sonitum respiciensque tremit ; 
Angustissima quseque foramina lampade visit, 

Ad vectes, obices, fertque refertque manum. 
Dein reserat crebris junctam compagibus arcam, 

Exultansque omnes conspicit intus opes. 
Sed tandem furiis ultricibus actus ob artes 

Queis sua res tenuis creverat in cumulum, 
Contortis manibus nunc stat, nunc pectora pulsans 

Aurum execratur, perniciemque vocat ; 
mihi, ait, misero mens quam tranquilla fuisset, 

Hoc celasset adhuc si modo terra malum ! 
Nunc autem virtus ipsa est venalis ; et aurum 

Quid contra vitii tormina SEeva valet ? 
inimicum aurum ! homini infestissima pestis, 

Cui datur illecebras vincere posse tuas % 
Aurum homines suasit contemnere quicquid ho- 
nestum est, 

Et preeter nomen nil retinere boni. 
Aurum cuncta mali per terras semina sparsit ; 

Aurum nocturnis furibus arma dedit. 
Bella docet fortes, timidosque ad pessima ducit, 

Foedifragas artes, multiplicesque dolos, 
Nee vitii quicquam est, quod non inveneris ortum 

Ex malesuada auri sacrilegaque fame. 
Dixit, et ingemuit ; Plutusque suum sibi numen 

Ante oculos, ira fervidus, ipse stetit. 
Arcam clausit avarus, et ora horrentia rugis 

Ostendens, tremulum sic Deus increpuit. 
Questibus his raucis mihi cur, stulte, obstrepis 
aures ? 

Ista tui similis tristia quisque canit. 
Commaculavi egone humanum genus, improbe % 
Culpa, 

Dum rapis, et captas omnia, culpa tua est. 
Mene execrandum censes, quia turn pretiosa 

Criminibus fiunt perniciosa tuis % 
Virtutis specie, pulchro ceu pallio amictus 

Quisque catus nebulo sordida facta tegit. 
Atque suis manibus commissa potentia, durum 

Et dirum subito vergit ad imperium. 


Hinc, nimium dum latro aurum detrudit in arcam, 

Idem aurum latet in pectore pestis edax ; 
Nutrit avaritiam et fastum, suspendere adunco 

Suadet naso inopes, et vitium omne docet. 
Auri at larga probo si copia contigit, instar 

Roris dilapsi ex sethere cuncta beat : 
Turn, quasi numen inesset, alit, fovet, educat orbos, 

Et viduas lacrymis ora rigare vetat. 
Quo sua crimina jure auro derivet avarus, 

Aurum animse pretium qui cupit atque capit I 
Lege pari gladium incuset sicarius atrox 

Cseso homine, et ferrum judicet esse reran. 


PAPILIO ET LIMAX. 


Qui subito ex imis rerum in fastigia surgit, 
Nativas sordes, quicquid agatur, olet. 


TRANSLATION 


A SIMILE IN PARADISE LOST. 

June, 1780. 


" So when, from mountain tops, the dusky clouds 
Ascending," &c. 


Quales aerii montis de vertice nubes 

Cum surgunt, et jam Borese tumida ora qui£runt, 

Ccelum hilares abdit, spissa caligine, vultus : 

Turn si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore, 

Et croceo montes et pascua lumine tingat, 

Gaudent omnia, aves mulcent concentibus agros, 

Balatuque ovium colles vallesque resultant. 


TRANSLATION 


DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON MILTON. 

July, 1780. 


" Three Poets in three distant ages horn," &c. 

Tres tria, sed longe" distantia, ssecula vates 
Ostentant tribus e gentibus eximios. 

Greecia sublimem, cum maj estate disertum 
Roma tulit, felix Anglia utrique parem. 

Partubus ex binis Natura exhausta, coacta est, 
Tertius ut fieret, consociare duos. 


TRANSLATIONS 


FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA MOTTE GUYON. 


THE NATIVITY. 

'Tis folly all ! — let me no more be told 
Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold : 
Delightful views of nature, dress'd by art, 
Enchant no longer this indifferent heart : 
The Lord of all things, in his humble birth, 
Makes mean the proud magnificence of earth ; 
The straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall, 
Eclipse its lustre ; and I scorn it all. 

Canals, and fountains, and delicious vales, 
Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails ; 
Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise, 
Earth-born, and yet ambitious of the skies, 
The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades 
Vainly the sun hi all its power invades, 
Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound, 
Whose verdure fives while winter scowls around ; 
Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep, 
And torrents raving down the rugged steep, [cheer, 
Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits 
Meads crown'd with flowers, streams musical and 

clear, 
Whose silver waters and whose murmurs join 
Their artless charms, to make the scene divine ; 
The fruitful vineyard, and the furrow'd plain, 
That seems a rolling sea of golden grain, 
All, all have lost the charms they once possess'd ; 
An infant God reigns sovereign in my breast ; 
From Bethlehem's bosom I no more will rove ; 
There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love. 

Ye mightier rivers, that with sounding force, 
Urge down the vallies your impetuous course ! 
Winds, clouds, and lightnings 1 and, ye waves, 

whose heads, 
Curl'd into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads ! 
Horrid abyss, where all experience fails, 
Spread with the wreck of planks and shatter'd sails ; 
On whose broad back grim death triumphant rides, 
While havock floats on all thy swelling tides. 
Thy shores a scene of ruin, strew'd around 
With vessels bulged, and bodies of the drown'd ! 
Ye fish that sport beneath the boundless waves, 
And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves ; 
Swift-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size, 
Whom all the aquatic world with terror eyes ! 
Had I but faith immoveable and true, 
I might defy the fiercest storm, like you. 
The world, a more disturb'd and boisterous sea, 
When Jesus shows a smile, affrights not me ; 
He hides me, and in vain the billows roar, 
Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore. 
Thou azure vault, where through the gloom of 

night, 
Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light ! 


Thou moon, whose car encompassing the slues,. 
Restores lost nature to our wondering eyes, 
Again retiring when the brighter sun 
Begins the course he seems in haste to run ! 
Behold him where he shines ! His rapid rays, 
Themselves unmeasured, measure all our days ; 
Nothing impedes the race he would pursue, 
Nothing escapes his penetrating view, 
A thousand lands confess his quickening heat, 
And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet. 

Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose, 
I feel the thorn, alas ! but miss the rose : 
Too well I know this aching heart requires 
More solid good to fill its vast desires ; 
In vain they represent His matchless might, 
Who call'd them out of deep primeval night ; 
Their form and beauty but augment my woe : 
I seek the Giver of those charms they show : 
Nor, Him beside, throughout the world He made, 
Lives there in whom I trust for cure or aid. 

Infinite God, thou great unrival'd One ! 
Whose glory makes a blot of yonder sun : 
Compared with thine, how dim his beauty seems, 
How quench'd the radiance of his golden beams ! 
Thou art my bliss, the light by which I move ; 
In Thee alone dwells all that I can love ; 
All darkness flies when Thou art pleased to appear, 
A sudden spring renews the fading year ; 
Where'er I turn I see thy power and grace, 
The watchful guardian of our heedless race ; 
Thy various creatures in one strain agree, 
All, in all times and places, speak of Thee ; 
Even I, with trembling heart and stammering 

tongue, 
Attempt thy praise, and join the general song. 

Almighty Former of this wondrous plan, 
Faintly reflected in thine image, Man, — 
Holy and just, the greatness of whose name 
Fills and supports this universal frame, 
Diffused throughout the infinitude of space, 
Who art Thyself thine own vast dwelling place ; 
Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of ours 
Discerns, eluding our most active powers ; 
Encircling shades attend thine awful throne, 
That veil thy face, and keep thee still unknown, 
Unknown, though dwelling in our inmost part, 
Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heart ! 

Repeat the charming truth that never tires,. 
No God is like the God my soul desires ! 
He at whose voice heaven trembles, even He, 
Great as he is, knows how to stoop to me. 
Lo ! there he lies, — that smiling infant said, 
" Heaven, earth, and sea, exist ! " — and they obey'd. 
Even He, whose Being swells beyond the skies, 
Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and die& ; 


198 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


Eternal and Immortal, seems to cast 
That glory from his brows, and breathes his last. 
Trivial and vain the works that man has wrought, 
How do they shrink and vanish at the thought ! 

Sweet solitude, and scene of my repose ! 
This rustic sight assuages all my woes. — 
That crib contains the Lord, whom I adore ; 
And earth's a shade, that I pursue no more. 
He is my firm support, my rock, my tower, 
I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power, 
And hold this mean retreat for ever dear, 
For all I love, my soul's delight, is here. 
I see the Almighty swathed in infant bands, 
Tied helpless down the thunder-bearer's hands, 
And, in this shed, that mystery discern, 
Which faith and love, and they alone, can learn. 

Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord ! 
Ye zephyrs, all your whisper'd sweets afford ! 
Confess the God, that guides the rolling year ; 
Heaven, do him homage ; and thou, earth, revere ! 
Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither bring 
Your hearts an offering, and adore your King ! 
Pure be those hearts, and rich in faith and love ; 
Join in his praise, the harmonious world above ; 
To Bethlehem haste, rejoice in his repose, 
And praise him there for all that He bestows ! 

Man, busy Man, alas ! can ill afford 
To obey the summons, and attend the Lord ; 
Perverted reason revels and runs wild, 
By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguiled, 
And blind to genuine excellence and grace, 
Finds not her author hi so mean a place. 
Ye unbelieving ! learn a wiser part, 
Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart ; 
There, soon ye shall perceive a kindling fla'me 
Glow for that infant God, from whom it came ; 
Resist not, quench not, that divine desire, 
Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire ! 

Not so will I requite thee, gentle Love ! 
Yielding and soft this heart will ever prove ; 
And every heart beneath thy power should fall, 
Glad to submit, could mine contain them all. 
But I am poor ; oblation I have none, 
None for a Saviour, but Himself alone : 
Whate'er I render Thee, from Thee it came ; 
And, if I give my body to the flame, 
My patience, love, and energy divine, 
Of heart and soul and spirit, all are thine. 
Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score ! 
The more I pay, I owe thee still the more. 

Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt, 
The trophy of thy glory shall be built ; 
My self-disdain shall be the unshaken base, 
And my deformity its fairest grace ; 
For destitute of good and rich in ill, 
Must be my state and my description still. 

And do I grieve at such an humbling lot ? 
Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought. 
Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu ! 
I have no wish, no memory for you : 
The more I feel my misery, I adore 
The sacred Inmate of my soul the more ; 
Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride 
Spring from the sense of having nought beside. 

In Thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might ; 
My wanderings prove Thy wisdom infinite ; 
All that I have I give thee ; and then see 
All contrarieties unite in thee ; 
For Thou hast join'd them, taking up our woe, 
And pouring out thy bliss on worms below, 


By filling with thy grace and love divine 

A gulf of evil in this heart of mine. 

This is, indeed, to bid the vallies rise, 

And the hills sink, — 'tis matching earth and skies ! 

I feel my weakness, thank thee, and deplore 

An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more ; 

The more I love thee, I the more reprove 

A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love ; 

Till, on a deluge of thy mercy toss'd, 

I plunge into that sea, and there am lost. 


GOD NEITHER KNOAVN NOR LOVED BY THE 
WORLD. 

Ye linnets, let us try, beneath this grove, 

Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise ! 

In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove, 

For all the world is blind, and wanders from his 
ways. 

That God alone should prop the sinking soul, 
Fills them with rage against his empire now : 

I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole, 

To seek one simple heart, set free from all below. 

They speak of love, yet little feel its sway, 
While in their bosoms many an idol lurks ; 

Their base desires, well satisfied, obey, [works. 
Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his 

'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more ; 

Your fellowship, ye warblers ! suits me best : 
Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore, 

Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a 
jest. 

My God, who form'd you for his praise alone, 
Beholds his purpose well fulfill'd in you ; 

Come, let us join the choir before his throne, 
Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true ! 

Yes, I will always love ; and, as I ought, 

Tune to the praise of Love my ceaseless voice ; 

Preferring Love too vast for human thought, 
In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice. 

Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, 
Lord of my soul ! that they might all be thine ? 

If thou approve, — the zeal thy smile imparts, 
How should it ever fail ! can such a fire decline ? 

Love pure and holy, is a deathless fire ; 

Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze : 
Eternal love a God must needs inspire, [praise. 

When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his 

Self-love dismiss'd, — 'tis then we live indeed, — 
In her embrace, death, only death is found ; 

Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed, 

Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is 
bound ! 

Oh ! I could cry, that ali the world might hear, 
Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone ; 

Let his unequal'd excellence be dear, [your own ! 
Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all 

They hear me not. — Alas ! how fond to rove 
In endless chase of folly's specious lure ! 

'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, 

I taste the sweets of truth, — here only am secure. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 199 


Many mariners were there, 

THE SWALLOW. 

Having each his separate care ; 



They that row'd us held their eyes 

I am fond of the swallow ; — I learn from her flight, 

Fix'd upon the starry skies ; 

Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love : 

Others steer'd, or turn'd the sails 

How seldom on earth do we see her alight ! 

To receive the shifting gales. 

She dwells in the skies, she is ever above. 

Love, with power divine supplied, 

It is on the wing that she takes her repose, 

Suddenly my courage tried ; 

Suspended and poised in the regions of air ; 
'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows, 

In a moment it was night, 

Ship and skies were out of sight ; 

It is wing'd like herself, 'tis ethereal fare. 

On the briny wave I lay, 
Floating rushes all my stay. 

She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays, 

Did I with resentment burn 

And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun : — 

At this unexpected turn ? 

So, true to our Love, we should covet his rays, 

Did I wish myself on shore, 

And the place where he shines not, immediately 

Never to forsake it more ? 

shun. 

No :— " My soul," I cried, «be still ! 


If I must be lost, I will." 

Our light should be Love, and our nourishment 

Next he hasten'd to convey 

prayer ', 
It is dangerous food that we find upon earth : 
The fruit of this world is beset with a snare, 
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth. 

Both my frail supports away ; 
Seized my rushes ; bade the waves 
Yawn into a thousand graves : 
Down I went, and sunk as lead, 

'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below, 

Ocean closing o'er my head. 

And only when building a nest for her young ; 

Still, however, life was safe ; 

Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow 

And I saw him turn and laugh : 

A thought upon anything filthy as dung. 

" Friend," he cried, K adieu ! lie low, 


While the wintry storms shall blow ; 

Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode) 

When the spring has calm'd the main, 

To bask every moment in infinite Love ; 

You shall rise and float again." 

Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road 
That leads to the dayspring appearing above. 

Soon I saw him, with dismay, 
Spread his plumes and soar away ; 


Now I mark his rapid flight, 

. — • 

Now he leaves my aching sight ; 


He is gone whom I adore, 

THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED. 

'Tis in vain to seek him more; 



How I trembled then and fear'd, 

Ah ! reign, wherever man is found, 

When my love had disappear'd ! 

My Spouse, beloved and divine ! 

" Wilt thou leave me thus," I cried, 

Then I am rich, and I abound, 

" Whelm'd beneath the rolling tide ?" 

When every human heart is thine. 

Vain attempt to reach his ear ! 


Love was gone, and would not hear. 

A thousand sorrows pierce my soul, 
To think that all are not thine own : 

Ah ! return, and love me still ; 

Ah ! be adored from pole to pole ; 

Where is thy zeal ? arise ; be known ! 

See me subject to thy will ! 

Frown with wrath, or smile with grace, 

Only let me see thy face ! 

All hearts are cold, in every place, 

Evil I have none to fear, 

Yet earthly good with warmth pursue ; 

All is good, if Thou art near. 

Dissolve them with a flash of grace, 

Yet he leaves me, — cruel fate ! 

Thaw these of ice, and give us new ! 

Leaves me in my lost estate ! 


Have I sinn'd % Oh say wherein ? 


Tell me, and forgive my sin ! 

* 

King and Lord, whom I adore, 

A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION 

Shall I see thy face no more ? 


Be not angry ; I resign, 

OF THE 

Henceforth, all my will to thine : 

PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE, 

I consent that thou depart, 


Though thine absence breaks my heart ; 

IN BRINGING A SOUL TO THE POINT OF SELF-RENUNCIATION 

Go then, and for ever too ; 

AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE. 

All is right that thou wilt do. 

'Twas my purpose on a day, 

This was just what Love intended, 

To embark and sail away ; 

He was now no more offended ; 

As I climb'd the vessel's side, 

Soon as I became a child, 

Love was sporting in the tide ; 

Love return'd to me and smiled : 

" Come," he said, "ascend ! make haste, 

Never strife shall more betide 

Launch into the boundless waste." 

'Twixt the bridegroom and his bride. 

_ __ — , _ 


200 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


A CHILD OF GOD 

LONGING TO SEE HIM BELOVED. 

There's not an echo round me, 

But I am glad should learn 
How pure a fire has found me, 

The love with which I burn. 
For none attends with pleasure 

To what I would reveal ; 
They slight me out of measure, 

And laugh at all I feel. 

The rocks receive less proudly 

The story of my flame ; 
When I approach, they loudly 

Reverberate his name. 
I speak to them of sadness, 

And comforts at a stand ; 
They bid me look for gladness, 

And better days at hand. 

Far from all habitation, 

I heard a happy sound, 
Big with the consolation, 

That I have often found ; 
I said, " My lot is sorrow, 

My grief has no alloy ;" 
The rocks replied — " To-morrow, 

To-morrow brings thee joy." 

These sweet and secret tidings, 

What bliss it is to hear ! 
For, spite of all my chidings, 

My weakness and my fear, 
No sooner I receive them, 

Than I forget my pain, 
And happy to believe them, 

I love as much again. 

I fly to scenes romantic, 

Where never men resort ; 
For in an age so frantic 

Impiety is sport ; 
For riot and confusion 

They barter things above, 
Condemning, as delusion, 

The joy of perfect love. 

In this sequester'd corner, 

None hears what I express ; 
Deliver' d from the scorner, 

What peace do I possess ! 
Beneath the boughs reclining, 

Or roving o'er the wild, 
I live as undesigning, 

And harmless as a child. 

No troubles here surprise me ; 

I innocently play, 
While Providence supplies me, 

And guards me all the day : 
My dear and kind defender 

Preserves me safely here, 
From men of pomp and splendour, 

Who fill a child with fear. 


ASPIRATIONS OF THE SOUL AFTER GOD. 

My Spouse ! in whose presence I live, 
Sole object of all my desires, 

Who know'st what a flame I conceive 
And canst easily double its fires ; 


How pleasant is all that I meet ! 

From fear of adversity free, 
I find even sorrow made sweet ; 

Because 'tis assign'd me by Thee. 

Transported I see Thee display 

Thy riches and glory divine ; 
I have only my life to repay, 

Take what I would gladly resign. 
Thy will is the treasure I seek, 

For thou art as faithful as strong ; 
There let me, obedient and meek, 

Repose myself all the day long. 

My spirit and faculties fail ; 

Oh finish what love has begun ! 
Destroy what is sinful and frail, 

And dwell in the soul thou hast won ! 
Dear theme of my wonder and praise, 

I cry, who is worthy as Thou ! 
I can only be silent and gaze : 

'Tis all that is left to me now. 

Oh glory in which I am lost, 

Too deep for the plummet of thought ; 
On an ocean of Deity toss'd, 

I am swallow 7 d, I sink into nought. 
Yet lost and absorb'd as I seem, 

I chant to the praise of my King ; 
And, though overwhelm'd by the theme, 

Am happy whenever I sing. 


GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO GOD. 

All are indebted much to Thee, 

But I far more than all, 
From many a deadly snare set free, 

And raised from many a fall. 
Overwhelm me, from above, 
Daily with thy boundless love ! 

What bonds of gratitude I feel 

No language can declare ; 
Beneath the oppressive weight I reel, 

'Tis more than I can bear : 
When shall I that blessing prove, 
To return thee Love for Love I 

Spirit of Charity, dispense 

Thy grace to every heart ; 
Expel all other spirits thence, 

Drive self from every part ; 
Charity divine, draw nigh, 
Break the chains in which we lie ! 

All selfish souls, whate'er they feign, 

Have still a slavish lot ; 
They boast of liberty in vain, 

Of Love, and feel it not. 
He whose bosom glows with Thee, 
He, and he alone, is free. 

Oh blessedness, all bliss above, 
When thy pure fires prevail ! 

Love only teaches what is Love ; 
All other lessons fail : 

We learn its name, but not its powers, 

Experience only makes it ours. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON, 


201 


HAPPY SOLITUDE— UNHAPPY MEN. 


My heart is easy, and my burden light ; 

I smile, though sad, when Thou art in my sight : 

The more my woes in secret I deplore, 

I taste thy goodness, and I love thee more. 

There, while a solemn stillness reigns around, 
Faith, love, and hope, within my soul abound ; 
And while the world suppose me lost in care, 
The joys of angels, unperceived, I share. 

Thy creatures wrong thee, thou sovereign Good ! 
Thou art not loved, because not understood ; 
This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile 
Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile. 

Frail beauty and false honour are adored ; 
While Thee they scorn, and trifle with thy Word ; 
Pass, unconcern'd, a Saviour's sorrows by ; 
And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die. 


LIVING WATER. 

The fountain in its source 
No drought of summer fears ; 

The farther it pursues its course, 
The nobler it appears. 

But shallow cisterns yield 

A scanty short supply ; 
The morning sees them amply fill'd, 

At evening they are dry. 


DIVINE JUSTICE AMIABLE. 


TRUTH AND DIVINE LOVE 

REJECTED BY THE WORLD. 


O Love, of pure and heavenly birth ! 
O simple Truth, scarce known on earth ! 
Whom men resist with stubborn will ; 
And, more perverse and daring still, 
Smother and quench, with reasonings vain, 
While error and deception reign. 

Whence comes it, that, your power the same 
As His on high, from whence you came, 
Ye rarely find a listening ear, 
Or heart that makes you welcome here ? — 
Because ye bring reproach and pain, 
Where'er ye visit, in your train. 

The world is proud, and cannot bear 
The scorn and calumny ye share ; 
The praise of men the mark they mean, 
They fly the place where ye are seen ; 
Pure Love, with scandal in the rear, 
Suits not the vain ; it costs too dear. 

Then, let the price be what it may, 
Though poor, I am prepared to pay ; 
Come shame, come sorrow ; spite of tears, 
Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears ; 
One soul, at least, shall not repine, 
To give you room j come, reign in mine ! 


Thou hast no lightnings, thou Just ! 

Or I their force should know ; 
And if thou strike me into dust, 

My soul approves the blow. 

The heart, that values less its ease 

Than it adores thy ways, 
In thine avenging anger sees 

A subject of its praise. 

Pleased I could lie, conceal'd and lost, 

In shades of central night ; 
Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st, 

But lest I grieve thy sight. 

Smite me, Thou, whom I provoke ; 

And I will love thee still ; 
The well-deserved and righteous stroke 
, Shall please me, though it kill. 

Am I not worthy to sustain 
The worst thou canst devise ? 

And dare I seek thy throne again, 
And meet thy sacred eyes ? 

Far from afflicting, Thou art kind ; 

And in my saddest hours, 
An unction of thy grace I find, 

Pervading all my powers. 

Alas ! Thou sparest me yet again ; 

And when thy wrath should move, 
Too gentle to endure my pain, 

Thou soothest me with thy love. 

I have no punishment to fear ; 

But, ah ! that smile from Thee 
Imparts a pang far more severe 

Than woe itself would be. 


THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS HIM 
EVERYWHERE. 

Oh Thou, by long experience tried, 
Near whom no grief can long abide ; 
My Love ! how full of sweet content 
I pass my years of banishment ! 

All scenes alike engaging prove 
To souls impress'd with sacred Love ! 
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in Thee ; 
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. 

To me remains nor place nor time ! 
My country is in every clime ; 
I can be calm and free from care 
On any shore, since God is there. 

While place we seek, or place we shun, 
The soul finds happiness in none ; 
But with a God to guide our way, 
'Tis equal joy to go or stay. 

Could I be cast where Thou art not, 
That were indeed a dreadful lot ; 
But regions none remote I call, 
Secure of finding God in all. 


202 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


My country, Lord, art Thou alone ; 
Nor other can I claim or own ; 
The point where all my wishes meet ; 
My law, my love ; life's only sweet ! 

I hold by nothing here below ; 

Appoint my journey, and I go ; 

Though pierced by scorn, oppress'd by pride, 

I feel thee good, feel nought beside. 

No frowns of men can hurtful prove 
To souls on fire with heavenly Love ! 
Though men and devils both condemn, 
No gloomy days arise from them. 

Ah then ! to His embrace repair ; 
My soul, thou art no stranger there ; 
There Love divine shall be thy guard, 
And peace and safety thy reward. 


THE TESTIMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION. 

How happy are the new-born race ; 
Partakers of adopting grace, 

How pure the bliss they share ! 
Hid from the world and all its eyes, 
Within their heart the blessing lies, 

And conscience feels it there. 

The moment we believe, 'tis ours ; 
And if we love with all our powers 

The God from whom it came, 
And if we serve with hearts sincere, 
'Tis still discernible and clear, 

An undisputed claim. 

But, ah ! if foul and wilful sin 
Stain and dishonour us within, 

Farewell the joy we knew ; 
Again the slaves of Nature's sway, 
In labyrinths of our own we stray, 

Without a guide or clue. 

The chaste and pure, who fear to grieve 
The gracious Spirit they receive, 

His work distinctly trace ; 
And, strong in undissembling love, 
Boldly assert and clearly prove 

Their hearts his dwelling place. 

Oh messenger of dear delight, 
Whose voice dispels the deepest night, 

Sweet peace-proclaiming Dove ! 
With thee at hand, to soothe our pains, 
No wish unsatisfied remains, 

No task but that of Love. 

'Tis Love unites what sin divides ; 
The centre, where all bliss resides ; 

To which the soul once brought, 
Reclining on the first great Cause, 
From his abounding sweetness draws 

Peace passing human thought. 

Sorrow foregoes its nature there, 
And life assumes a tranquil air, 

Divested of its woes ; 
There sovereign goodness soothes the breast, 
Till then incapable of rest, 

In sacred sure repose. 


DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL. 

Love is the Lord whom I obey, 
Whose will transported I perform ; 

The centre of my rest, my stay, 

Love's all in all to me, myself a worm. 

For uncreated charms I burn, 

Oppress'd by slavish fear no more ; 

For One in whom I may discern,. 

Even when He frowns, a sweetness I adore. 

He little loves Him, who complains, 
And finds him rigorous and severe ; 

His heart is sordid, and he feigns, 

Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere. 

Love causes grief, but 'tis to move 
And stimulate the slumbering mind ; 

And he has never tasted love, 

Who shuns a pang so graciously design'd. 

Sweet is the cross, above all sweets, 
To souls enamour'd with thy smiles ; 

The keenest woe life ever meets, 

Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles. 

'Tis just that God should not be dear 
Where self engrosses all the thought, 

And groans and murmurs make it clear, 
Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not. 

The love of Thee flows just as much 

As that of ebbing self subsides ; 
Our hearts, their scantiness is such, 

Bear not the conflict of two rival tides. 

Both cannot govern in one soul ; 

Then let self-love be dispossess'd ; 
The love of God deserves the whole, 

And will not dwell with so despised a guest. 


SELF-DIFFDDENCE. 

Source of love, and light of day, 
Tear me from myself away ; 
Every view and thought of mine 
Cast into the mould of thine ; 
Teach, O teach this faithless heart 
A consistent constant part ; 
Or, if it must live to grow 
More rebellious, break it now ! 

Is it thus that I requite 
Grace and goodness infinite ? 
Every trace of every boon 
Cancel'd and erased so soon ! 
Can I grieve Thee, whom I love ; 
Thee, in whom I live and move ? 
If my sorrow touch thee still, 
Save me from so great an ill ! 

Oh ! the oppressive, irksome weight, 
Felt in an uncertain state ; 
Comfort, peace, and rest adieu, 
Should I prove at last untrue ! 
Still I choose thee, follow still 
Every notice of thy will ; 
But, unstable, strangely weak, 
Still let slip the good I seek. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


203 


Self-confiding wretch, I thought 
I could serve thee as I ought, 
Win thee, and deserve to feel 
All the Love thou canst reveal ! 
Trusting self, a bruised reed, 
Is to be deceived indeed. 
Save me from this harm and loss, 
Lest my gold turn all to dross ! 

Self is earthly — Faith alone 
Makes an unseen world our own ; 
Faith relinquish'd, how we roam, 
Feel our way, and leave our home ! 
Spurious gems our hopes entice, 
While we scorn the pearl of price ; 
And, preferring servants' pay, 
Cast the children's bread away. 


THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE, 

Love ! if thy destined sacrifice am I, 

Come slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires ; 

Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die 
The death which every soul that lives desires ! 

I watch my hours, and see them fleet away ; 

The time is long that I have languish'd here ; 
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey, 

With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. 

To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain 

My life or death, appoint me pain or ease ; 

My soul perceives no real ill in pain ; 
In ease or health no real good she sees. 

One Good she covets, and that Good alone ; 

To choose thy will, from selfish bias free ; 
And to prefer a cottage to a throne, 

And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee. 

That we should bear the cross is thy command, 
Die to the world, and live to self no more ; 

Suffer, unmoved, beneath the rudest hand, 

As pleased when shipwreck' d as when safe on 
shore. 


REPOSE IN GOD. 

Blest ! who, far from all mankind, 
This World's shadows left behind, 
Hears from Heaven a gentle strain 
Whispering Love, and loves again. 

Blest ! who, free from self-esteem, 
Dives into the great Supreme, 
All desire beside discards, 
Joys inferior none regards. 

Blest ! who in thy bosom seeks 
Rest that nothing earthly breaks, 
Dead to self and worldly things, 
Lost in thee, thou King of kings ! 

Ye that know my secret fire, 
Softly speak and soon retire ; 
Favour my divine repose, 
Spare the sleep a God bestows. 


GLORY TO GOD ALONE. 

Oh loved ! but not enough — though dearer far 
Than self and its most loved enjoyments are; 
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free 
From sensual objects, finds his all in Thee. 

Glory of God ! thou stranger here below, 
Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know ; 
Our faith and reason are both shock'd to find 
Man in the post of honour — Thee behind. 

Reason exclaims — " Let every creature fall, 
Ashamed, abased, before the Lord of all ;" 
And faith, o'erwhelm'd with such a dazzling blaze, 
Feebly describes the beauty she surveys. 

Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind, 
Deaf to the dictates of his better mind, 
In frantic competition dares the skies, 
And claims precedence of the only wise. 

Oli lost in vanity, till once self -known ! 
Nothing is great, or good, but God alone ; 
When thou shalt stand before His awful face, 
Then, at the last, thy pride shall know His place. 

Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end ! 
When wilt thou melt the mountains and descend? 
When wilt thou shoot abroad thy conquering rays, 
And teach these atoms thou hast made, thy praise ? 

Thy Glory is the sweetest heaven I feel ; 
And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal, 
Thy Love, triumphant o'er a selfish will, 
Taught me the passion, and inspires it still. 

My reason, all my faculties, unite, 
To make thy Glory their supreme delight ; 
Forbid it, fountain of my brightest days, 
That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise ! 

My soul ! rest happy in thy low estate, 
Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd or great ; 
To take the impression of a will divine, 
Be that thy glory, and those riches thine. 

Confess Him righteous in his just decrees, 
Love what he loves, and let his pleasure please ; 
Die daily ; from the touch of sin recede ; 
Then thou hast crown'd him, and he reigns indeed. 


SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE. 

From thorny wilds a monster came, 
That fill'd my soul with fear and shame ; 
The birds, forgetful of their mirth, 
Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth ; 
When thus a sage address'd mine ear, 
Himself unconscious of a fear. 

" Whence all this terror and surprise, 
Distracted looks, and streaming eyes % 
Far from the world and its affairs, 
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares, 
Surrender, without guile or art, 
To God, an undivided heart ; 
The savage form, so fear'd before, 
Shall scare your trembling soul no more ; 


204 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


For loathsome as the sight may be, 
'Tis but the Love of self you see. 
Fix all your love on God alone, 
Chuse but His will, and hate your own, 
No fear shall hi your path be found, 
The dreary waste shall bloom around, 
And you through all your happy days, 
Shall bless his name, and sing his praise." 

Oh lovely solitude, how sweet 
The silence of this calm retreat ! 
Here Truth, the fair whom I pursue, 
Gives all her beauty to my view ; 
The simple, unadorn'd display 
Charms every pain and fear away. 
O Truth, whom millions proudly slight ; 
Truth, my treasure and delight ; 
Accept this tribute to thy name, 
And this poor heart from which it came ! 


THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFE. 

Since life in sorrow must be spent, 
So be it — I am well content, 
And meekly wait my last remove, 
Seeking only growth in love. 

No bliss I seek, but to fulfil 
In life, in death, thy lovely will ; 
No succours in my woes I want, 
Save what Thou art pleased to grant. 

Our days are number'd, let us spare 
Our anxious hearts a needless care : 
'Tis thine to number out our days ; 
Ours to give them to thy praise. 

Love is our only business here, 
Love, simple, constant, and sincere ; 
O blessed days, thy servants see ! 
Spent, Lord ! in pleasing Thee. 


LOVE FAITHFUL IN THE ABSENCE OF THE 
BELOVED. 

In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys, 
Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise ; 
Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow 
Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now ; 
Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see, 
Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me 

In vain He leaves me, I shall love him still ; 
And though I mourn, not murmur at his will ; 
I have no cause — an object all divine 
Might well grow weary of a soul like mine ; 
Yet pity me, great God ! forlorn, alone, 
Heartless and hopeless, Life and Love all gone. 


LOVE PURE AND FERVENT. 

Jealous, and with love o'erflowing, 
God demands a fervent heart ; 

Grace and bounty still bestowing, 
Calls us to a grateful part. 


Oh, then, with supreme affection 

His paternal Will regard ! 
If it cost us some dejection, 

Every sigh has its reward. 

Perfect Love has power to soften 
Cares that might our peace destroy ; 

Nay, does more — transforms them often, 
Changing sorrow into joy. 

Sovereign Love appoints the measure 
And the number of our pains ; 

And is pleased when we find pleasure 
In the trials He ordains. 


THE ENTIRE SURRENDER. 

Peace has unveil'd her smiling face, 
And woos thy soul to her embrace, 
Enjoy'd with ease, if thou refrain 
From earthly love, else sought in vain ; 
She dwells with all who Truth prefer, 
But seeks not them who seek not her. 

Yield to the Lord, with simple heart, 
All that thou hast, and all thou art ; 
Renounce all strength but strength divine, 
And peace shall be for ever thine : 
Behold the path which I have trod, 
My path, till I go home to God. 


THE PERFECT SACRIFICE. 

I place an offering at thy shrine, 
From taint and blemish clear, 

Simple and pure in its design, 
Of all that I hold dear. 

I yield thee back thy gifts again, 
Thy gifts which most I prize ; 

Desirous only to retain 
The notice of thine eyes. 

But if, by thine adored decree, 
That blessing be denied ; 

Resign'd and unreluctant, see 
My every wish subside. 

Thy will in all things I approve, 

Exalted or cast down ! 
Thy will in every state I love, 

And even in thy frown. 


GOD HIDES HIS PEOPLE. 

To lay the soul that loves him low, 

Becomes the Only-wise : 
To hide, beneath a veil of woe, 

The children of the skies. 

Man, though a worm, would yet be great ; 

Though feeble, would seem strong ; 
Assumes an independent state, 

By sacrilege and wrong. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


205 


Strange the reverse, which, once abased, 
The haughty creature proves ! 

He feels his soul a barren waste, 
Nor dares affirm he loves. 

Scorn'd by the thoughtless and the vain, 

To God he presses near ; 
Superior to the world's disdain, 

And happy in its sneer. 

Oh welcome, in his heart he says, 

Humility and shame ! 
Farewell the wish for human praise, 

The music of a name ! 

But will not scandal mar the good 

That I might else perform ? 
And can God work it, if he would, 

By so despised a worm 1 

Ah, vainly anxious ! — leave the Lord 

To rule thee, and dispose ; 
Sweet is the mandate of his word, 

And gracious all He does. 

He draws from human littleness 

His grandeur and renown ; 
And generous hearts with joy confess 

The triumph all his own. 

Down then with self-exalting thoughts ; 

Thy faith and hope employ, 
To welcome all that he allots, 

And suffer shame with joy. 

No longer, then, thou wilt encroach 

On his eternal right ; 
And He shall smile at thy approach, 

And make thee his delight. 


SECRETS OF DIVINE LOVE ARE TO BE KEPT. 

Sun ! stay thy course, this moment stay 

Suspend the o'erflowing tide of day, 
Divulge not such a love as mine, 
Ah ! hide the mystery divine ; 
Lest man, who deems my glory shame, 
Should learn the secret of my flame. 

night ! propitious to my views, 
Thy sable awning wide diffuse : 
Conceal alike my joy and pain, 
Nor draw thy curtain back again, 
Though morning, by the tears she shows, 
Seems to participate my woes. 

Ye stars ! whose faint and feeble fires 

Express my languishing desires, 

Whose slender beams pervade the skies 

As silent as my secret sighs, 

Those emanations of a soul, 

That darts her fires beyond the pole ; 

Your rays, that scarce assist the sight, 
That pierce, but not displace the night, 
That shine indeed, but nothing show 
Of all those various scenes below, 
Bring no disturbance, rather prove 
Incentives to a sacred love. 


Thou moon ! whose never-failing course 

Bespeaks a providential force, 

Go, tell the tidings of my flame 

To him who calls the stars by name, 

Whose absence kills, whose presence cheers, 

Who blots or brightens all my years. 

While, in the blue abyss of space, 
Thine orb performs its rapid race, 
Still whisper in his listening ears 
The language of my sighs and tears J 
Tell him, I seek him, far below, 
Lost in a wilderness of woe. 

Ye thought-composing, silent hours, 
Diffusing peace o'er all my powers, 
Friends of the pensive ! who conceal 
In darkest shades the flames I feel ; 
To you I trust, and safely may, 
The love that wastes my strength away. 

In sylvan scenes and caverns rude, 
I taste the sweets of solitude ; 
Retired indeed, but not alone, 
I share them with a Spouse unknown, 
Who hides me here, from envious eyes, 
From all intrusion and surprise. 

Imbowering shades, and dens profound ! 
Where echo rolls the voice around ; 
Mountains ! whose elevated heads, 
A moist and misty veil o'erspreads ; 
Disclose a solitary bride 
To him I love — to none beside. 

Ye rills ! that, murmuring all the way, 
Among the polish'd pebbles stray, 
Creep silently along the ground, 
Lest, drawn by that harmonious sound, 
Some wanderer, whom I would not meet, 
Should stumble on my loved retreat. 

Enamel'd'meads, and hillocks green, 
And streams that water all the scene ! 
Ye torrents, loud in distant ears ! 
Ye fountains ! that receive my tears ! 
Ah ! still conceal, with caution due, 
A charge I trust with none but you. 

If, when my pain and grief increase, 
I seem to enjoy the sweetest peace, 
It is because I find so fair 
The charming object of my care, 
That I can sport and pleasure make 
Of torment suffer'd for his sake. 

Ye meads and groves, unconscious things ! 

Ye know not whence my pleasure springs ; 

Ye know not, and ye cannot know, 

The source from which my sorrows flow : 

The dear sole Cause of all I feel, — 

He knows, and understands them well. 

Ye deserts ! where the wild beasts rove, 
Scenes sacred to my hours of love ; 
Ye forests ! in whose shades I stray, 
Benighted under burning day ; 
Ah ! whisper not how blest am I, 
Nor while I five, nor when I die. 

Ye lambs ! who sport beneath these shades, 

And bound along the mossy glades, 

Be taught a salutary fear, 

And cease to bleat when I am near : 

The wolf may hear your harmless cry, 

Whom ye should dread as much as I. 


206 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


How calm, amid these scenes, my mind ! 

How perfect is the peace I find ! 

Oh hush, be still, my every part, 

My tongue, my pulse, my beating heart ! 

That Love, aspiring to its cause, 

May suffer not a moment's pause. 

Ye swift-finn'd nations, that abide 
In seas as fathomless as wide ; 
And unsuspicious of a snare, 
Pursue at large your pleasures there : 
Poor sportive fools ! how soon does man 
Your heedless ignorance trepan ! 

Away ! dive deep into the brine, 
Where never yet sunk plummet-line ; 
Trust me, the vast leviathan 
Is merciful, compared with man ; 
Avoid his arts, forsake the beach, 
And never play within his reach ! 

My soul her bondage ill endures ; 

I pant for liberty like yours ; 

I long for that immense profound, 

That knows no bottom, and no bound ; 

Lost in infinity, to prove 

The incomprehensible of Love. 

Ye birds ! that lessen as ye fly, 
And vanish in the distant sky ; 
To whom yon airy waste belongs, 
Resounding with your cheerful songs ; 
Haste t$ escape from human sight ! 
Fear less the vulture and the kite. 

How blest, and how secure am I, 
When quitting earth, I soar on high ; 
When lost, like you I disappear, 
And float in a sublimer sphere ! 
Whence, falling within human view, 
I am ensnared, and caught like you. 

Omniscient God, whose notice deigns 
To try the heart and search the reins, 
Compassionate the numerous woes, 
I dare not, even to thee, disclose ; 
Oh save me from the cruel hands 
Of men, who fear not thy commands ! 

Love, all-subduing and divine, 
Care for a creature truly thine ; 
Reign in a heart, disposed to own 
No sovereign but thyself alone ; 
Cherish a bride who cannot rove, 
Nor quit Thee for a meaner love ! 


THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED 

IN THE 

CHRISTIAN LIFE. 

I suffer fruitless anguish day by day, 

Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain ; 

Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray, 
And see no end of all that I sustain. 

The more I strive the more I am withstood ; 

Anxiety increasing every hour, 
My spirit finds no rest, performs no good, 

And nought remains of all my former power. 


My peace of heart is fled, I know not where ; 

My happy hours, like shadows, pass'd away ; 
Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care, 

Night darker seems, succeeding such a day. 

Dear faded joys, and impotent regret, 
What profit is there in incessant tears ? 

Oh Thou, whom once beheld, we ne'er forget, 
Reveal thy Love, and banish all my fears ! 

Alas ! He flies me — treats me as his foe, 

Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead ; 

Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe, 
Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed. 

Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive ; 

My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires ; 
And while in terrors of thy wrath I live, 

Hell seems to lose its less tremendous fires. 

Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear, 
So thy severe displeasure might subside ? 

Hopeless of ease, I seem already there, 
My life extinguish'd, and yet death denied. 

Is this the joy so promised ? — this the love, 
The unchanging love, so sworn in better days ? 

Ah ! dangerous glories ! shown me, but to prove 
How lovely Thou, and I how rash to gaze. 

Why did I see them ? had I still remain'd 
Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art, 

My humbler wishes I had soon obtain'd, 

Nor known the torments of a doubting heart. 

Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires, 

Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain ? 

Dubious and uninform'd, my soul inquires, 
Ought she to cherish, or shake off her pain ? 

Suffering, I suffer not ; sincerely love, 

Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame ; 

As chance inclines me, unconcern'd I move, 
All times, and all events, to me the same. 

I search my heart, and not a wish is there, 
But burns with zeal that hated self may fall ; 

Such is the sad disquietude I share, 

A sea of doubts, and self the source of all. 

I ask not life, nor do I wish to die ; 

And if thine hand accomplish not my cure, 
I would not purchase with a single sigh, 

A free discharge from all that I endure. 

I groan in chains, yet want not a release ; 

Am sick, and know not the distemper'd part ; 
Am just as void of purpose as of peace ; 

Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart. 

My claim to life, though sought with earnest care, 
No light within me or without me shows ; 

Once I had faith, but now in self-despair 
Find my chief cordial and my best repose. 

My soul is a forgotten thing ; she sinks, 
Sinks and is lost without a wish to rise ; 

Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks 
Her name erased for ever from the skies. 

Language affords not my distress a name, — 

Yet is it real, and no sickly dream ; 
'Tis Love inflicts it ; though to feel that flame 

Is all I know of happiness supreme. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


207 


When Love departs, a chaos wide and vast, 
And dark as hell is open'd in the soul ; 

When Love returns, the gloomy scene is past, 
No tempests shake her, and no fears control. 

Then tell me why these ages of delay ? 

Oh Love, all excellent, once more appear, 
Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day, 

From this abyss of night, these floods of fear 1 

No — Love is angry, will not now endure 

A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint ; 
He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure ; 

Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and 
faint. 
He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow ; 

He flies, he reappears, and wounds again ; — 
Was ever heart that loved thee treated so ? 

Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain. 

And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind, 
Thou didst distinguish and vouchsafe to chuse, 

Before thy laws were written in my mind, 

While yet the world had all my thoughts and 
views ? 

Now leave me ? when, enamour'd of thy laws, 
I make thy glory my supreme delight ; 

Now blot me from thy register, and cause 
A faithful soul to perish from thy sight ? 

What can have caused the change which I deplore ? 

Is it to prove me, if my heart be true % 
Permit me then, while prostrate I adore, 

To draw, and place its picture in thy view. 

'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine ; 

So given to thee, that it is not my own ; 
A willing captive of thy grace divine ; 

And loves, and seeks thee, for Thyself alone. 

Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare ; 

Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust ; 
It loves thee, even when least inclined to spare 

Its tenderest feelings, and avows thee just. 

'Tis all thine own ; my spirit is so too, 
An undivided offering at thy shrine ; 

It seeks thy glory with no double view, 
Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine. 

Love, holy Love ! and art thou not severe, 
To slight me, thus devoted and thus fix'd ? 

Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear 

From all self -bias, generous and unmix'd. 

But I am silent, seeing what I see, — 

And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceived ; 

Not even my faith is from suspicion free, 
And that I love, seems not to be believed. 

Live Thou, and reign for ever, glorious Lord ! 

My last, least offering, I present thee now ; — 
Renounce me, leave me, and be still adored ! 

Slay me, my God, and I applaud the blow. 


WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT SEASON. 

Sleep at last has fled these eyes, 

Nor do I regret his flight, 
More alert my spirits rise, 

And my heart is free and light. 


Nature silent all around, 
Not a single witness near ; 

God as soon as sought is found, 
And the flame of love burns clear. 

Interruption, all day long, 

Checks the current of my joys ; 

Creatures press me with a throng, 
And perplex me with their noise. 

Undisturb'd I muse all night, 
On the first Eternal Fair ; 

Nothing there obstructs delight, 
Love is renovated there. 

Life, with its perpetual stir, 
Proves a foe to Love and me ; 

Fresh entanglements occur, — 

Comes the night, and sets me free. 

Never more, sweet sleep, suspend 
My enjoyments, always new : 

Leave me to possess my friend ; 
Other eyes and hearts subdue. 

Hush the world, that I may wake 
To the taste of pure delights ; 

Oh the pleasures I partake, — 
God the partner of my nights I 

David, for the selfsame cause, 
Night preferr'd to busy day : 

Hearts whom heavenly beauty draws 
Wish the glaring sun away. 

Sleep, self-lovers, is for you ; — 
Souls that love celestial know, 

Fairer scenes by night can view 
Than the sun could ever show. 


ON THE SAME. 

Season of my purest pleasure, 

Sealer of observing eyes ! 
When, in larger, freer measure, 

I can commune with the skies ; 
While, beneath thy shade extended, 

Weary man forgets his woes ; 
I, my daily trouble ended, 

Find, in watching, my repose. 

Silence all around prevailing, 

Nature hush'd in slumber sweet, 
No rude noise mine ears assailing, 

Now my God and I can meet : 
Universal nature slumbers, 

And my soul partakes the calm, 
Breathes her ardour out in numbers, 

Plaintive song or lofty psalm. 

Now my passion, pure and holy, 

Shines and burns without restraint, 
Which the day's fatigue and folly 

Cause to languish, dim and faint : 
Charming hours of relaxation ! 

How I dread the ascending sun ! 
Surely idle conversation 

Is an evil, match'd by none. 


208 TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 

Worldly prate and babble hurt me ; 

When in the dust, its proper place, 

Unintelligible prove ; 

Our pride of heart we lay, 

Neither teach me nor divert me ; 

'Tis then a deluge of his grace 

I have ears for none but Love. 

Bears all our sins away. 

Me they rude esteem, and foolish, 
Hearing my absurd replies ; 

I have neither art's fine polish, 
Nor the knowledge of the wise. 


Thou whom I serve, and whose I am, 
Whose influence from on high 

Refines, and still refines my flame, 


And makes my fetters fly ; 

Simple souls, and unpolluted 

By conversing with the great, 
Have a mind and taste ill suited 

How wretched is the creature's state 
Who thwarts thy gracious power ; 

To their dignity and state ; 
All their talking, reading, writing, 

Crush'd under sin's enormous weight, 

Increasing every hour ! 

Are but talents misapplied ; 

The night, when pass'd entire with thee, 

Infants' prattle I delight in, 

How luminous and clear ! 

Nothing human chuse beside. 

Then sleep has no delights for me, 

'Tis the secret fear of sinning 

Lest thou shouldst disappear. 

Checks my tongue, or I should say, 

My Saviour ! occupy me still 

When I see the night beginning, 

In this secure recess ; 

I am glad of parting day : 

Let reason slumber if she will, 

Love this gentle admonition 

My joy shall not be less : 

Whispers soft within my breast ; 

" Choice befits not thy condition, 

Let reason slumber out the night ; 

Acquiescence suits thee best." 

But if thou deign to make 


My soul the abode of truth and light, 

Henceforth, the repose and pleasure 

Ah, keep my heart awake ! 

Night affords me I resign ; 


And thy will shall be the measure, 

4 

Wisdom infinite ! of mine : 


Wishing is but inclination 

THE JOY OP THE CROSS. 

Quarreling with thy decrees ; 



Wayward nature finds the occasion,— 

Long plunged in sorrow, I resign 

'Tis her folly and disease. 

My soul to that dear hand of thine, 


Without reserve or fear ; 

Night, with its sublime enjoyments, 
Now no longer will I chuse : 

Nor the day, with its employments, 
Irksome as they seem, refuse ; 

That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes, 
Or into smiles of glad surprise 
Transform the falling tear. 

Lessons of a God's inspiring 

My sole possession is thy love ; 

Neither time nor place impedes ; 

In earth beneath, or heaven above, 

From our wishing and desiring 

I have no other store ; 

Our unhappiness proceeds. 

And though with fervent suit I pray, 


And importune thee night and day, 

— ♦ 

1 ask thee nothing more. 


My rapid hours pursue the course 

ON THE SAME. 

Prescribed them by love's sweetest force ; 

Night 1 how I love thy silent shades, 

And I thy sovereign will, 
Without a wish to escape my doom, 

My spirits they compose ; 

Though still a sufferer from the womb, 
Am doom'd to suffer still. 

The bliss of heaven my soul pervades, 

In spite of all my woes. 

By thy command, where'er I stray, 

While sleep instils her poppy dews 

Sorrow attends me all my way, 

In every slumbering eye, 

A never-failing friend ; 

I watch, to meditate and muse, 

And if my sufferings may augment 

In blest tranquillity. 

Thy praise, behold me well content, — 

And when I feel a God immense 

Let sorrow still attend ! 

Familiarly impart, 

It costs me no regret, that she, 

With every proof he can dispense, 

Who follow'd Christ, should follow me ; 

His favour to my heart ; 

And though, where'er she goes, 


Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet, 

My native meanness I lament, 

I love her, and extract a sweet 

Though most divinely fill'd 

From all my bitter woes. 

With all the ineffable content 
That Deity can yield. 

Adieu ! ye vain delights of earth ; 
Insipid sports, and childish mirth, 

His purpose and his course he keeps ; 

I taste no sweets in you ; 

Treads all my reasonings down ; 

Unknown delights are in the Cross, 

Commands me out of nature's deeps, 

All joy beside to me is dross ; 

And hides me in his own. 

And Jesus thought so too. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 209 

The Cross ! Oh ravishment and bliss, — 


How grateful even its anguish is, 

SIMPLE TRUST. 

Its bitterness how sweet ! 


There every sense, and all the mind, 

Still, still, without ceasing, 

In all her faculties refined, 

I feel it increasing, 

Tastes happiness complete. 

This fervour of holy desire ; 
And often exclaim, 

Souls once enabled to disdain 

Let me die in the flame 

Base sublunary joys, maintain 

Of a love that can never expire ! 

Their dignity secure ; 
The fever of desire is pass'd, 
And love has all its genuine taste, 

Is delicate and pure. 

Had I words to explain 
What she must sustain 
Who dies to the world and its ways : 
How joy and affright, 

Self-love no grace in sorrow sees, 

Distress and delight, 

Consults her own peculiar ease ; 

Alternately chequer her days. 

'Tis all the bliss she knows : 

Thou, sweetly severe ! 

But nobler aims true Love employ; 

I would make thee appear, 

In self-denial is her joy, 

In all thou art pleased to award, 

In suffering her repose. 

Not more in the sweet 

Sorrow and Love go side by side ; 
Nor height nor depth can e'er divide 

Than the bitter I meet, 
My tender and merciful Lord. 

Their heaven-appointed bands ; 

This faith, in the dark 

Those dear associates still are one, 

Pursuing its mark 

Nor till the race of life is run 

Through many sharp trials of love, 

Disjoin their wedded hands. 

Is the sorrowful waste 

Jesus, avenger of our fall, 
Thou faithful lover, above all 

That is to be pass'd 
In the way to the Canaan above. 

Tli© Cross lifts gvgi* 1doi*iig ! 


Oh tell me, — life is in thy voice, — 


How much afflictions were thy choice, 
And sloth and ease thy scorn ! 

THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT. 

Source of love, my brighter sun, 

Thy choice and mine shall be the same, 

Thou alone my comfort art ; 

Inspirer of that holy flame 

See, my race is almost run ; 

Which must for ever blaze ! 

Hast thou left this trembling heart ? 

To take the Cross and follow thee, 

In my youth thy charming eyes 

Where love and duty lead, shall be 

Drew me from the ways of men ; 

My portion and my praise. 

Then I drank unmingled joys ; 


Frown of thine saw never then. 

♦ 

Spouse of Christ was then my name ; 


And devoted all to thee, 

JOY IN MARTYRDOM. 

Strangely jealous, I became 


Jealous of this self in me. 

Sweet tenants of this grove, 

Thee to love, and none beside, 

Who sing, without design, 

Was my darling, sole employ ; 

A song of artless love, 

While alternately I died, 

In unison with mine : 

Now of grief, and now of joy. 

These echoing shades return 

Through the dark and silent night 

Full many a note of ours, 

On thy radiant smiles I dwelt ; 

That wise ones cannot learn 

And to see the dawning light 

With all their boasted powers. 

Was the keenest pain I felt. 

Thou ! whose sacred charms 

Thou my gracious teacher wert ; 

These hearts so seldom love, 

And thine eye, so close applied, 

Although thy beauty warms 

While it watch'd thy pupil's heart, 

And blesses all above ; 

Seem'd to look at none beside. 

How slow are human things 

Conscious of no evil drift, 

To choose their happiest lot ! 

This, I cried, is love indeed ! — 

All-glorious King of kings, 

'Tis the giver, not the gift, 

Say why we love thee not 1 

Whence the joys I feel proceed. 

This heart, that cannot rest, 

But soon humbled, and laid low, 

Shall thine for ever prove ; 

Stript of all thou hast conferr'd, 

Though bleeding and distress'd, 

Nothing left but sin and woe, 

Yet joyful in thy love : 

I perceived how I had err'd. 

'Tis happy, though it breaks 

Oh the vain conceit of man, 

Beneath thy chastening hand ; 

Dreaming of a good his own, 

And speechless, — yet it speaks 

Arrogating all he can, 

What thou canst understand. 

— 

Though the Lord is good alone ! 
p 


210 


TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUYON. 


He the graces thou hast wrought 
Makes subservient to his pride ; 

Ignorant, that one such thought 
Passes all his sin beside. 

Such his folly, — proved, at last, 
By the loss of that repose 

Self-complacence cannot taste, 
Only Love Divine bestows. 

'Tis by this reproof severe, 
And by this reproof alone, 

His defects at last appear, 
Man is to himself made known. 

Learn, all earth ! that feeble man, 
Sprung from this terrestrial clod, 

Nothing is, and nothing can ; 
Life and power are all in God. 


LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING. 

" I love the Lord," is still the strain 

This heart delights to sing ; 
But I reply, — your thoughts are vain, 

Perhaps 'tis no such thing. 

Before the power of Love Divine 

Creation fades away ; 
Till only God is seen to shine 

In all that we survey. 

In gulfs of awful night we find 

The god of our desires ; 
'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind, 

And doubles all its fires. 

Flames of encircling love invest, 
And pierce it sweetly through ; 

'Tis filPd with sacred joy, yet press'd 
With sacred sorrow too. 

Ah Love ! my heart is in the right — 

Amidst a thousand woes, 
To thee, it's ever new delight, 

And all its peace it owes. 

Fresh causes of distress occur 

Where'er I look or move ; 
The comforts I to all prefer 

Are solitude and love. 

Nor exile I, nor prison fear ; 

Love makes my courage great ; 
I find a Saviour everywhere, 

His grace in every state. 

Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep, 
Exclude his quickening beams ; 

There I can sit, and sing, and weep, 
And dwell on heavenly themes. 

There sorrow, for his sake, is found 

A joy beyond compare ; 
There no presumptuous thoughts abound, 

No pride can enter there. 

A Saviour doubles all my joys, 

And sweetens all my pains, 
His strength in my defence employs, 

Consoles me and sustains. 

I fear no ill, resent no wrong, 

Nor feel a passion move, 
When malice whets her slanderous tongue 

Such patience is in love. 


SCENES FAVOURABLE TO MEDITATION. 


Wilds horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees, 

Rocks that ivy and briers infold, 
Scenes nature with dread and astonishment sees, 

But I with a pleasure untold ; 

Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude, 
I am charm'd with the peace ye afford ; 

Your shades are a temple where none will intrude, 
The abode of my Lover and Lord. 

I am sick of thy splendour, O fountain of day, 
And here I am hid from its beams ; 

Here safely contemplate a brighter display 
Of the noblest and holiest of themes. 

Ye forests, that yield me my sweetest repose, 

Where stillness and solitude reign, 
To you I securely and boldly disclose 

The dear anguish of which I complain. 

Here, sweetly forgetting and wholly forgot 
By the world and its turbulent throng, 

The birds and the streams lend me many a note 
That aids meditation and song. 

Here, wandering in scenes that are sacred to night, 
Love wears me and wastes me away ; 

And often the sun has spent much of his light 
Ere yet I perceive it is day. 

While a mantle of darkness envelops the sphere, 

My sorrows are sadly rehearsed ; 
To me the dark hours are all equally dear, 

And the last is as sweet as the first. 

Here I and the beasts of the deserts agree ; 

Mankind are the wolves that I fear, 
They grudge me my natural right to be free, 

But nobody questions it here. 

Though little is found in this dreary abode 

That appetite wishes to find, 
My spirit is soothed by the presence of God, 

And appetite wholly resign'd. 

Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led, 

My life I in praises employ, 
And scarce know the source of the tears that I shed, 

Proceed they from sorrow or joy. 

There's nothing I seem to have skill to discern ; 

I feel out my way in the dark ; 
Love reigns in my bosom, I constantly burn, 

Yet hardly distinguish the spark. 

I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead ; 

Such a riddle is not to be found ; 
I am nourish'd without knowing how I am fed, 

I have nothing, and yet I abound. 

Oh Love ! who in darkness art pleased to abide, 

Though dimly, yet surely I see 
That these contrarieties only reside 

In the soul that is chosen of thee. 

Ah send me not back to the race of mankind, 

Perversely by folly beguiled : 
For where, in the crowds I have left, shall I find 

The spirit and heart of a child ? 

Here let me, though fix'd in a desert, be free ; 

A little one whom they despise, 
Though lost to the world, if in union with Thee, 

Shall he holy and happy and wise. 


ADAM: 


A SACRED DRAMA. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OP GIO. BATTISTA ANDREINI, 


BY COWPER AND HAYLEY. 


TO THE COURTEOUS READER. 

Having satiated and fatigued my eyes, gentle 
reader, by too intent an observation of what is 
passing on earth ; and raising therefore my thoughts 
to higher contemplations, to the wonders diffused 
by the supreme Being, for the benefit of man, 
through the universe ; I felt my heart penetrated 
by a certain Christian compunction, in reflecting 
how his inexpressible goodness, though perpetu- 
ally and grievously offended by us, still shows itself 
in the highest degree indulgent towards us in pre- 
serving those wonders with a continual influence 
to our advantage ; and how, on the first provoca- 
tion to vengeance, Almighty Power does not enlarge 
the ocean to pass its immense boundary, does not 
obscure the light of the sun, does not impress 
sterility on the earth, to ingulf us, to blind us, and 
finally to destroy us. Softened and absorbed in 
these divine emotions, I felt myself transported 
and hurried by a delightful violence into a terres- 
trial paradise, where I seemed to behold the first 
man Adam, a creature dear to God, the friend of 
angels, the heir of heaven, familiar with the stars, 
a compendium of all created things, the ornament 
of all, the miracle of nature, the lord of the animals, 
the only inhabitant of the universe, and enjoyer of 
a scene so wonderfully grand. Whence charmed 
more than ever, I resolved, with the favour of the 
blessed God, to usher into the light of the world, 
what I bore in the darkness of my imagination ; 
both to render it known in some measure, that, I 
know myself, and the infinite obligations that I have 
to God; and that others, who do not know, may learn, 
the true nature of man, and from the low contem- 
plation of earthly things, may raise their minds to 
things celestial and divine. 

I remained however a considerable time in 
doubt if I ought, or if I were able to undertake a 
composition most difficult to me on many accounts, 
since in beginning the sacred subject from man's 
creation to the point where he is driven from the 
terrestrial paradise, a period of six years, (as St. 
Augustin relates in his book on the City of God) 
I did not clearly perceive, how an action so brief, 
could be formed into five acts, especially allowing 
to every act the number of at least six or seven 
scenes, — difficult from the dispute that the devil 
maintained with Eve, first, that he might induce 
her to eat the apple, since we have only the text 
that mentions it, in saying "nequaquam moriemini, 
et eritis sicut Dii scientes bonum et malum" — diffi- 


cult from the words of Eve in persuading Adam 
(who had indeed the gift of knowledge infused) to 
taste the apple ; — but difficult above all, from my 
own infirmity, since the composition must remain 
deprived of those poetic ornaments, so dear to the 
muses : deprived of the power to draw comparisons 
from implements of art introduced in the course 
of years, since in the time of the first man there 
was no such thing : deprived also of naming, (at 
least while Adam speaks, or discourse is held with 
him) for example, bows, arrows, hatchets, urns, 
knives, swords, spears, trumpets, drums, trophies, 
banners, lists, hammers, torches, bellows, funeral 
piles, theatres, exchequers, infinite things of a like 
nature, introduced by the necessities of sin ; and 
yet, as circumstances of affliction and punishment, 
they ought not to pass through the mind or through 
the lips of Adam, although he had knowledge in- 
fused into him, as one who lived most happy in a 
state of innocence : deprived moreover of intro- 
ducing points of history sacred or profane, of re- 
lating fictions of fabulous deities, of rehearsing 
loves, furies, sports of hunting or fishing, triumphs, 
shipwrecks,conflagrations,enchantments,and things 
of a like nature, that are in truth the ornament 
and the soul of poetry : difficult from not knowing 
in what style Adam ought to speak, since in re- 
spect to his knowledge it might be proper to 
assign to him verses of a high majestic and flowing 
style ; but considering Mm as a shepherd and in- 
habitant of the woods, it appears that he should be 
simple and sweet in his discourse, and I endea- 
voured on that account to render it such, as much 
as I could, by variety of versification. And here 
taking courage in my greatest doubt, I formed, I 
know not how, a beginning ; I advanced, if I may 
say so, without any determined plan : and arrived 
at the end before I was aware. Whence I am 
inclined to believe that the favour of God, regard- 
ing rather my good intention than my defects, (for 
as he often withdraws the heart of man from evil, 
so he conducts it insensibly to good) gave direc- 
tion to my hand, and completed my work. Where- 
fore to that alone I am indebted for the little grace 
that may perhaps be found in the present labour ; 
knowing, that as Omnipotence is accustomed to 
produce wonders from the rude and unformed 
chaos, so, from the still ruder chaos of my mind, 
it may have called forth this production, if not for 
any other purpose, yet to be sacred, and to make 
as it were a mute speak in my person, in despite 
of poverty of genius, as on the other hand it is ac- 
p2 


212 


PREFACE TO ADAM. 


customed to strike mute the most eloquent tongues 
when they employ themselves on subjects low and 
profane. Let it be surveyed, therefore, with an 
eye of indulgence, and blame not the poverty of 
style, the want of dignity in the conduct of the 
circumstances, sterility of conceits, weakness of 
spirit, insipid jokes, and extravagant episodes, to 
mention (without speaking of an infinitude of other 
things) that the world, the flesh, and the devil, 
present themselves in human shapes to tempt 
Adam, since there was then in the universe no 
other man or woman, and the serpent discovered 
himself to Eve with a human similitude ; moreover 
this is done, that the subject may be comprehended 
by the understanding through the medium of the 
senses : since the great temptations that Adam and 
Eve at once sustained, were indeed in the interior 
of their own mind, but could not be so compre- 
hended by the spectator ; nor is it to be believed 
that the sex'pent held a long dispute with Eve, 
since he tempted her rather by a suggestion to her 
mind than by the conference, saying these words, 
" nequaqum moriernini, et eritis sicut Dii scientes 
bonum et malum^ and yet it will be necessary, in 
order to express those internal contentions, to find 
some expedient to give them an outward repre- 
sentation. But, if it is permitted to the painter, 


who is a dumb poet, to express by colours God the 
Father under the person of a man silvered by age, 
and to describe under the image of a white dove 
the purity of the Spirit, and to figure the divine 
messengers or angels, in the shape of winged 
youths ; why is it not permitted to the poet, who is 
a speaking painter, to represent in his theatrical 
production another man and another woman be- 
sides Adam and Eve, and to represent their inter- 
nal conflicts through the medium of images and 
voices entirely human % not to mention that it 
appears more allowable to introduce in this work 
the devil under a human shape, than it is to in- 
troduce into it the Eternal Father, and even an 
angel ; and if this is permitted, and seen every 
day exhibited in sacred representations, why should 
it not be allowed in the present, where, if the 
greater evil is allowable, surely the lesser should 
be allowed ? Attend therefore, gentle reader, more 
to the substance than to the accident, considering 
in the work the great end of introducing into the 
theatre of the soul the misery and lamentation of 
Adam, to make your heart a spectator of them, in 
order to raise it from these dregs of earth, to the 
magnificence of heaven, through the medium of 
virtue and the assistance of God ; by whom may 
you be blessed ! 


THE CHARACTERS. 


Chorus of Seraphim, Cherubim, and Angels. 

The Archangel Michael. 

Adam. 

Eve. 

A Cherub, the Guardian of Adam. 

Lucifer. 

Satan. 

Beelzebub. 

Seven Mortal Sins. 

The World. 

The Flesh. 


Famine. 
Labour. 
Despair. 
Death. 
Vain Glory. 
The Serpent. 

Volano, an Infernal Messenger. 
A Chorus of Phantoms. 
A Chorus of Fiery, Airy, Aquatic, and 
Infernal Spirits. 


ADAM 


CHORUS OF ANGELS 

SINGING THE GLORY OF GOD. 

To heaven's bright lyre let Iris be the bow, 

Adapt the spheres for chords, for notes the stars; 
Let new-born gales discriminate the bars, 
Nor let old time to measure times be slow. 

Hence to new music of the eternal lyre 
Add richer harmony and praise to praise ; 
For him who now his wondrous might displays, 
And shows the universe its awful Sire. 


Thou who ere the world or heaven was made, 
Didst in thyself, that world, that heaven enjoy, 
How does thy bounty all its powers employ ; 
What inexpressive good hast thou display'd ! 

Thou of sovereign love almighty source, 

Who know'st to make thy works thy love express, 
Let pure devotion's fire the soul possess, 
And give the heart and hand a kindred force. 

Then shalt thou hear how, when the world began 
Thy life-producing voice gave myriads birth, 
Call'd forth from nothing all in heaven and earth, 
Bless'd in thy light as eagles in the sun. 


ACT I. 


SCENE THE FIRST. 

God the Father — Chorus of Angels. 


Raise from this dark abyss thy horrid visage, 

O Lucifer ! aggrieved by light so potent, 

Shrink from the blaze of these refulgent planets, 

And pant beneath the rays of no fierce sun ; 

Read in the sacred volumes of the sky, 

The mighty wonders of a hand divine. 

Behold, thou frantic rebel, 

How easy is the task, 

To the great Sire of Worlds, 

To raise his empyrean seat sublime : 

Lifting humility 

Thither whence pride hath fallen. 

From thence with bitter grief, 

Inhabitant of fire, and mole of darkness, 

Let the perverse behold, 

Despairing his escape and my compassion, 

His own perdition in another's good, 

And heaven now closed to him, to others open'd ; 

And sighing from the bottom of his heart, 

Let him in homage to my power exclaim, 

Ah, this creative Sire, 

(Wretch as I am) I see, 

Hath need of nothing but himself alone 

To re-establish all. 

THE SERAPHIM SING. 

O scene worth heavenly musing, 

With sun and moon their glorious light diffusing : 

Where to angelic voices, 

Sphere circling sphere rejoices, 

How dost thou rise, exciting- 


Man to fond contemplation 
Of his benign creation ! 

THE CHERUBIM SING. 

The volume of the stars, 

The sovereign Author plann'd, 

Inscribing it with his eternal hand, 

And his benignant aim 

Their beams in lucid characters proclaim ; 

And man in these delighting, 

Feels their bright beams inviting, 

And seems though prison'd in these mortal bars, 

Walking on earth, to mingle with the stars. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Angels, desert your heaven ! with you to earth, 

That Power descends, whom heaven accompanies ; 

Let each spectator of these works sublime 

Behold, with meek devotion, 

Earth into flesh transform'd, and clay to man, 

Man to a sovereign lord, 

And souls to Seraphim. 

THE SERAPHIM SING. 

Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold ; 

The world be paradise, 

Since to its fruitful breast 

Now the great Sovereign of our quire descends ; 

Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold ; 

Strew yourselves flowers beneath the step divine, 

Ye rivals of the stars ! 

Summon'd from every sphere 

Ye gems of heaven, heaven's radiant wealth appear; 

Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold ! 


214 


ADAM. 


GOD THE FATHER. 

Behold, ye springing herbs and new-born flowers, 

The step that used to press the stars alone 

And the sun's spacious road, 

This day begins, along the sylvan scene, 

To leave its grand impression : 

To low materials now I stretch my hand, 

To form a work sublime. 

THE ANGELS SING. 

Lament, lament in anguish, 

Angel to God rebellious ! 

See, on a sudden rise 

The creature doom 'd to fill thy radiant seat ! 

Foolish thy pride took fire 

Contemplating thy birth ; 

But he o'er pride shall triumph, 

Acknowledging he sprung from humble dust. 

From hence he shall acquire 

As much as thou hast lost ; 

Since the Supreme Inhabitant of heaven 

Receives the humble, and dethrones the proud. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Adam, arise, since I to thee impart 

A spirit warm from my benignant breath ; 

Arise, arise, first man, 

And joyous let the world 

Embrace its living miniature in thee ! 

Adam. O marvels new, O hallow'd, divine, 
Eternal object of the angel host: 
Why do I not possess tongues numerous 
As now the stars in heaven ? 
Now then, before 
A thing of earth so mean, 
See I the great Artificer divine \ 
Mighty Ruler supernal, 
If 'tis denied this tongue 
To match my obligation Avith my thanks, 
Behold my heart's affection, 
And hear it spealdng clearer than my tongue, 
And to thee bending lower 
Than this my humble knee. 
Now, now, Lord, in ecstacy devout, 
Let my mind mount, and passing all the clouds, 
Passing each sphere, even up to heaven ascend, 
And there behold the stars, a seat for man ! 
Thou Lord, who all the fire of genuine love 
Convertest to thyself, 
Transform me into thee, that I a part 
Even of thyself, may thus acquire the power 
To offer praises not unworthy thee. 

THE ANGELS SING. 

To smile in paradise, 

Great demigod of earth, direct thy step ; 

There like the tuneful spheres, 

Circle the murmuring rills 

Of limpid water bright ; 

There the melodious birds 

Rival angelic quires ; 

There lovely flowers profuse 

Appear as vivid stars ; 

The snowy rose is there 

A silver moon, the heliotrope a sun : 

What more can be desired, 

By earth's new lord in fair corporeal vest, 

Than in the midst of earth to find a heaven? 

Adam. ye harmonious birds ! 
Bright scene of lovely flowers ! 
But what delightful slumber 


Falls on my closing eyes ? 

I lay me down, adieu 

Unclouded light of day, sweet air adieu ! 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Adam, behold I come, 

Son dear to me, thou son 

Of an indulgent sire ; 

Behold the hand that never works in vain: 

Behold the hand that join'd the elements, 

That added heaven to heavens, 

That fill'd the stars with light, 

Gave lustre to the moon, 

Prescribed the sun his course, 

And now supports the world, 

And forms a solid stage for thy firm step. 

Now sleeping, Adam, from thy open'd side 

The substance I will take 

That shall have woman's name, and lovely form. 

THE ANGELS SING. 

Immortal works of an immortal Maker ! 

Ye high and blessed seats 

Of this delightful world, 

Ye starry seats of heaven, 

Trophies divine, productions pre-ordain'd : 

O power ! O energy ! 

Which out of shadowy horror form'd the sun ! 

Eve. What heavenly melody pervades my heart, 
Ere yet the sound my ear ! inviting me 
To gaze on wonders, what do I behold, 
What transformations new ; 
Is earth become the heaven ? 
Do I behold his light 

Whose splendour dazzles the meridian sun % 
Am I the creature of that plastic hand, 
Who form'd of nought the angels and the heavens \ 
Thou sovereign Lord ! whom lowly I adore, 
A love so tender penetrates my heart, 
That while my tongue ventures on utterance, 
The words with difficulty 
Find passage from my lips ; 
For in a tide of tears, 

(That sighs have caused to flow) they seem absorb'd. 
Thou pure celestial love 
Of the benignant power, 
Who pleased to manifest on earth his glory, 
Now to this world descends, 
To draw from abject clay 
The governor of all created things : 
Lord of the hallow'd and concealed affection, 
Thou in whom love glows with such fervent flame, 
Inspirit even my tongue 
With suitable reply, that these dear vales 
And sylvan scenes may hear 
Thanks, that to thee I should devote, my Sire ; 
But if my tongue be mute, speak thou, my heart. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Adam, awake ! and cease 

To meditate in rapturous trance profound 

Things holy and abstruse, 

And the deep secrets of the Trinal Lord. 

Adam. Where am I ? where have I been ? what 
Of triple influence that dims the day [Sun 

Now from my eye withdraws, where is he vanish'd ? 
hallow'd miracles 
Of this imperial seat, 
Of these resplendent suns, 
Which though divided, form 
A single ray of light immeasurable, 


ADAM. 215 

Embellishing all heaven, 

And each rejoice that the supreme Creator 

And giving grace and lustre 

Has deign'd to visit what his hand produced. 

To every winged Seraph ! 

Adam. scene of splendour, viewing which I see 

Divine mysterious light, 

The glories of my God in lovelier light, 

Flowing from sovereign Good, 

How through my eyes do you console my heart ! 

To him alone thou art known, 

See, at a single nod of our great Sire, 

Who mounts to thee an eagle in his faith. 

(Dear partner of my life) 

What rose of snowy hue and sacred form, 

Fire bursting forth with elemental power ! 

In these celestial bowers, 

The sea, heaven, earth, their properties assume, 

Wet with empyreal dews, have I beheld 

And air grows air, although there were before 

Opening its bosom to the suns ! or rather 

Nor fire, nor heaven, nor air, nor earth, nor sea. 

One of these suns making the rose its heaven ; 

Behold the azure sky, in which ofttimes 

And in a moment's space, 

The lovely glittering star 

(0 marvels most sublime!) 
With deluges of light, 

Shall wake the dawn, attired in heavenly light, 

The herald of the morn, 

And in a lily's form, 

To spread the boundless lustre of the day ; 

Rise from that lovely virgin bosom blest ! 

Then shall the radiant sun, 

Can suns be lilies then, 

To gladden all the world, 

And lilies children of the maiden rose ? 

Diffuse abroad his energy of light ; 


And when his eye is weary of the earth, 

GOD THE FATHER. 

The pure and silvery moon 

The heavens too lofty, and too low the world ; 

And the minuter stars 

Suffice it that in vain 

Shall form the pomp of night. 

Man's humble intellect 

Behold where fire o'er every element, 

Attempts to sound the depth of deeds divine : 

Lucid and light, assumes its lofty seat ! 

Press in the fond embraces of thy heart 

Behold the simple field of spotless air 

The consort of thy bosom, 

Made the support of variegated birds, 

And let her name be Eve. 

That with their tuneful notes 

Adam. my beloved companion, 

Guide the delightful hours ! 

Support of my existence, 

See the great bosom of the fertile earth 

My glory and my power, 

With flowers embellish'd and with fruits mature ! 

Flesh of my flesh, and of my bone the bone, 

See on her verdant brow she seems to bear 

Behold I clasp thy bosom 

Hills as her crown, and as her sceptre trees ! 

In plenitude of pure and hallow'd love. 

Behold the ocean's fair cerulean plain, 


That 'midst its humid sands and vales profound, 

GOD THE FATHER. 

And 'midst its silent and its scaly tribes, 

I leave you now, my children ; rest in peace, 

Rolls over buried gold and precious pearl, 

Receive my blessing, and so fruitful prove 

And crimson coral raising to the sky 

That for your offspring earth may scarce suffice ! 

Its wavy head with herbs and amber crown'd ! 

Man, be thou lord of all that now the sun 

Stupendous all proclaim 

Warms or the ocean laves ; impose a name 

Their Maker's power and glory. 

On every thing that flies, or runs, or swims. 

Eve. All manifest thy might 

Now through the ear descending to your soul 

Architect divine ! 

Receive the immutable decree ; hear, Adam, 

Adam. Dear partner, let us go 

Let thy companion hear, and in your hearts 

Where to invite our step 

Made the abode of love, 

God's other wonders shine, a countless tribe. 

Cherish the mighty word ! 


Of fruits whatever from a spreading branch 
Each copious tree may offer to your hands, 

" 


Of dainty viands whatsoe'er abound 


In this delightful garden, 

SCENE THE SECOND. 

This paradise of flowers, 


The gay delight, of man, 

Lucifer. Who from my dark abyss 

The treasure of the earth, 

Calls me to gaze on this excess of light 1 

The wonder of the world, the work of God, 

What miracles unseen 

These, my son, these thou art free to taste : 

Show'st thou to me, God ? 

But of the tree comprising good and evil 

Art thou then tired of residence in heaven % 

Under the pain of dying 

Why hast thou form'd on earth 

To him who knows not death, 

This lovely paradise ? 

Be now the fruit forbidden ! 

And wherefore place in it 

I leave ye now, and through my airy road, 

Two earthly demi-gods of human mould ? 

Departing from the world, return to* Heaven. 

Say thou vile architect, 


Forming thy work of dust, 

THE SERAPHIM SING. 

What will befal this naked helpless man, 

Let every airy cloud on earth descend, 

The sole inhabitant of glens and woods ? 

And luminous and light 

Does he then dream of treacling on the stars ? 

Repose with God upon this glowing sphere ! 

Heaven is impoverish'd, and I, alone 

Then let the stars descend, 

The cause, enjoy the ruin I produced. 

Descend the moon and sun, 

Let him unite above 

Forming bright steps to the empyreal world, 

Star upon star, moon, sun, 


216 


ADAM. 


And let his Godhead toil 
To re-adorn and re-illume his heaven ! 
Since in the end derision 

Shall prove his works, and all his efforts vain : 
For Lucifer alone was that full light 
Which scatter'd radiance o'er the plains of heaven. 
But these his present fires, are shade and smoke, 
Base counterfeits of my more potent beams. 
I reck not what he means to make his heaven, 
Nor care I what his creature man may be. 
Too obstinate and firm 
Is my undaunted thought, 
In proving that I am implacable 
'Gainst heaven, 'gainst man, the angels, and their 
God. 


SCENE THE THIRD. 
Satan, Beelzebub, and Lucifer. 

Satan. To light, to light raise the embattled 
brows, 
A symbol of the firm and generous heart 
That ardent dwells in the unconquer'd breast ! 


Must we then suffer such excessive 


wrong 


And shall we not with hands, thus talon-arm'd, 

Tear out the stars from their celestial seat ; 

And as our sign of conquest, 

Down in our dark abyss 

Shall we not force the sun, and moon to blaze, 

Since we are those, who in dread feats of arms 

Warring amongst the stars, 

Made the bright face of heaven turn pale with fear ? 

To arms ! to arms ! redoubted Beelzebub ! 

Ere yet 'tis heard around, 

To our great wrong and memorable shame, 

That by the race of man (mean child of clay) 

The stars expect a new sublimity. 

Beelzebub. I burn with such fierce flame, 
Such stormy venom deluges my soul, 
That with intestine rage 

My groans like thunder sound, my looks are light- 
And my extorted tears are fiery showers ! [ning, 
'Tis needful therefore from my brow to shake 
The hissing serpents that o'ershade my visage, 
To gaze upon these mighty works of heaven, 
And the new demi-gods. 
Silent be he, who thinks 
(Now that this man is form'd) 
To imitate his voice and thus exclaim, 
Distressful Satan, ye unhappy spirits, 
How wretched is your lot, from being first, 
Fallen and degenerate, lost as ye are, 
Heaven was your station once, your seat the stars, 
And your great Maker God ! 
Now abject wretches, having lost for ever, 
Eternal morn and each celestial light, 
Heaven calls you now the denizens of woe. 
Instead of moving in the solar road, 
You press the plains of everlasting night ; 
And for your golden tresses 
And looks angelical, 

Your locks are snaky, and your glance malign, 
Your burning lips a murky vapour breathe, 
And every tongue now teems with blasphemy ; 
And all blaspheming raise 
A cloud sulphureous of foam and fire ; 
Arm'd with the eagle's talon, feet of goat, 
And dz\agon's wing, your residence in fire, 


Profoundest Tartarus unblest and dark, 

The theatre of anguish, 

That shuts itself against the beams of day ! 

Since the dread angel, born to brook no law, 

To desolate the sky 

And raise the powers of hell, 

Ought to breathe sanguine fire, and on his brow 

Display the ensign of sublimest horror. 

Satan. Though arm'd with talons keen, and 
eagle beak, 
Snaky our tresses, and our aspect fierce, 
Cloven our feet, our frames with horror plumed, 
And though our deep abode 
Be fix'd in shadowy scenes of darkest night, 
Let us be angels still in dignity ; 
As far surpassing others as the Lord 
Of highest power, his low and humble slaves. 
If far from heaven our pennons we expand, 
Let us remember still 

That we alone are lords, and they are slaves ; 
And that resigning meaner seats in heaven, 
We in their stead have raised a royal throne 
Immense and massy, where the mighty chief 
Of all our legions higher lifts his brow, [ven ; 

Than the proud mountain that upholds your hea- 
And there with heaven still waging endless war, 
Threatening the stars, our adversaries ever, 
Bears a dread sceptre kindling into flame, 
That while he wheels it round, darts forth a blaze 
More dazzling than the sun's meridian ray. 

Lucifer. 'Tis time to show my power, my brave 
Magnanimous and mighty, [compeers, 

Angels endow'd with martial potency, 
I know the grief that gives you living death, 
Is to see man exalted 
To stations so sublime, 
That all created things to him submit ; 
Since ye already doubt, 
That to those lofty seats of flaming glory, 
(Our treasure once and pride, but now renounced) 
This pair shall one day rise 
With all the numerous train 
Of their posterity. 

Satan. Great Lord of the infernal deep abyss, 
To thee I bow, and speak 
The anguish of my soul, 

That for this man, grows hourly more severe, 
Fearing the Incarnation of the Word. 

Lucifer. Can it be true, that from so little dust 
A deity shall rise ! 

That flesh, that deity, that lofty power, 
That chains us to the deep ? 
To this vile clod of earth, 
He who himself yet claims to be adored ? 
Shall angels then do homage thus to men 1 
And can then flesh impure 
Give to angelic nature higher powers ? 
Can it be true, and to devise the mode 
Escape our intellect, ours who so dear 
Have bought the boast of wisdom ? 
I yet am He, I am, 

Who would not suffer that above in heaven 
Your lofty nature should submit to outrage, 
When that insensate wish 
Possess'd the tyrant of the starry throne, 
That you should prostrate fall, 
Before the Incarnate Word : 
I am that Spirit, I, who for your sake 
Collecting dauntless courage, to the north 
Led you far distant from the senseless will 


ADAM. 


217 


Of him who boasts to have created heaven. 

And ye are those, your ardour speaks you well, 

And your bold hearts that o'er the host of heaven 

Gave me assurance of proud victory. 

Arise ! let glory's flame 

Blaze in your breast ; nor be it ever heard, 

That him whom ye disdain 

To worship in the sky, 

Ye stoop to worship in the depth of hell ! 

Such were your oaths to me, 

By your inestimable worth in arms, 

Your worth, alas, so great 

That heaven itself deserved not to enjoy it. 

Oh, 'twere an outrage and a shame too great, 

Were we not ready to revenge it all ! 

I see already flaming in your looks, 

The matchless valour of your ardent hearts ; 

Already see your pinions spread in air, 

To overwhelm the world and highest heaven, 

That, all creation sunk in the abyss, 

This mortal may be found < 

Instantly crush'd, and buried in his birth. 

Satan. At length pronounce thy orders ! 
Say what thou wilt, and with a hundred tongues 
Speak, speak ! that instant in a hundred works 
Satan may toil, and hell strain all her powers. 

Lucifer. Behold, to smooth the rough and 
arduous way 
By which they deem'd they may ascend to glory, 
Behold a God assumes 
A human form in vain ! 
A mode too prompt and easy, 
To crush the race of mortals, 
The ancient God affords to new-born man. 
Nature herself too much inclines, or rather 
Forces this creature, to support his life 
Frequent to feed on various viands ; hence 
Since on delicious dainties 
His bitter fall depends, 
He may be tempted now to fruit forbidden, 
And by the paths of death, 
As he was nothing once, return to nothing. 

Beelzebub. Great Angel ! greatly thought ! 

Lucifer. Rather the noble spirit 
Of higher towering thought prompts me to speak, 
That God perchance indignant that his hands 
Have stoop'd to stain themselves in abject clay, 
Seeing how different angel is from man, 
Repenting of his work, 
Forbad him to support his frail existence 
Upon this sweet allurement ; hence to sin 
Prompted by natural motives, though tyrannic, 
He should himself the earth's destroyer prove, 
Converting his vile clay to dust again ; 
And plucking up again 

The rooted world, thus to the highest heaven 
Open a faithful passage, 
Repenting of his wrong to us of old 
Its ornaments sublime ! 

Satan. Pardon, pardon, if my humble thought 
Aspiring by my tongue 

Too high, perhaps offend your sovereign ear ! 
Long as this man shall rest 
Alive, and breathe on earth, 
Exhausted we must bear 
Fierce war, in endless terror of the Word. 

Lucifer. Man yet shall rest alive, he yet shall 
breathe, 
And sinning even to death, 
This new-made race of mortals 


Shall cover all the earth, 

And reign o'er all its creatures ; 

His soul shall prove eternal, 

The image of his God. 

Yet shall the Incarnate Word, I trust, be foil'd. 

Beelzebub. Oh ! precious tidings to angelic ears, 
That heal the wounds of all our shatter'd host. 

Lucifer. Let man exist to sin, since he by sin- 
ning 
Shall make the weight of sin his heritage, 
Which shall be in his race 
Proclaim 'd original ; 
So that mankind existing but to sin, 
And sinning still to death, 
And still to error born, 
In evil hour the Word 

Will wear the sinner's form, if rightly deem'd 
The enemy of sin. 

Now rise, ye Spirits, from the dark abyss, 
You who would rest assured 
That man the sinner is now doom'd to death. 


SCENE THE FOURTH. 
Melecano, Lurcone, Lucifer, Satan, and Beelzebub. 

Melecano. Command us, mighty Lord ; what 
are thy wishes % 
Wouldst thou extinguish the new-risen sun ? 
Behold what stores I bring 
Of darkness and of fire ! 
Alas ! with fury Melecano burns. 

Lurcone. Behold Lurcone, thou supreme of 
hell, 
Who 'gainst the highest heaven 
Pants to direct his rage, whence light of limb, 
Though loaded deep with wrath, 
He stands with threatening aspect in thy presence. 

Lucifer. Thou, Melecan, assume the name of 
Pride ; 
Lurcone, thou of Envy ; both united 
(Since power combined with power 
Acquires new force) to man direct your way ; 
Nor him alone essay ; it is my will 
That woman also mourn ; 
Contrive that she may murmur at her God, 
Because in birth not prior to the man ; 
Since every future man is now ordain'd 
To draw his life from woman, with such thoughts 
Let her wax envious, that she cannot soar 
Above the man, as high as now below him. 
Hence, Lurcon, be it thine to make her proud ; 
Let her give law to her Creator God, 
Wishing o'er man priority of birth. 

Melecano. Behold, where Melecan, a dog in 
fierceness, 
The savage dog of hell, 
Darts growling to his prey ! 
He flies, and he returns 
All cover'd and all drench'd with human gore. 

Lurcone. I rapid too depart, 
And, on a swifter wing 
Than through the cloudless air 
Darts the keen eagle to his earthly prey, 
Behold, I too return ; 
My beak with carnage fill'd, and talons full. 

Lucifer. Haste, Arfarat and Ruspican, rise all, 
Rise from the centre to survey the earth ! 


218 


ADAM. 


SCENE THE FIFTH. 

Ruspican, Arfarat, Lucifer, Satan, and Beelzebub. 

Ruspican. Soon as I heard the name of Ruspican, 
With rapid pinions spread, I sought the skies, 
To bend before the great Tartarean chief, 
And aggravate the woes 
Of this new mortal blest with air and light. 

Arfarat. Scarce had thy mighty voice 
Re-echoed through the deep, 
When the Tartarean fires 
Flying I left for this serener sky, 
Forth from my lips, and heart, 
Breathing fierce rancour 'gainst the life of man, 

Lucifer. Fly, Ruspican, with all your force and 
fury ! 
Since now I call thee by the name of Anger ; 
Find Eve, and tell her that the fair endowment 
Of her free will, deserves not she should live 
In vassalage to man ; 
That she alone in value far exceeds 
All that the sun in his bright circle warms ; 
That she from flesh, man from the meaner dust 
Arose to life, in the fair garden she 
Created pure, he in the baser field. 

Ruspican. I joy to change the name of Ruspican 
For Anger, dark and deadly : 
Hence now by my tremendous aid, destructive 
And deadly be this day ! 
Behold I go with all my force and fury ; 
Behold I now transfuse 
My anger all into the breast of woman ! 

Lucifer. Of Avarice I give, 

Arfarat, to thee the name and works ; 
Go, see, contend, and conquer ! 
Contrive that wandering Eve, 

With down-cast eyes, may in the fruitful garden 

Search with solicitude for hidden treasure : 

Then stimulate her heart, 

To wish no other Lord, 

Except herself, of Eden and the world. 

Arfarat. See me already plumed 
With wings of gems and gold ; 
See with an eye of sapphire 

1 gaze upon the fair ; 
Behold to her I speak, 

With lips that emulate the ruby's lustre. 

Receive now as thy own 

(Thus I accost her) all the world's vast wealth ! 

If she reject my gift, 

Then will I tempt her with a shower of pearls, 

A fashion yet unknown ; 

Thus will she melt, and thus I hope at last 

In chains of gold to drag her to destruction. 

Lucifer. Rise Guliar, Dulciato, and Maltia ! 
To make the band of enemies complete, 
That, like a deadly hydra, 
Shall dart against this man 
Your seven crests portentous and terrific. 


SCENE THE SIXTH. 
Maltia, Dulciato, Guliar, Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub. 

Behold ! we come with emulation fierce 

To your severe command : 

In prompt obedience let us rise to heaven ; 


Let us with wrath assail 

This human enemy of abject clay. 

Lucifer. Maltia, thou shalt take the name of 
Sloth : 
Sudden invest thyself with drowsy charms 
And mischievous repose ; 
Now wait on Eve, in slothfulness absorb'd, 
Let all this pomp of flowers, 
And all these tuneful birds 
Be held by her in scorn ; 
And from her consort flying, 
Now let her feel no wishes but for death. 

Maltia. What shall I say ? shall I, to others 
mute, 
Announce to thee my sanguinary works ? 
Savage and silent, I 
Would be loquacious in my deeds alone. 

Lucifer. Thee, Dulciato, we name Luxury ; 
Haste thou to Eve, and fill her with desires 
To decorate her fragile form with flowers, 
To bind her tresses with a golden fillet, 
With various vain devices to allure 
A new-found paramour ; 
And to her heart suggest, 
That to exchange her love may prove delightful. 

Dulciato. Can Lord so mighty, from his humble 
slave, 
Demand no higher task? 
The way to purchase honour 
Now will I teach all hell, 
By the completion of my glorious triumph. 
Already Eve beside a crystal fount 
Exults to vanquish the vermilion rose 
With cheeks of sweeter bloom, 
And to exceed the lily 
By her yet whiter bosom ; 
Now beauteous threads of gold 
She thinks her tresses floating in the air ; 
Now amorous and charming, 
Her radiant eyes she reckons suns of love, 
Fit to inflame the very coldest heart. 

Lucifer. Guliar, be thou call'd Gluttony; now go, 
Reveal to Eve that the forbidden fruit 
Is manna all within, 
And that such food in heaven 
Forms the repast of angels and of God. 

Guliar. Of all the powerful foes 
Leagued against man, Guliar is only he 
Who can induce him to oppose his Maker : 
Hence rapidly I fly 
To work the woe of mortals. 

Satan. To arms, to arms ! to ruin and to blood ! 
Yes, now to blood, infernal leeches all ! 
Again, again proclaiming war to heaven ; 
And let us put to flight 
Every audacious foe 
That ventures to disturb our ancient peace. 

Beelzebub. Now, now, great chief, with feet 
That testify thy triumph, 
I see thee crush the sun, 
The moon, and all the stars ; 
For where thy radiance shines, 
Lucifer ! all other beams are blind. 

Lucifer. Away. Heaven shudders at the mighty 
ruin 
That threatens it from our infernal host ; 
Already I behold the moon opaque, 
And light -supplying sun, 
The wandering stars, and fixt, 
With terror pale, and sinking in eclipse. 


ADAM. 


219 


ACT II. 


SCENE THE FIRST. 

Chorus of Angels singing. 

Now let us garlands weave 

Of all the fairest flowers, 

Now at this early dawn, 

For new-made man, and his companion dear ; 

Let all with festive joy, 

And with melodious song, 

Of the great Architect 

Applaud this noblest work, 

And speak the joyous sound, 

Man is the wonder both of earth and heaven. 

FIRST ANGEL. 

Your warbling now suspend, 

You pure angelic progeny of God, 

Behold the labour emulous of heaven ! 

Behold the woody scene 

Deck'd with a thousand flowers of grace divine ; 

Here man resides, here ought he to enjoy 

In his fair mate eternity of bliss. 

SECOND ANGEL. 

How exquisitely sweet 
This rich display of flowers, 
This airy wild of fragrance, 
So lovely to the eye, 
And to the sense so sweet. 

THIRD ANGEL. 

O the sublime Creator, 

How marvellous his works, and more his power ! 

Such is the sacred flame 

Of his celestial love, 

Not able to confine it in himself, 

He breathed, as fruitful sparks 

From his creative breast, 

The angels, heaven, man, woman, and the world. 

FOURTH ANGEL. 

Yes, mighty Lord ! yes, hallowed Love divine ! 

Who, ever in thyself completely blest, 

Unconscious of a want, 

Who from thyself alone, and at thy will, 

Bright with benignant flames, 

Without the aid of matter or of form, 

By efficacious power 

Hast of mere nothing form'd 

The whole angelic host ; 

With potency endow'd, 

And that momentous gift, 

Either by sin to fall, 

Or by volition stand. 

FIFTH ANGEL. 

Hence, our Almighty Maker, 

To render us more worthy of his heaven, 

And to confirm us in eternal grace, 

Presented to our homage 

The pure Incarnate Word ; 

That as a recompense for hallow'd toil 

So worthily achieved, 

We might adore him humble ; 

For there's a written law 

In the records of heaven, 

That not a work of God that breathes and lives, 

And is endow'd with reason, 


Shall hold a seat in heaven, 

If it incline not first with holy zeal, 

In tender adoration to the Word. 

SIXTH ANGEL. 

Justly each spirit in the realms above, 

And all of mortal race, 

And every foe to heaven, 

Should bow the knee in reverence of the Word ; 

Since this is he whom from eternity 

God in the awful depth 

Of his sublime and fruitful mind produced ; 

He is not accident, but substance true, 

As rare as perfect, and as truly great 

As his high Author holy and divine. 

SEVENTH ANGEL. 

This living Word, image express of God, 

Is a resemblance of his mighty substance ; ' 

Whence he is call'd the Son, the Son of God, 

Even as the Father, God ; 

The generated Word 

By generation yields not unto time, 

Since from eternity the eternal Father 

Produced this Son, whence he rejoices there, 

Great offspring of great Father there for ever ! 

For ever he is born ; 

There he is fed, and foster'd 

With plenitude of grace 

Imparted by his Sire : 

There was the Father ever, and the Son 

Was ever at his side, or in the Father ; 

Nor younger is the Son 

Than his Almighty Sire, 

Nor elder is the Father 

Than his eternal Son. 

EIGHTH ANGEL. 

O Son, Sire, God, Man, Word, 

Let all with bended knee, 

With humble adoration reverence you ! 

NINTH ANGEL. 

Lucifer, now doom'd to endless pain, 

Hadst thou been join'd with us 

In worship of the Word, 

How hadst thou now been blessed in thy God ! 

But thou in pride alone, yes, thou alone 

In thy great wisdom foolish, 

Hast scorn' d the Paragon, 

And wouldst not reverence the Incarnate God ; 

Whence by thy folly thou hast fallen as far 

As thy proud soul expected to ascend. 

TENTH ANGEL. 

Monster of fierceness, dwell 
In thy obscure recess ; 
And for thy weighty crime 
Incessant feel and infinite thy pain, 
For infinite has been thy vast offence. 

ELEVENTH ANGEL. 

Reside for ever in the deep abyss ; 

For well the world's eternal Master knows 

Again to fill those high celestial seats, 

That by your ruin you have vacant left ; 

Behold man fashion'd from the earth, who lives, 

Like plants that vegetate ; 


220 


ADAM. 


See in a moment's space 

How the pure breath of life, 

Breathed on his visage by the power divine, 

Eudows the wondrous creature with a soul, 

A pure immortal soul, 

That graced, and lovely with exalted powers, 

Shines the great faithful image of its God. 

Behold it has the gift to merit highly, 

The option to deserve or heaven or hell, 

In free will perfect, as the first of angels. 

TWELFTH ANGEL. 

Yes, man alone was form'd in just derision 

Of all the infernal host, 

As lord of this frail world and all that lives, 

The ornament of all, 

The miracle of nature, 

The perfect heir of heaven, 

Related to the angels, 

Adopted son of God, 

And semblance of the Holy Trinity ; 

What couldst thou hope for more, what more attain, 

Creature miraculous, 

In whom the eternal Lord 

Has now vouchsafed to signalize his power \ 

THIRTEENTH ANGEL. 

How singular and worthy is his form, 

Upright in stature, meek in dignity ; 

Well fashion'd are his limbs, and his complexion 

Well temper'd, with a high majestic brow, 

A brow turn'd upward to his native sky ; 

In language eloquent, in thought sublime, 

For contemplation of his Maker form'd. 

FOURTEENTH ANGEL. 

Placed in a state of innocence is man ; 
Primeval justice is his blessed gift ; 
Hence are his senses to his reason subject, 
His body to his mind, 
Enjoying reason as his prime endowment. 

FIFTEENTH ANGEL. 

Supernal love held him too highly dear, 

To let him dwell alone ; 

And thence of lovely woman 

(Fair faithful aid) bestow'd on man the gift. 

Adam, 'tis thine alone 

To keep thy duty to thy Lord unstain'd ; 

In his command of the forbidden fruit, 

Thy gift of freedom keep inviolate ; 

Since he who fashion'd thee, without thy aid, 

Think not without thy aid he means to save thee ! 

But since, descending from the heights of heaven, 

We come as kind attendants upon man, 

Now let us haste to Eden's flowery banks. 

ALL THE ANGELS SING. 

Now take we happy flight 

To Paradise, adorn'd with fairest flowers ; 

There let us almost worship 

The mighty lord of this transcendent world, 

And joyous let us sing 

This flowery heaven, and Adam as its god. 


SCENE THE SECOND. 

Adam. mighty Lord of mighty tilings sublime 
my supreme Creator ! 


bounteous in thy love 

To me thy humble servant ! such rare blessings 
With liberal hand thou givest ; 
Where'er I turn my eyes, 

1 see myself revered. 

Approach ye animals that range the field ! 

And ye now close your variegated wings, 

Ye pleasing birds ! in me you look on Adam, 

On him ordain'd to name 

All things that gracious God has made for man ; 

And praise, with justice praise 

Him who created me, who made you all, 

And in his bounteous love with me rejoice. 

But what do I behold \ blest that I am, 

My dear, my sweet companion ! 

Who comes to hail me with a gift of flowers, 

And with these sylvan honours crown my brow. 

Go, stately lion, go ! and thou with scales 

Impenetrable arm'd 

Rhinoceros, whose pride can strike to earth 

The unconquer'd elephant I 

Thou fiery courser bound along the fields, 

And with thy neighing shake the echoing vale ; 

Thou camel, and all here, or beast or bird, 

Retire, in homage to approaching Eve ! 

Eve. what delight more dear, 
Than that which Adam in my sight enjoys, 
Draws him far off from me ? Ye tender flowers, 
Where may I find on you 
The traces of his step ? 

Lurcone. See man and woman ! hide thyself and 
watch ! 

Adam. No more fatigue my eyes, 
Nor with thy animated glances dart 
Such radiant lightning round ; 
Turn the clear heaven of thy serener face, 
To him who loves its light ; 
See thy beloved Adam, 
Behold him, my sweet love : 

thou, who art alone 

Joy of the world, and dear delight of man ! 
Lurcone. Dread the approach of evil ! 
Guliar. Dread the deceit of hell ! 
Eve. By sovereign content 

1 feel my tongue enchain'd ; 
But though my voice be mute, 

My countenance may seem more eloquent, 
Expressing, though in silence, all my joy. 

Adam. my companion dear ! 

Lurcone. And soon perchance thy foe ! 

Adam. thou my sweetest life ! 

Guliar. Perchance thy bitter death ! 

Eve. Take, gentle Adam, from my hand these 
flowers ; 
With these, my gift, let me entwine thy locks. 

Adam. Ye lilies, and ye shrubs of snowy hue, 
Jasmine as ivory pure, 
Ye spotless graces of the shining field ; 
And thou most lovely rose 
Of tint most delicate, 
Fair consort of the morn, 
Delighted to imbibe 
The genial dew of heaven, 
Rich vegetation's vermil-tinctured gem, 
April's enchanting herald, 
Thou flower supremely blest, 
And queen of all the flowers, 
Thou form'st around my locks 
A garland of such fragrance, 
That up to heaven itself 


ADAM. 


221 


Thy balmy sweets ascend. 

Let us in pure embraces 

So twine ourselves, my love, 

That we may seem united, 

One well-compact and intricate acanthus. 

Lubcone. Soon shall the fetters of infernal toil 
So spread around ye both, 
The indissoluble bond, 
No mortal effort shall have power to break ! 

Eve. Now, that with flowers so lovely 
We have adorn'd our tresses, 
Here let us both with humble reverence kneel, 
And praise our mighty Maker. 
From this my thirsting heart 
No longer can refrain. 

Adam. At thy engaging words, 
And thy pure heart's desire, 
On these pure herbs and flowers, 
I bend my willing knee in hallow'd bliss. 

Lurcone. Away ! far off must I 
From act so meekly just 
Furious depart, and leave the light of day. 

Guliar. I must partake thy flight, 
And follow thee, alas ! surcharged with grief. 

Adam. Now that these herbs and flowers to our 
Such easy rest afford, [bent knees 

Let us with zealous ardour raise our eyes, 
Contemplating with praise our mighty Maker ! 
First then, devout and favour' d Eve, do thou 
With sacred notes invite 
To deeds so fair thy Adam. # 

Eve. My Lord Omnipotent, 
In his celestial essence 
Is first, supreme, unlimited, alone, 
Eternal, uncompounded, 
He no beginning had, no end will have. 

Adam. My sovereign Lord, so great, 
Is irresistible, terrific, just, 
Gracious, benign, indulgent, 
Divine, unspotted, holy, loving, good, 
In justice most revered, 
Ancient of days, in his sublimest court. 

Eve. He rests in highest heaven, 
Yet more exalted in his boundless self ; 
Thence his all-searching eye looks down on all ; 
Nought is from him conceal'd 
Since all exists in him : 

Without him nothing could retain existence, 
Nor is there aught that he 
For his perfection needs, 
Except himself alone. 

Adam. He every place pervades, 
But is confined in none : 
In him the limits of all grandeur lie, 
But he exists unlimited by space. 

Eve. Above the universe himself he raised, 
Yet he behind it rests ; 
The whole he now encircles, now pervades, 
Now dwells apart from all, 
So great, the universe 
To comprehend him fails. 

Adam. If he to all inclines, 
In his just balance all he justly weighs ; 
From him if all things flow, 
All things in him acknowledge their support, 
But he on nothing rests. 

Eve. To time my great director is not subject, 
For time in him sees no vicissitude : 
In awful and sublime eternity 
One being stands for ever ; 


For ever stands one instant, 

And hence this power assumes the name of God. 

Adam. It is indeed a truth, 
That my eternal mighty Lord is God ; 
This deity incomprehensible 
That, ere the heaven was made, 
Dwelt only in himself, and heaven in him. 
Eve, let us joyous rise ; in other scenes, 
With admiration of celestial splendour 
And of this lovely world, 
With notes of hallow'd bliss 
Let us again make the glad air resound. 

Eve. Lead on, my faithful guide ; 
Quick is my willing foot to follow thee, 
Since my fond soul believes 
That I in praising heaven to heaven ascend, 
So my pure bosom feels 
Full of divine content. 

Adam. To speak on every theme 
Our mighty Maker made thee eloquent, 
So that in praising heaven thou seemest there. 
My fair associate ! treasure of my life ! 
Upon the wings of this exalted praise 
Devotion soars so high, that if her feet 
Rest on the earth, her spirit reaches heaven. 


SCENE THE THIRD. 

The Serpent, Satan, Spirits. 

Serpent. To arms, to battle, ye sons of power ! 
Ye warring spirits of the infernal field ! 
A new and wondrous war 
Awaits you now, within the lists of earth ; 
Most strange indeed the mode 
Of warring there, if triumph, war's great end, 
Proves its beginning now. 
Behold the sun himself turn pale with terror, 
Behold the day obscured ! 
Behold each rapid bird directs his flight 
Where thickest foliage spreads, 
But shelter seeks in vain ; 
The leaves of every bough, 
As with a palsy struck, 

Affright him more, and urge his wings to flight. 
I would not as a warrior take the field 
Against the demi-goddess girt with angels, 
Since she has now been used 
To gaze on spirits tender and benign, 
Not such as I, of semblance rough and fierce, 
For battles born to subjugate the sky. 
In human form I would not 
Defy her to a great important conflict, 
The world she knows contains one only man. 
Nor would I of the tiger 
Or the imperious lion 
Or other animal assume the shape ; 
For well she knows they could not reason with her, 
Who are of reason void. 
To make her knowledge vain, 
That I exist to the eternal Maker 
A source of endless fear, 
Wrapt in the painted serpent's scaly folds, 
Part of myself I hide, giving the rest 
A human semblance and a damsel's face. 
Great things I tell thee, and behold I see 
My adversary prompt to parley with me. 
Of novelty to hear 
How eager woman is ! 


222 


ADAM. 


Now, now I loose my tongue, 

And shall entangle her in many a snare. 

Satan. But what discordant sound 
Rises from hell, where all was lately concord 1 
Why do hoarse trumpets bellow through the deep ? 


SCENE THE FOURTH. 

Volan, the Serpent, Spirits, Satan. 

Volan. Great Lord, ordain'd to found infernal 
realms, 
And look with scorn upon the pomp of heaven, 
Behold thy Volan fly 
To pay his homage at thy scaly feet ! 
The chieftains of Avernus, 
The prime infernal powers 
To rise in rivalship 
Of heaven in all, as in that lofty seat, 
(The Word to us reveal'd, 
The source of such great strife) 
They wish, that on the earth 
A goddess should prepare a throne for man, 
And lead him to contemn 
His own Almighty Maker : 
Yet more the inhabitants of fire now wish 
That having conquer'd man, 
And with such triumph gay, 
To the great realms of deep and endless flames 
Ye both with exultation may descend : 
Then shall I see around 
Hell dart its rays, and hold the sun in scorn. 
But if this man resist, 
Then losing every hope 
Of farther victory, 
They wish that on the throne 
Of triumph he may as a victor sit, 
Who teaches it to move, 
And thou perform the office 
With an afflicted partner, 
With him, who labours to conduct the car ; 
That clothed in horrid pomp 
The region of Avernus 
May speak itself the seat of endless pain, 
And at the sound of inauspicious trumpets 
The heavens may shake, the universe re-echo. 


SCENE THE FIFTH. 

Vain Glory drawn by a Giant, Volan, the Serpent, 
Satan, and Spirits. 

Vain Glory. King of Avernus, at this harp's 
glad sound 
I weave a starry garland for thy locks, 
For well I see thy lovely scales portend 
Honour to me, ruin and shame to man. 
I am Vain Glory, and I sit on high, 
Exulting Victress of the mighty Giant : 
He has his front in heaven, on earth his feet, 
A faithful image of man's mighty worth : 
But shake not thou with fear ! strong as he is, 
So brittle is the crown of glass he wears 
That at my breath, which drives him fiercely on, 
Man loses power, and falls a prey to death. 

Serpent. Angel, or Goddess, from thy lofty 
triumph 


Descend with me at the desire of hell ! 

Haste to a human conflict ; 

You all so light and quick, 

That by your movement not a leaf is shaken 

In all these woods around, 

Your mighty triumphs now together hide ; 

Now that in silence we may pass unseen, 

Quick let us enter neighbouring paradise. 

Vain Glory. Wherefore delay ? Point out the 
path we go ; 
Since prompt to follow thee, 
Full as I am of haughtiness and pride, 
With expeditious foot 
I will advance i 

Among these herbs and flowers ; 
And let infernal laurels 
Circle thy towering crest and circle mine ! 

Serpent. What tribes of beauteous flowers, 
And plants how new and vivid ! 
How desolate shall I 

Soon make these verdant scenes of plant and flower! 
Behold ! how with my foot 
I now as much depress them, 
As they shoot forth with pride to rear their heads : 
Behold ! their humid life 
I wither with my step of blasting fire. 
How I enjoy, as I advance through these 
Fair bowers of rapid growth, 
To poison with my breath the leaf and flower, 
Embittering all these sweet and blooming fruits. 
We are arrived : behold the lovely tree 
Prohibited by heaven, 
There mount, and be embower'd 
In the thick foliage of a wood so fair ! 

Vain Glory. See, I prepare to climb : 
I am already high, 
And in the leaves conceal'd. 
Climb thou, great chief, and rapidly encircle, 
And with thy scaly serpent train ascend 
The tree ; be quick, since now arising higher 
I can discern where lonely Eve advances. 

Serpent. Behold, enraged I twine around the 
trunk 
With these my painted and empoison'd folds ; 
Behold, I breathe towards this woman, love, 
Though hate is in my heart : 
Behold me now ; more beautiful than ever, 
Though now of each pestiferous cruel monster 
In poison and in rage, I am the model ; 
Now I behold her, now 
In silence I conceal my gift of speech, 
Among these leaves embower'd. 


SCENE THE SIXTH. 

Eve, Serpent, and Vain Glory. 

Eve. I ought, the servant of a Mighty Lord, 
A servant low and humble, 
With reverential knee bending to earth, 
I ought to praise the boundless love of him, 
Since he has made me queen 
Of all the sun delights to view on earth. 
But if to heaven I raise my eyes and heart, 
Clearly can Eve not see 
She was created for these great, eternal, 
Celestial miracles ? 
So that in spirit or in mortal frame, 


ADAM. 


223 


She ever must enjoy or earth or heaven. 

Hence this fair flowering tree 

Wreathing abroad its widely branching arms, 

As if desirous to contend with heaven, 

Seems willing in my locks 

To spread a shining heaven of verdant leaves ; 

And if I pass among the herbs and flowers, 

Those, I behold, that by my step are press'd. 

Arise more beautiful ; the very buds 

Expand, to form festoons 

To decorate the grassy scene around. 

Other new flowers with freshest beauty fair, 

That stand from me sequester'd, 

Form'd into groups or scatter'd in the vale, 

Seem with delight to view me, and to say, 

The neighbouring flowers rejoice 

To give thy foot support, 

But we, aspiring eagles, 

From far behold thy visage, 

Mild portraiture of the almighty form ; 

While other plants and flowers, 

Wishing that I may form my seat among them, 

Above their native growth 

So seem to raise themselves, that of sweet flowers 

A fragrant hedge they form ; 

And others in a thousand tender ties, 

Form on the ground so intricate a snare, 

That the incautious hand which aims to free 

The captive foot, must be itself ensnared. 

If food I wish, or draught, 

Lo S various fruit, lo! honey, milk, and manna ; 

Behold from many a fount and many a rill, 

The crystal beauty of the cooling stream ! 

If melody, behold the tuneful birds, 

Behold angelic bands ! 

If welcome day, 

Or mild and wish'd-for night, 

Behold the sun, behold the moon and stars \ 

If I a friend require, 

Adam, sweet friend, replies ; 

And if my God in heaven, the Eternal Maker 

Dwells not unmindful, but regards my speech. 

If creatures subject to my will I wish, 

Lo ! at my side all subject to my will. 

What more can I desire, what more obtain ? 

Now nothing more, my Sovereign ; 

Eve is with honour loaded. 

But what's before me % do I wake or dream ? 

Among these boughs I see 

A human visage fair ; what ! are there then 

More than myself and Adam, 

Who view the glorious sun % 

marvellous, though I am distant far, 

1 yet discern the truth ; with arms, with hands, 
A human breast it has, 

The rest is serpent all : 

O, how the sun, emblazing with his rays 

These gorgeous scales, with glowing colours bright 

O'erwhelms my dazzled eyes ! 

I would approach it. 

Serpent. Now, then, at length you see 
I have precisely ta'en the semblance fit, 
To overcome this woman. 

Eve. The nearer I approach, more and more 
lovely 
His semblance seems of emerald and sapphire, 
Now ruby and now amethyst, and now 
Of jasper, pearl, and flaming chrysolite 
Each fold it waving forms around the trunk 
Of this fair flowering tree ! 


Serpent. I will assail my foe. 
Come to survey me better, 
Thou dazzler of the eye, 
Enchantress of the soul, 
Soft idol of the heart, 

Fair nymph, approach ! Lo, I display myself, 
Survey me all ; now satisfy thine eyes ! 
View me attentive, paragon of beauty, 
Thou noblest ornament of all the world, 
Thou lovely pomp of nature, 
Thou little paradise, 
To whom all things do homage ! 
Where lonely from thy friend, thy Adam, far 
Where art thou % now advancing where 
The numerous bands of Angels 
Become such fond admirers of thy beauty 1 
Happy I deem myself, supremely happy, 
Since 'tis my blessed lot, 
With two fond eyes alone to gaze on that, 
Which with unnumber'd eyes, heaven scarce sur- 
Trust me if all the loveliness of heaven [veys. 
Would wrap itself within a human veil, 
Nought but thy beauteous bosom 
Could form a mansion worthy such a guest. 
How well I see, full well 
That she above with thy light agile feet, 
Imprints her step in heaven, and there she smiles 
With thy enchanting lip, 
To scatter joy around those blessed spheres ; 
Yes, with thy lips above, 
She breathes, she speaks, she pauses, 
And with thine eyes communicates a lustre 
To all that's fair in heaven or fair on earth. 

Eve. And who art thou, so eager 
To lavish praise on me l 
Yet never did mine eyes see form like thine. 

Serpent. Can I be silent now ? 
Too much, too much, I pant 
To please the lovely model of all grace. 
Know when the world was fashion'd out of nought, 
And this most fruitful garden, 
I was ordain'd to dwell a gardener here, 
By him who cultivates 
The fair celestial fields ; 
Here joyful I ascend, 
To watch that no voracious bird may seize 
On such delicious fruit ; 
Here it is my delight, 
Though all be marvellously fair around, 
Lily to blend with lily, rose with rose, 
And now the fragrant hedge 
To form, and now between the groups of flowers, 
And o'er the tender herb 
To guide the current of the crystal stream. 
Oh what sweet scenes to captivate the eye 
Of such a lovely virgin, 
Will I disclose around ! 
Thou, if thou canst return 
To this alluring spot, 

And ever with fresh myrtle and new flowers, 
More beauteous thou shalt find it ; 
This wondrous faculty I boast infused 
By thy supernal Maker, 
To guard in plant and flower their life and fragrance. 

Eve. Since I have found thee courteous 
No less than wise, reveal to me thy name ; 
Speak it to me, unless 
I seek to know too much. 

Serpent. Wisdom, I name myself, 
Sometimes I Life am call'd, 


224 


ADAM. 


For this my double nature, since I am 
One part a serpent and the other human. 

Eve. Strange things this day I hear ; but tell 
me why 
Thou serpent art combined with human form ? 

Serpent. I will inform thee ; when the sovereign 
On nothing resting, yet gave force to all, [God 
To balance all things in an even scale 
The sage of heaven desired, 
And not from opposite extremities 
To pass without a medium justly founded : 
Hence 'tween the brute and man 
It pleased him to create this serpent kind ; 
And even this participates in reason, 
And with a human face has human speech. 
But what can fail to honour with submission 
The demi-god of earth ? 
Oh ! if proportion'd to thy charms, or equal 
To the desert of man, 

You had high knowledge, doubt not but in all 
Ye would be reckon'd as immortal gods ; 
Since the prime power of lofty science is 
One of the first and greatest 
Of attributes divine ; Oh, could this be, 
Descending from the base 
Of this engaging plant, 
How as a goddess should I here adore thee ! 

Eve. What, dost thou think so little then the sum 
Of knowledge given to man ? does he not know 
Of every living herb and flower and plant, 
Of minerals and of unnumber'd gems, 
Of fish, of fowl, and every animal, 
In water or on earth, of fire, of air, 
Of this fair starry heaven, 
And of the moon and sun, 
The virtues most conceal'd ? 

Serpent. Ah, this is nothing ; since it only serves 
To make the common things of nature known ; 
And I, although I am 
Greatly inferior in my rank to man, 
Yet, one by one, even I can number these. 
More worthy it would be 
To know both good and ill ; 
This, this is the supreme 
Intelligence, and mysteries most high, 
That on the earth would make you like to God. 

Eve. That which hath power sufficient to impart 
This knowledge so sublime of good and ill, 
(But mixt with mortal anguish) 
Is this forbidden tree, on which thou sittest. 

Serpent. And tell me why a law 
So bitter rises from a fruit so sweet ? 
Where then, where is the sense 
That you so lately boasted as sublime ? 
Observe, if it be just, 

That man so brave, so lovely, man that rules 
The world with skilful hand, man that so much 
Pleased his creating God, when power almighty 
Fashion'd the wonders both of earth and heaven, 
That man at last a little fruit should crush, 
And all be form'd for nothing, or at best 
But for a moment's space ? 
No, no, far from thee, far be such a doubt ! 
Let colour to thy cheek, and to thy lip 
The banish'd rose return ! 
Say, — but I know — thy heart 
Within thee speaks the language that I speak ! 

Eve. The Lord commanded me I should not taste 
This fruit ; and to obey him is my joy. 

Serpent. If 'tis forbidden thee 


To taste a fruit so fair, 

Heaven does not chuse that man should be a god. 

But thou with courtesy, to my kind voice 

Lend an attentive ear : say, if your Maker 

Required such strict obedience, that you might 

Depend but on his word to move and guard you ; 

Was there not power sufficient in the laws 

Sublime of hope, of faith, and charity ? 

Why then, fair creature, why, without occasion 

Thus should he multiply his laws for man, 

For ever outraging with such a yoke 

Your precious liberty, and of great lords 

Making you slaves, nay, in one point inferior 

Even to the savage beasts, 

Whom he would not reduce to any law ? 

Who does not know that loading you so much 

With precepts, he has lessen'd the great blessing 

Of joyous being, that your God first gave you ? 

Perchance he dreaded that ye soon might grow 

His equals both, in knowledge, and be gods ? 

No, for though like to God you might become 

By such experiment, the difference still 

Between you must be great, since this your know- 

And acquisition of divinity, [ledge 

Could be but imitation, and effect 

Of the first cause divme that dwells above. 

And can it then be true, 

That such a vital hand 

Can do a deadly deed ? 

Oh hadst thou tasted this, how wouldst thou gain 

Advantage of the Lord, how then with him 

Would thy conversing tongue 

Accuse the latent mysteries of heaven ! 

Far other flowers and other plants, and fields, 

And elements, and spheres, 

Far different suns, and different moons, and stars 

There are above, from those thou vie west here 

Buried below these ; all to thee are near, 

Observe how near ! but at the very distance 

This apple is from thee. Extend thy hand, 

Boldly extend it, — ah ! why dost thou pause % 

Eve. What should I do ? Who counsels me, O 
God? 
Hope bids me live, and fear at once destroys me. 
But say, how art thou able 
To know such glorious things exist above, 
And that on earth, one thus may equal God, 
By feeding on this apple, 
If thou in heaven wert never, 
And ne'er permitted of the fruit to taste ? 

Serpent. Ah ! is there ought I can deny to her 
Whose happiness I wish ? Now listen to me. 
When of this garden I was made the keeper, 
By him who fashion'd thee, 
All he has said to thee, to me he said ; 
And opening to me heaven's eternal bosom, 
With all his infinite celestial pomp, 
He satiated my eyes, and then thus spake : 
Thy paradise thou hast enjoy 'd, Serpent, 
No more thou shalt behold it ; now retain 
Memory of heaven on earth, 
Which thou may'st do by feeding on such fruit. 
A heavenly seat alone is fit for man, 
For that's the seat of beauty ; 
Since thou art partly man, and partly brute, 
'Tis just thou dwell on earth ; 
The world was made for various beasts to dwell in, 
He added, nor canst thou esteem it hard, 
Serpent and man, to dwell on earth for ever, 
Since thou already in thy human portion 


ADAM. 


225 


Most fully hast enjoy 'd thy bliss above. 

Thus I eternal live, 

Forming my banquet of this savoury fruit, 

And Paradise is open to my eyes, 

By the intelligence, through me transfused 

From this delicious viand. 

Eve. Alas ! what should I do ? to whom apply ? 
My heart, what is thy counsel % 

Serpent. 'Tis true, thy sovereign has imposed 
Under the pain of death, [upon thee, 

To taste not of this fruit ; 
And to secure from thee 
A dainty so delightful, 
The watchful guard he made me 
Of this forbidden tree ; 
So that if I consent, both man and thou, 
His beautiful companion, 
May rise to equal God in happiness. 
'Tis but too true that to participate 
In food and beverage with savage beasts, 
Gives us in this similitude to them ; 
It is not just you both, 
Works of a mighty Maker, 
Great offspring of great God, 
Should in a base condition, 
Among these groves and woods, 
Lead a life equal to the lowest beast. 

Eve. Ah ! why art thou so eager 
That I should taste of this forbidden food ? 

Serpent. Wouldst thou that I should tell ? 

Eve. 'Tis all my wish. 

Serpent. Now lend thine ear, now arch, 
With silent wonder, both thy beauteous brows ! 
For two proud joys of mine, 
Not for thy good alone, I wish to make thee 
This liberal overture, and swear to keep 
Silence while thou shalt seize the fruit denied. 
First to avenge that high unworthy wrong 
Done me by God, in fashioning my shape ; 
For I was deem'd the refuse of his heaven, 
For these my scaly parts, 
That ever like a snake I trail behind ; 
And then, because he should to me alone 
Have given this world, and o'er the numerous beasts 
Have made me lord, not wholly of their kind ; 
But this my empire mighty and supreme, 
O'er all these living things, 
While man is doom'd 
To breathe on vital air, 
Must seem but low and servile vassalage ; 
Since man, and only man 
Was chosen high and mighty lord of all 
This wondrous scene, and he thus raised to grandeur 
Was newly form'd of nought. 
But when the fairest of all Eden's fruits 
Is snatch'd and tasted, when you rise to gods, 
'Tis just that, both ascending from this world 
Should reach the higher spheres ; 
So that on earth to make me 
Of every creature lord, 
Of human error I my virtue make : 
Know, that command is grateful even to God, 
Grateful to man, and grateful to the serpent. 

Eve. I yield obedience : ah ! what is't I do ? 

Serpent. Rather what do you not \ Ah, boldly 
taste, 
Make me a god on earth, thyself in heaven. 

Eve. Alas, how I perceive 
A chilling tremour wander through my bones, 
That turns my heart to ice ! 


Serpent. It is thy mortal part that now begins 

To languish, as o'ercome by the divine, 

Which o'er its lowly partner 

In excellence ascends. 

Behold the pleasant plant, 

More lovely and more rich 

Than if it raised to heaven branches of gold, 

And bore the beauteous emerald as leaves, 

With roots of coral and a trunk of silver. 

Behold this jewel'd fruit, 

That gives enjoyment of a state divine ! 

How fair it is, and how 

It takes new colours from the solar rays 

Bright as the splendid train 

Of the gay peacock, when he whirls it round 

Full in the sun, and lights his thousand eyes ! 

Behold how it invites ! 

'Tis all delicious, it is sweetness all : 

Its charms are not deceitful, 

Thine eye can view them well. 

Now take it ! Now I watch 

If any angel spy thee ! Dost thou pause ? 

Up ! for once more I am thy guide ; at last 

The victory is thine ! 

Eve. At length behold me the exalted mistress 

Of this most lovely fruit ! 

But why, alas, does my cold brow distil 
These drops, that overwhelm me ? 

Serpent. Lovely Virgin, 
Will not our reason tell us 
Supreme felicity is bought with pain ? 
Who from my brow will wipe 
These drops of keener pain ? 
Who dissipate the dread that loads my heart ? 
Eve. Tell me what wouldst thou \ tell me who 

afflicts thee % 
Serpent. The terror of thy Lord ; and hence I 
That when thou hast enjoy'd [pray thee 

That sweet forbidden fruit, 
When both of you become eternal gods, 
That you would guard me from the wrath of heaven; 
Since well indeed may he, 

Whom we call God, kindle his wrath against me 
Having to you imparted 
Taste of this fruit against his high command. 
But tell him, my desire 
To make me lord of this inferior world, 
Like man a god in heaven, 
Render 'd me mute while Eve attain 'd the apple. 

Eve. The gift I owe thee, Serpent, well deserves 
That I should ne'er forget thee. 

Serpent. Now in these verdant leaves I hide 
Till thou with sounds of joy [myself 

Shalt call and re-assure me. 

Eve. Now then conceal thyself : I promise thee 
To be thy shield against the wrath of God. 
O what delicious odour ! 'tis so sweet 
That I can well believe 
That all the lovely flowers 
From this derive their fragrance. 
These dewy leaves to my conception seem 
Moistened with manna, rather than with dew. 
Ah, it was surely right 
That fruit so exquisite 
Should flourish to impart new life to man, 
Not waste its sweets upon the wind and sun. 
Nothing for any ill 

To man could spring from God's creative hand : 
Since he for man assuredly has felt 
Such warmth of love unbounded, I will taste it. 
Q 


226 


ADAM. 


How sweet it is ! how far 

Surpassing all the fruits of every kind, 

Assembled in this soil ! 

But where is Adam now ? 0, Adam ! Adam ! 

He answers not ; then thou with speed depart 

To find him ; but among these flowers and leaves 

Conceal this lovely apple, lest the angels, 

Descrying it, forbid 

Adam to taste its sweets, 

And so from man be made a mighty god. 

Serpent. Extinguish in the waves thy rays, 
Nor more distribute light ! [sun ! 


Thus Lucifer ordains, and thus the apple ! 
Man, man is now subdued ! 

Vain Glory. joyous day ! day 
To hell of triumph, and of shame to heaven ! 
Eve has enjoy'd the apple, 
And now contrives that man may taste it too. 
Now see by direst fate 
Life is exchanged for death ! 
Now I exulting sing, 
And hence depart with pride, 
Since man's high boast is crush'd, 
And his bright day now turn'd to hideous night ! 


ACT III. 


SCENE THE FIRST. 
Adam and Eve. 


Oh, my beloved companion ! 
Oh thou of my existence, 
The very heart and soul ! 
Hast thou, with such excess of tender haste, 
With ceaseless pilgrimage, 
To find again thy Adam, 
Thus solitary wander'd ? 

Behold him ! Speak ! what are thy gentle orders \ 
Why dost thou pause ? what ask of God ? what 
dost thou '? 

Eve. Adam, my best beloved ! 
My guardian and my guide ! 
Thou source of all my comfort, all my joy ! 
Thee, thee alone I wish, 
And in these pleasing shades 
Thee only have I sought. 

Adam. Since thou hast call'd thy Adam, 
(Most beautiful companion !) 
The source and happy fountain of thy joy ; 
Eve, if to walk with me 

It now may please thee, I will show thee love, 
A sight thou hast not seen ; 
A sight so lovely, that in wonder thou 
Wilt arch thy graceful brow. 
Look thou, my gentle bride, towards that path 
Of this so intricate and verdant grove, 
Where sit the birds embower'd ; 
Just there, where now, with soft and snowy plumes, 
Two social doves have spread their wings for flight, 
Just there, thou shalt behold, (oh pleasing wonder!) 
Springing amid the flowers, 
A living stream, that with a winding course 
Flies rapidly away ; 
And as it flies, allures 

And tempts you to exclaim, sweet river, stay ! 
Hence eager in pursuit 
You follow, and the stream, as if it had 
Desire to sport with you, 
Through many a florid, many a grassy way, 
Well known to him, in soft concealment flies : 
But when at length he hears, 
You are afflicted to have lost his sight, 
He rears his watery locks, and seems to say, 
Gay with a gurgling smile, 
" Follow ! ah follow still my placid course ! 
If thou art pleased with me, with thee I sport." 
And thus with sweet deceit he leads you on 
To the extremest bound 


Of a fair flowery meadow ; then at once 

With quick impediment, 

Says, a Stop ! Adieu ! for now, yes, now I leave 

you :" 
Then down a rock descends : 
There, as no human foot can follow farther, 
The eye alone must follow him, and there, 
In little space you see a mass of water 
Collected in a deep and fruitful vale, 
With laurel crown'd and olive, 
With cypress, oranges and lofty pines. 
The limpid water in the sun's bright ray 
A perfect crystal seems ; 
Hence in its deep recess, 
In the translucent wave, 
You see a precious glittering sand of gold, 
And bright as moving silver 
Innumerable fish ; 
Here with melodious notes 
The snowy swans upon the shining streams 
Form their sweet residence ; 
And seem in warbling to the wind to say, 
" Here let those rest who wish for perfect joy !" 
So that, my dear companion, 
To walk with me will please thee. 

Eve. So well thy language to my sight has brought 
What thou desirest to show me, 
I see thy flying river as it sports, 
And hear it as it murmurs. 
And beauteous also is this scene, where now 
Pleased we sojourn ; and here, perhaps, even here 
The lily whitens with the purest lustre, 
And the rose reddens with the richest hue. 
Here also bathed in dew 
Plants of minutest growth 
Are painted all with flowers. 
Here trees of amplest leaf 
Extend their rival shades, 
And stately rise to heaven. 

Adam. Now by these cooling shades, 
The beauty of these plants, 
By these delightful meadows, 
These variegated flowers, 
By the soft music of the rills and birds, 
Let us sit down in joy ! 

Eve. Behold then I am seated ! 
How I rejoice in viewing not alone 
These flowers, these herbs, these high and grace- 
ful plants. 
But Adam, thou, my lover, 
Thou, thou art he, by whom the meadows seem 


1 

ADAM. 227 

More beautiful to me, 

And to afford him scope for high desert ; 

The fruit more blooming, and the streams more 

For he alone may gain the name of brave, 

Adam. The decorated fields [clear. 

Who rules himself and all his own desires. 

With all their flowery tribute cannot equal 

Man might indeed find some excuse for sin, 

Those lovelier flowers, that with delight I view 

If scantily with fruits 

In the fair garden of your beauteous face. 

This garden were supplied ; 

Be pacified, you flowers, 

But this abounding in so many sweets, 

My words are not untrue ; 

Man ought not to renounce 

You shine besprinkled with ethereal dew, 

The clear command of heaven. 

You give the humble earth to glow with joy 

Eve. And is it thus you love me ? 

At one bright sparkle of the blazing sun ; 

Ne'er be it true, ah never, 

But with the falling sun ye also fall : 

That I address you as my heart, my life ! 

But these more living flowers 

From you I'll only wander, 

Of my dear beauteous Eve 

Bathed in my tears, and sighing, 

Seem freshen'd every hour 

And hating even myself, 

By soft devotion's dew, 

I'll hide me from the sun. 

That she with pleasure sheds 

Adam. Dear Eve ! my sweetest love ! 

Praising her mighty Maker : 

My spirit and my heart ! 

And by the rays of two terrestrial suns 

Oh haste to dry thine eyes ; 

In that pure heaven, her face, 

For mine are all these tears 

They rise, and not to fall, 

That bathe thy cheek, and stream upon thy bosom. 

Decking the paradise 

Eve. Ah, my unhappy state ! 

Of an enchanting visage. 

I that so much have said, so much have done 

Eve. Dear Adam, do not seek 

To elevate this man 

With tuneful eloquence 

Above the highest heaven, and now so little 

To soothe my ear by speaking of thy love ! 

Can he or trust or love me ! 

The heart is confident, 

Adam. Ah, do not grieve, my life ! 

That fondly flames with pure and hallow'd ardour. 

Too much it wounds my soul 

In sweet exchange accept, my gentle love, 

To see thee in affliction. 

This vermeil-tinctured gift, you know it well ; 

Eve. I know your sole desire 

This is the fruit forbidden, 

Is to be witness to my sighs and tears ; 

This is the blessed apple. 

Hence to the winds and seas 

Adam. Alas ! what see I ! ah ! what hast thou 

I pay this bitter tribute. 

done, 

Adam. Alas ! my heart is splitting. 

Invader of the fruit, 

What can I do ? When I look up to heaven, 

Forbidden by thy God % 

I feel an icy tremour 

Eve. It would be long to tell thee 

Even to my bones oppress me, 

The reason that induced me 

Anxious alone to guard the heavenly precept : 

To make this fruit my prey : let it suffice 

If I survey my partner, 

I gain'd thee wings to raise thy flight to heaven. 

I share her tears and echo back her sighs. 

Adam. Ne'er be it true, ah never*, 

'Tis torture and distraction 

That to obtain thy favour, 

To wound her with refusal : my kind heart 

I prove to heaven rebellious and ungrateful, 

Would teach my opening hand to seize the apple, 

And to obey a woman, 

But in my doubtful breast 

So disobey my Maker and my God ! 

My spirit bids it close. 

Then did not death denounced 

Adam ! thou wretch ! how many 

With terror's icy paleness blanch thy cheek ? 

Various desires besiege thy trembling heart ! 

Eve. And think'st thou, if the apple 

One prompts thee now to sigh, 

Were but the food of death, 

Another to rejoice ; nor canst thou know 

The great producer would have raised it there, 

Which shall incline thee most, 

Where being is eternal ? 

Or sighs, or joyous favour, 

Think'st thou, that if of error 

From woman, or from God. 

This fruit-tree were the cause, 

Eve. Yet he reflects, and wishes 

In man's delighted eye 

That Eve should now forsake 

So fertile and so fair, 

Her hope of being happy 

He would have form'd it flourishing in air ! 

In elevating man, 

Ah ! were it so, he would indeed have given 

Even while I hold the fruit of exaltation ! 

A cause of high offence; 

Adam. Though mute, yet eloquent 

Since nature has ordain' d, 

Are all your looks, my love ! 

(A monitress sagacious) 

Alas ! whate'er you ask 

That to support his being, man must eat, 

You're certain to obtain ; 

And trust in what looks fair, as just and good. 

And my heart grants before your tongue can speak. 

Adam. If the celestial tiller, 

Eyes, that to me are suns, 

Who the fair face of heaven 

The heaven of that sweet face 

Has thickly sown with stars, 

No more, no more obscure ! 

Amidst so many plants fruitful and fair, 

Return! alas! return 

Placed the forbidden apple, 

To scatter radiance o'er that cloudy cheek ! 

The fairest and most sweet, 

Lift up, lift thy brow 

'Twas to make proof of man, 

From that soft mass of gold that curls around it, 

As a wise keeper of his heavenly law, 

Locks like the solar rays, 

Q2 


228 


ADAM, 


Chains to my heart and lightning to my eyes ! 

let thy lovely tresses, 
Now light and unconfined, 

Sport in the air, and all thy face disclose, 
That paradise, that speaks a heart divine ! 

1 yield thee full obedience ; 
Thy prayers are all commands : 

Dry, dry thy streaming eyes, and on thy lips 
Let tender smiles like hai-mless lightning play ! 

Eve. Ah, misbelieving Adam, 
Be now a kind receiver 
Of this delightful fruit ! 
Hasten, now hasten to extend thy hand 
To press this banquet of beatitude ! 

Adam. Oh, my most sweet companion, 
Behold thy ardent lover ! 
Now banish from his heart 
The whirlpool of affliction, turn'd to him 
His dearest guide, his radiant polar star ! 
Show me that lovely apple, 
Which 'midst thy flowers and fruits, 
Ingenious plunderer, thou hidest from me ! 

Eve. Adam, behold the apple ! 
What say'st thou ! I have tasted, and yet live. 
Ah 'twill insure our lives, 
And make us equal to our God in heaven. 
But first the fruit entire 
We must between us eat ; 
And when we have enjoy 'd it, 
Then to a radiant throne, a throne of stars, 
Exalting angels will direct our flight. 

Adam. Give me the pilfer'd fruit, 
Thou courteous pilferer, 
Give me the fruit that charms thee, 
And let me yield to her, 
Who to make me a god has toil'd and wept ! 
Alas ! what have I done ? 
How sharp a thorn is piercing to my heart 
With instantaneous anguish ! 
How am I overwhelm'd 
In a vast flood of sorrow ! 

Eve. Alas ! what do I see ? 
Oh bitter knowledge ! unexpected sight ! 
All is prepared for human misery. 

Adam. precious liberty ! where art thou fled? 

Eve. precious liberty ! dire enthralment ! 

Adam. Is this the fruit so sweet, 
The source of so much bitter ? 
Say why wouldst thou betray me ? 
Ah why of heaven deprive me ! 
Why make me forfeit thus 
My state of innocence, 
Where cheerful I enjoy a blissful life 1 
Why make me thus a slave 
To the fierce arms of death, 
Thou, whom I deem'd my life ? 

Eve. I have been blind to good, 
Quick-sighted but to evil, 
An enemy to Adam, 
A rebel to my God, 
For daring to exalt me 
To the high gates of heaven, 
I fall presumptuous to the depths of hell. 

Adam. Alas, what dart divine appears in heaven, 
Blazing with circling flame I 

Eve. What punishment, 
Wretch that I am, hangs o'er me ? Am I naked ! 
And speaking still to Adam ? 

Adam. Am I too naked ? hide me ! hence ! 

Eve. I fly. 


SCENE THE SECOND. 

Volano. Thou'rt fallen, at length thou'rt fallen, 
thou presuming 
With new support from the resplendent stars, 
To mount to seats sublime ! 
Adam, at length thou'rt fallen to the deep, 
As far as thy ambition hoped to soar : 
Now see thou hast attain'd 
To learn the distance between heaven and hell. 
Now let Avernus echo 

To the hoarse sound of the funereal trumpet ! 
Joyful arise to light, 
And pay your homage to the prince of hell ! 


SCENE THE THIRD. 

Satan, Volano, Chorus of Spirits, with their flags flying 
and infernal instruments. 

Volano. Man is subdued, subdued ! 
Palms of eternal glory ! 
Why pause ye now ? to your infernal reeds 
And pipes of hoarsest sound, with pitch cemented, 
And various instruments of discord, 
Now let the hand and lip be quick applied ! 
Behold how triumph now to us returns, 
As rightly he foretold 

Our Stygian Emperor ! Spread to the wind 
Your fluttering banners ! Oh thou festive day 
To hell of glory, and to heaven of shame ! 


SCENE THE FOURTH. 

Serpent, Vain Glory, Satan, Volano, and Spirits. 

Serpent. To pleasures and to joys, 
Ye formidable dark sulphureous warriors ! 
Let fame to heaven now on her raven plumes 
Direct her rapid flight, 
Of man's completed crime 
The mournful messenger. 

Satan. Behold, again expanded in the air 
The insignia of hell ! 
Hear now the sounds of triumph, 
And voices without number 
That raise to heaven the shout of victory ! 

Serpent. Lo, I return, ye spirits of Avernus, 
And as I promised, a proud conqueror ! 
Lo, to these deep infernal realms of darkness 
I bring transcendent light, transcendent joy; 
Thanks to my fortitude, which from that giant 
Now wretched, and in tears, 
Forced his aspiring crown of fragile glass ; 
And thanks to her, this martial heroine, 
Vain Glory, whom to my proud heart I press. 

Satan. The torrent hastes not to the sea so rapid, 
Nor yet so rapid in the realm of fire 
Flashes kindle and die, 
As the quick circling hours 
Of good are join'd to evil 
In life's corrupted state ; 
The work of my great lord, nor less the work 
Of thee, great goddess of the scene condemn'd ; 
Up, up with homage quick 
To show ourselves of both the blest adorers ! 


ADAM. 


229 


Serpent. Now, from their bended knees let all 
And to increase our joys, [arise, 

Let thy glad song, Canoro, 
Now memorize the prosperous toil of hell. 

Canoro. Happy Canoro, raised to matchless bliss, 
Since 'tis thy lot to speak 
The prosperous exploits of Lucifer ! 
Behold, I bend the knee, 
And sing thy triumph in a joyous strain ! 
Behold, the glorious triumph 
Of that unconquer'd power, 
Who every power surpasses, 
The mighty monarch of the deadly realm ! 
Now raise the tumid form, 
Avernus, banish grief ; 
Man is involved in snares, 
And Death is glutted with his frail existence. 
This is the potent, brave, 
And ancient enemy 
Of man, the dauntless foe, 
And dread destroyer of the starry court. 
No more contentment dwell 
In the terrestrial seat : 
Thou moon, and sun, be darken'd, 
And every element to chaos turn ! 
Man is at length subdued. 
From a corrupted source, 
A weak and hapless offspring, 
Thanks to the fruit, his progeny shall prove. 
To that exalted seat 
By destiny our due, 
Can death's vile prey ascend, 
Who now lies prostrate at the feet of hell ? 

Serpent. Silence, no more ! Now in superior joys 
Ye quick and fluttering spirits, 
Now, now, your wings expand, 
And active in your pleasure, 
Weave a delightful dance ! 


SCENE THE FIFTH. 

A Chorus of Sprights in the shape of Antics,. Serpent, 
Satan, Volano, Canoro, Vain Glory, and Spirits. 

To thee behold us flying, 

Round thee behold us sporting, ! 

monarch of Avernus ! 

To recreate thy heart in joyous dance. 

Come, let us dance, happy and light, 

Ye little Sprights ; 

Man was of flesh, now all of dust, 

Such is the will of hideous death j 

A blessed lot 

No more is his, wretched in all. 

Now let us weave, joyous and dancing, 

Ties as many 

As now hell's prosperous chieftain 

Spreads around man, who weeps and wails, 

And now lifeless 

Is almost render'd by his anguish. 

Enjoy, enjoy in fragile vesture, 

Man, heaven ; 

Stygian Serpent has o'erwhelm'd him, 

Wherefore let each dance in triumph, 

Full of glory, 

Since our king has proved victorious. 

But, what think'st thou I Heaven in sorrow, 

On the sudden, 


He will spring to scenes celestial ; 
And he there will wreak his vengeance 
On the Godhead, 
That is now in heaven so troubled. 

Serpent. Ah, what lofty sounding trumpets 
Through the extensive fields of heaven rebellow ? 

Vain Glory. Ah, from my triumph now I fall 
to heU, 
Through subterraneous scenes exhaling fire, 
With all my fatal pomp at once I sink ! 

Serpent. And I, alas, am plunging 
With thee to. deepest horror ! 

Satan. Avoid, avoid, companions, 
This unexpected lustre, 
That brings, alas, to us a night of horror ! 

Volano. Alas, why should we tarry ? 
Fly all, fly with speed 
This inimical splendour, 
These dread and deadly accents, 
The utterance of God ! 


SCENE THE SIXTH. 

God the Father, Angels, Adam and Eve. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

And is it thus you keep the law of heaven, 
Adam and Eve ? O ye too faithless found, 
Ye children of a truly tender father ! 
Thou most unhappy, how much hast thou lost, 
And in a moment, Adam ! 
Fool, to regard the Serpent more than God. 
Ah could repentance e'er belong to Him 
Who cannot err, then might I well repent me 
Of having made this man. 
Now, Adam, thou hast tasted 
The apple, thou hast sinn'd, 
Thou hast corrupted God's exalted bounty : 
The elements, the heavens, 
The stars, the moon, the sun, and whatsoever 
Has been for man created, 
Now seems by man abhorr'd ; and as unworthy 
Now to retain existence, 
To his destruction he solicits death. 
But since 'tis just that I, who had proportion'd 
Reward to merit, should now make chastisement 
Keep pace with guilt, contemplating myself, 
I view Astrea, in whose righteous stroke 
Lo, I myself descend, for I am justice. 
Why pausest thou, sinner, in his presence, 
Who on a starry throne, 
As an offended judge prepares thy sentence ? 
Appear ! to whom do I address me % Adam, 
Adam, where art thou % say ! dost thou not hear \ 
Adam. Great Sovereign of Heaven ! if to those 
accents, 
Of which one single one form'd earth and heaven, 
My God, if to that voice, 
That call'd on Adam, a deaf asp I seem'd, 
It was terror struck me dumb : 
Since to my great confusion, 
I was constrain' d, naked, to come before thee. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

And who with nakedness has made acquainted 
Him, who although he was created naked, 
With innocence was clothed % 

Adam. Of knowledge the dread fruit that I have 
tasted ; 


230 


ADAM. 


The fault of my companion ! 

Eve. Too true it is, that the malignant serpent 
Made me so lightly think of thy injunction, 
That the supreme forbiddance 
Little or nought I valued. 

GOD THE FATHER. 

Adam, thou sinner ! O thou bud corrupted 

By the vile worm of error ! 

Though eager to ascend celestial seats, 

An angel in thy pride, thy feeble wings 

Left thee to fall into the depths of hell. 

By thy disdain of life, 

Death is thy accpiisition ; 

Unworthy now of favour, 

I strip thee of thy honours ; 

And soon thou shalt behold the herbs and flowers 

Turn'd into thorns and thistles, 

The earth itself this day by me accurst. 

Then shalt thou utter sighs in want of food, 

And from thy alter'd brow thou shalt distil 

Streams of laborious sweat, 

A supplicant for bread ; 

Nor ever shall the strife of man have end, 

Till, as he rose from dust, to dust he turn. 

And thou, first author of the first offence, 

With pam thou shalt produce the human birth, 

As thou hast taught, with anguish infinite, 

The world this fatal day to bring forth sin. 

Thee, cruel Serpent, I pronounce accursed ; 

Be it henceforth thy destiny to creep 

Prone on the ground, and on the dust to feed. 

Eternal strife between thee and the woman, 

Strife barbarous and deadly, 

This day do I denounce : 

If one has fallen, the other, yet victorious, 

Shall live to bruise thy formidable head. 

Now, 'midst the starry spheres, 

Myself I will seclude from human sight. 


SCENE THE SEVENTH. 
An Angel, Adam, and Eve. 

Angel. Ah Eve, what hast thou lost, 
Of thy dread Sovereign slighting the commands ! 
Thou Adam, thou hast sinn'd ; 
And Eve too sinning with thee, 
Ye have together, of the highest heaven 
Shut fast the gates, and open'd those of hell ! 
In seeking sweeter life, 
Ye prove a bitter death ; 
And for a short delight 
A thousand tedious sufferings. 
How much it had been better for this man 
To say, I have offended, pardon, Lord ! 
Than to accuse his partner, she the serpent : 
Hence let these skins of beasts, thrown over both, 
Become your humble clothing ; 
And hence let each be taught 
That God approves the humble, 
And God in anger punishes the proud. 

Adam. O man ! dust ! my frail destiny ! 
my offence ! O death ! 

Eve. woman ! of evil 
Sole gluttonous producer ! 
fruit ! my sin ! serpent ! O deceit ! 


Angel. Now let these skins that you support 
Tell you the grievous troubles [upon you, 

That you have to sustain ; 
Rude vestments are these skins, 
From whence you may perceive 
That much of misery must be endured 
Now in the field of life, 
Till death shall reap ye both. 
Now, now lament and weep, 
From him solicit mercy, 
For still your mighty Maker may be found 
Gracious in heaven, indulgent to the world, 
Most merciful to man, 
If equal to the pride 
That made him err, his penitence will weep. 

Adam. Ah whither art thou fled ? 
Where lonely dost thou leave me ? 
O too disgusting apple, 
If thou canst render man to angels hateful. 
Alas, my dread destruction 
Springs from a source so high, 
That it will find no end. 
Most miserable Adam ! if thou fallest, 
Ah, who will raise thee up ? 
If those eternal hands 

That should uphold the heaven, the world, and man, i 
Closed for thy good, are open for thy ill, [grief j 
How much shouldst thou express ! but tears and 
Fetter the tongue and overwhelm the heart ! 
sin ! agony ! 

Eve. Adam, my Adam, I will call thee mine, 
Although I may have lost thee ! 
Unhappy Eve acknowledges her error, 
She weeps, and she laments it. 
She sees thee in great anguish : 

could her tears wash out the grievous stain 
Thou hast upon thy visage ! 

Adam ! alas thou answerest not, and I 

Suffer in seeing thee so pale and pensive, 

Thy hands united in the folds of pain ! 

But if through deed of mine thou hast occasion 

For endless shame and silence, 

Wilt thou reply to me ? do I deserve it ? 

1 merit only woe by being woman ; 
Eve has invented weeping, 

Eve has discover'd anguish, 

Labour and lassitude, 

Distraction and affright ; 

Eve, Eve has minister'd to death and hell ! 

Adam. Enjoy, enjoy, woman, 
My anguish, my perdition, and my death ; 
Banish me hence for loving thee too well ! 
Ah, if thou wert desirous of my tears, 
Now, now extend thy hands, receive these streams 
That I must pour abundant from mine eyes ; 
If thou didst wish my sighs, lo ! sighs I give thee ; 
If anguish, view it ; if my blood, 'tis thine ; 
Rather my death, it will be easy to thee 
Now to procure my death, 
If thou hast render'd me of life unworthy. 

The Archangel Michael, Adam, and Eve. 

Michael. Why this delay ? come on, be quick, 
depart, 
Corrupted branches, from this fair and beauteous 
Terrestrial paradise ! Are ye so bold, 
Ye putrid worms ? come on, be quick, depart, 
Since with a scourge of fire I thus command you. 

Adam. Alas ! I am destroy'd 
By the fierce blow of this severe avenger ! 


ADAM, 


'231 


Eve. Now sunk in vital power 
I feel my sad existence, 
Even at the menace from this scourge of fire. 

Michael. These stony plains now must thy 
naked foot 
Press, in the stead of sweet and beauteous flowers, 
Since thy erroneous folly 
Forbids thy dwelling in this pleasant garden. 
Behold in me the punisher of those 
Who 'gainst their God rebel, and hence I bear 
These radiant arms that with tremendous power 
Make me invincible. I was the spirit 
Who, in the mighty conflict, 
Advancing to the north, 

Struck down great Lucifer, the haughty leader 
Of wicked angels, so that into hell 
They plunged precipitate and all subdued ; 
And thus it has seem'd good to my tremendous 
Celestial chief, that I shall also drive 
Man, rebel to his God, with this my sword 
Of ever-blazing fire, 

Drive him for ever from this seat of bliss.. 
You angels all depart, and now with me 
Expand your plumes for heaven j. 


As it has been your lot, 

Like mine, on earth here to rejoice with man, 

Man once a demi-god, and now but dust, 

Here soon with falchions arm'd, 

Falchions that blaze with fire, 

As guardians of these once delightful gates, 

The brave and active Cherubim shall aid you. 


SCENE THE NINTH. 
Chorus of Angels that sing, Archangel, Adam, and Eve. 

Adieu, remain in peace ! 

thou that livest in war ! 

Alas, how much it grieves us, 

Great sinner, to behold thee now but dust. 

Weep ! weep ! indulge thy sighs, 

And view thy lost possession now behind thee ; 

Weep ! weep ! for all thy sorrow 

Thou yet may'st see exchanged for songs of joy : 

This promise to the sinner heaven affords 

Who contrite turns to heaven with holy zeal. 


ACT IV. 


SCENE THE FIRST. 


Volano, Chorus of Fiery, Airy, Earthly, and Aquatic 
Spirits. 

Volano. Forth from a thousand clouds of flame 
and smoke, 
From the deep bosom of the spacious earth, 
I to these scenes a messenger return. 
Now to the fatal sound 
Of these entwisted pipes, 
By hissing snakes united, 
And all attuned to the fierce notes of death,. 
Now cease, now cease ye all, 
Ye potent spirits, to reside in fire, 
Or in the air, in water, or in earth. 
Appear ! why pause ye ? such is the command 
Of your brave emperor, the chief of hell. 
Hark I hear ye not the sound [lings ? 

That calls you forth from out your various dwel- 
Behold 1 how from the sphere of blazing fire 
Arsiccio, of the blazing legion prince, 
Comes to pay homage to his mighty lord.. 

Arion. Lo, from the field of air I too descend, 
I who am called Arion, 
The mighty ruler of this winged band, 
At the command of hell. 

Tarpalce. Of the infernal palace 
To bend before the prince, 
Forth from a thousand subterraneous paths 
The great Tarpalce, chief of earthy sprights, 
Raises his brow to heaven. 

Ondoso. From many a vein of water, 
From many a rising fount, 

From rills, and rivers, torrents, floods, and streams, 
And from a thousand marshes, pools, and lakes, 
Such as I am, Ondoso, of soft spirits 
The humid, floating ruler, now on wing, 
Here even I attend,, to reverence 
The subterranean power. 


Volano. Lo, from the dark 
reat Lucifer now rising, 
The most sagacious band 
Of hellish counsellors. 


to lightsome air 


SCENE THE SECOND. 

Lucifer, Fiery, Airy, Earthly, Aquatic, Infernal 
Spirits, and Volano. 

Lucifer. Ah light ! detested light ! 
Yet once again I look toward thy rays, 
The sightless mole of hell, 
And like a frantic angel, 
Dazzled and grieved at heart, 
Immortally I die. 

Beliar. Of what dost thou complain ? why 
grieves our god %\ 
Clear up thy countenance^ and see around 
How thy palms shake ; thy banners float in air, 
Signs of that valour which has conquer'd heaven, 
And now in triumph may enjoy the world ; 
Ah too imperfect is the victor's glory, 
If he exult not in his victory. 

Lucifer. Destructive victory I unworthy boast ! 
Laughter to weeping turn'd, 
Is that which thou esteem'st the praise of hell. 
Ah, heaven's high power has found 
A new expedient, to our endless shame, 
To make our vanquished foe remain the victor, 
And triumph, though defeated. 

Mirim. What barbed arrows in my wounded 
Great Lord, hast thou enfixt ! [heart, 

Lucifer. Ah ! for no other purpose have I 
From realms of air and fire, [call'd you 

From earth, from water, and the central depths, 
Save that we might project in council here 
How man may fall entirely overwhelm' d, 
If to destroy him by the fruit I fail'd. 


232 


ADAM. 


Digrignan. Ah how can Adam live, 
If he indeed has eat the fruit forbidden, 
Condemning him to death ? 
Now well may we exclaim, 
That heaven this day inures itself to falsehood. 

Lucifer. Hear it, oh hell, and shudder at the 
sound, 
And let thy lively joys now turn to languor. 
Tell me, thou Beliar, how seems to thee, 
After the tasted fruit, man on the sudden 
Discover'd naked, and amid the branches 
Of thickest growth hastening to hide his shame ? 

Beliar. In viewing his own nakedness, he shows 
us 
The tasted fruit has robb'd him of all grace ; 
The very foliage where he hides informs him 
He is become a beast, 

And, like a beast, is doom'd in death to lose 
His body and his soul. 

Lucifer. Thou, Coriban, relate why man has 
form'd 
With the fig's ample leaf 
A mantle for his waist. 

Coriban. I'll tell you, 'tis the nature of the fig 
To rise not high, and prove of short duration ; 
Still less may man expect to glory's height 
To raise himself ; for short shall be his date. 
All the contentious elements at war, 
Occasion'd by his sin, now in their conflict 
Shall overwhelm him, and the hope with souls 
More to embellish heaven shall be in vain. 

Lucifer. And thou, Ferea, what denotes the 
serpent, 
Whom ha his anger God is pleased to curse ? 

Ferea. I will be brief in telling all that's true : 
When he pronounced a curse upon the serpent, 
Man had already heard his malediction ; 
And thus to that he added, 
Prone on thy belly serpent thou shalt grovel, 
As if to man suggesting, 
Dark as a riddling god, man is of clay ; 
And clay shall now be destitute of soul, 
As destitute of soul each other reptile. 

Lucifer. Thou, Solobrico, tell me, what think'st 
thou 
Of this strange speech to man ? 
Thou by thy sweat must gain 
The bread that forms thy food, 

Solobrico. This bread to us discovers 
The life of man's frail body, 
A body form'd of earth, as now indeed 
Grain must be drawn from earth to make this bread 
The vital element : 

HLs sweat denotes the element of water, 
His countenance is air, his labour fire ; 
So that this dark expression 
Of being doom'd to gain his bread by sweat, 
To man says, Thou shalt live, 
In many griefs and troubles, 
A short space in the world ; 
Then is thy lot to die, 
Turning again to earth, air, water, fire. 

Lucifer. And, Gismon, thou, to woman when 
he said, 
That with the pangs of birth 
She should produce her offspring, say what meaning 
Lurk'd in that new expression to bring forth ? 

Gismon. Thus said expression birth 
Denotes the being born, 
When her young progeny shall rise to light : 


He also might denote a new partition 

By this new word bring forth, 

Innumerable pains, , 

In which the suffering parents 

Shall both participate to rear their. children. 

Of body and of soul 

The certain death I see in this expression : 

That this may be, turning to man he said, 

That he should die, and then to Eve he added, 

That she with bitter anguish should bring forth. 

Now this mysterious saying nothing means, 

If not that man is meant 

By death corporeal, and his frail companion 

By death that strikes the soul ; 

Thus from mortality, 

With loss reciprocal, the soul is taken : 

And thus, when each has languish'd, 

The body in its dying, 

The soul in its departure,' 

Leaving at length its transient dear abode ; 

So verified shall be the mighty sentence 

From him, the mighty judge, 

Of bringing forth with dire excess of pain. 

Lucifer. All you, that most sagacious 
I reckon'd once in my infernal kingdoms, 
I find now least sagacious. 
To thee I turn, Arsiccio, tell me now 
What means that mystery, 
The cursing of the earth ? 

Arsiccio. And to the blame of man I too return ; 
Can it be true this cursing of the earth ? 
What does the mystery mean % 
Means it indeed the earth ? 
Foolish is he who thinks so ! what offence 
Has she committed % no 'twas not the earth 

Was cursed, but only man, who is of earth ; 

And human nature all is cursed with him ; 

And that decree, it should no more bear fruit, 
Was utter'd for no purpose 

But to proclaim to man, 

That, as a sinner, heaven is shut against him. 
Lucifer. Arion, thou exalt thyself in air ; 

Do thou inform me why with skins of beasts 

This man and his companion were array'd. 
Arion. This clearly shows to us 

That God no longer makes account of man. 

Hear me, unconquer'd sovereign, 

This clothing Adam with the lifeless skins 

Of fleeced animals to us imports, 

That, as with dying beast, 

The body, soul, and spirit, also die, 

So death shall also prove 

The dread destroying ravager of men 

By the dread fruit's effect. 

Lucifer. Ondoso, thou who art profest a diver, 

Canst thou pervade the depth 

Of these confused decrees \ inform me now 

What means the mystery 

Of cherubim with fiery falchions 

Forbidding entrance to the gates of Eden. 
Ondoso. No mystery, great king, 

But the destruction of the human race, 

Portended by these falchions. 

They mean indeed the death 

Of man's terrestrial form, 

And their fierce blades of fire 

Damnation to his soul : 

So that when struck by death 

The body shall be ashes, and the soul 

Shall by eternal justice 


ADAM. 


233 


Within the dark Avernus 

Become a prisoner, lost to light and heaven. 

Now blest are we, since we behold it clear, 

That, rising to the realms above, 'tis ours 

To make Olympus joyful, since when we 

Resign'd our seat in heaven, 

At those exalted gates 

No armed cherubim was placed to guard ; 

Thus all is justly weigh'd, 

And in an even balance ; 

For now the world's inhabitants shall be 

The birds, the fish, the beasts ; 

Of the Tartarean gulf 

Man, and his numerous race ; 

We only on gay wing shall soar to heaven, 

On this supreme condition, 

That heaven's great Lord shall pardon ask of thee, 

Repenting of his error, and that both 

Shall rule the realm of heaven, 

Both Lucifer and God. [man ? 

Lucifer. Tarpalce, say what thinkest thou of 
Tarpalce. 'Tis not my sentiment man can be 
saved. 

In short, this man has sinn'd ; 

And he who draws from man his flesh and life, 

He shall be call'd a sinner ; 

And he who is a sinner shall be damn'd ; 

And since it is denied 

That these the seats of heaven, that once were ours, 

Neglected shall be left, and void of glory, 

Well may we re-ascend, with brave condition, 

The heaven once more returning to itself. 

Sufficiently we know 

It otherways would still be void of splendour, 

Since God no longer knows 

What to achieve that may embellish heaven. 
Lucifer. Alas ! 'tis fit that I 

From a deep silence now 

Loose this chill' d tongue, chill'd though it seems 
to burn 

With cruel deadly rage ! 

My heart is bursting only at the thought 

Of what I must relate : 

Now with great efforts vanquishing myself, 

Let that be heard which anguish bids me utter ! 

The fear he felt to show himself when naked 

Was from the mighty shame 

To see himself bespotted 

With sin's deformity. 

His flight with rapid steps towards the woods, 

As to the sea the swollen torrent flies, 

Denotes his great repentance of his sin. 

That leafy screen in which he hid himself, 

Denotes his coarse and rustic penitence, 

Till with long abstinence he shall atone 

With punishment for sin. 

The harsh and ample leaf 

Of fig, still more expressive, 

Tells it will be man's lot 

With coarse and hairy vest 

To cover every fault ; 

And as upon the fig, 

Among its harshest leaves, a dulcet fruit 

Arises, thus at last shall man himself, 

'Midst all his penitence, enjoy the fruit 

So sweet and dear of heaven, that he had lost : 

The verdure of the leaf 

Affords a certain hope 

That man may have of God's returning grace ; 

That he at length in heaven 


Shall know a blooming spring of highest glory. 

The double summons, thus bestow'd on man, 

Tells us he shall have time 

To weep, though sinning, his repented sin. 

If he was pleased to execrate the serpent, 

There hell may understand 

That it was not the serpent 

Who then offended God ; from whence he said, 

Prone on thy belly, serpent, thou shalt creep ! 

Alas, too clearly saying, 

Quit every hope, O ye that now abide 

By the infernal streams, 

Quit every hope of heaven ! 

And when between this woman and the serpent 

His word denounced, alas ! eternal war, 

Ah then he comprehended human nature, 

Which bears a female name. 

What then are now our direst enemies ? 

Inhabitants of heaven ! 

So that our most tormenting adversary 

Is now no other but this human nature 

Made an eternal denizen of heaven. 

What more, alas ! (have I the force to speak it ?) 

The saying that the woman 

Shall one day bruise his head, 

With mystery severe 

Shows us the incarnation of the Word. 

Saying to man his bread 

He now by sweat must earn, is it not saying 

After hard toil thou shalt to heaven ascend ? 

Alas ! perhaps it means 

That bread may life denote, 

Since man is destined to have life in heaven. 

If for the apple God was pleased to say 

That man transgressing shall be doom'd to death, 

He of the body spake ; 

The spirit is immortal. 

When in his speech to Eve 

He doom'd her to bring forth, that indicates 

Eternity assign'd to human nature. 

The guard of cherubim that wheel around 

Their fiery swords, forbidding 

All feet to tread on that delicious garden, 

I would declare to mean — 

But to cold marble turns my faltering tongue. 

Briar. Shall it be said that Briar checks his 
tongue ? i 
Believe not thou, our Lord, 
That man to heaven shall soar ! 
Too feeble are his wings ; 
Had he no other bar, 
I am alone prepared to give him death, 
Arm'd with a mighty club, or with a stone, 
Though sure to be condemn'd 
Myself alone to all the pains of hell ; 
Since I can well discern, 
That in continual thinking of my glory, 
Infernal pain will turn to heavenly joy. 

Lucifer. noble, generous ardour ! 
Trust me, not less avails 
A heart magnanimous for glory panting, 
Than a decided triumph. 
Let us remain in hell, 
Since there is more content 
To live in liberty, though all condemn'd, 
Than, as his vassals, blest. 
Up from these filthy dregs, 
A hideous mass, sulphureous, rough, and round, 
Let there be raised to light ; 
So wills the mighty chieftain of damnation. 


234 


ADAM. 


SCENE THE THIRD. 

The infernal Cyclops, armed ivith hammers, and all those 
of the preceding Scene. 

Behold the smiths of hell, 

That, worn with toil and smoke, 

To heaven are raising this enormous hall, 

Now fashion'd in Avernus. 

Lucifer. Now as a perfect rival 
Of God, I will, that Lucifer he seen. 
He highly seated, on his throne in heaven, 
To us reveal'd the world, and thence arose 
Our banishment from heaven, and I this day, 
Raising Vain Glory to a throne of splendour, 
Have now contrived to exterminate mankind. 
If he from nothing made the ample world, 
I too a nothing will now make of worlds, 
Or of the world a nothing. 
Now let this dark and misty mass dissolve, 
And in the place of elements, and heavens, 
Of all the stars, the moon, and radiant suns, 
Let there come forth a strange unfinish'd monster. 

Ondoso. what a stormy hurst, what monsters 
All horrible and hissing, [rise, 

With forms enormous howling, 
And breathing blasts of fire ! 

Lucifer, Thou that now seem'st a dark and 
hideous monster, 
I will array thee in a human semblance, 
Though but of vapour form'd ; 
Thou shalt be call'd the World. 
Instead of shags, and vestments wild, 
Sweat thou beneath a load of gems and gold, 
For well I know how henceforth in my service 
Gold may be used in tempting man to sin. 
Such thou shalt have around thee ; 
On thee I will bestow voice, gesture, snares, 
In strictest tie to catch 

The human foot of clay that walks incautious ; 
And all that thou canst wish 
To overwhelm this man, all thou shalt have. 
Thou beast of monstrous shape, 
Thou like a lovely damsel shalt appear, 
Thou shalt be call'd the Flesh, 
With wiles, deceits, and ardours in thy train, 
Whence man may fall in unbecoming errors ; 
And, monster, thou that art 
So hideous and so meagre, Death be call'd : 
Be thou all human bone, 
All ice, all madness, all a mass of horror 
To the unhappy sinner. 
Ye four terrific forms, of wildest semblance, 
For horrid deeds I chuse you, 
111 omen'd words, and acts of cruel nature, 
Your fashion to display. 
Up, up, let each return 
To his own element, his proper sphere ! 
Come ! why delay to fire ? 
Haste all with me, 
And hence in silence glide, 
Abandoning the light. 


SCENE THE FOURTH. 

Adam. Wretch that thou art ! now cast thine 
No longer shalt thou see [eyes around, 

Aught to console thy pain. 
Ah ! in that very thought, 


Sorrow so wounds my heart, 

My tears so overwhelm me, 

That in a sigh I seem to breathe my last. 

Where, Adam, is thy beauty? where thy grace, 

That made thee dear to angels and to God ? 

Ah ! thou alone hast dared 

To stain thy nature, and to wound thy soul ! 

Is this, is this the way 

To please that Being who on thee bestow'd 

Whate'er thou seest around thee, with a promise 

To give thee in the stars a heavenly mansion ? 

Bather on fruit forbidden 

To feed, than on the living words of God 

Has been thy choice ; and lo, 

Thou from an angel to a beast art changed ! 

And, more than other beasts, 

Driven as a monster from this pleasant garden, 

And thus in skins array'd ! alas ! I dare not 

Lift up my eyes to heaven, yet it becomes me, 

Low on my knees, to view the good I lost, 

And in lamenting say, 

Dear seat of God, thou should'st have been the 

Of Adam also : but thou art lost to me, [seat 

Thee have I lost, alas ! and found instead 

Of thee, both death and hell. 

hide, in pity hide thy splendour, heaven ! 
Since Adam is a sinner. 

Conceal your light, ye stars ; 

Vanish, thou moon and sun ; 

Eternal horror be the fate of man, 

Since Adam is a sinner. 

Now in the faithful choir of angels cease, 

Ye soothing melodies, 

Since Adam is a sinner. 

Behold, with pain behold, 

How,, from thy dread offence, 

All things this day appear to change their form, 

All hold thee in abhorrence, 

All from thy aspect fly ! 

Ah, thou mayst well exclaim, 

There, from the verdant stem and parent tree, 

The rose is fled, and leaves thee but the thorn ! 

There sinks each flower, within the grassy earth 

Hiding its head precipitate, and scarce 

Where it display'd its pride now shows its stalk : 

Well mayst thou add, in plucking here the apple 

Thou gavest a fatal shake to every tree, 

Then bringing to the ground 

Each leaf, each flower, and every blooming fruit. 

Ah, how despoil'd and waste 

All now appears to me ; all shade and horrors ; 

Produced by man's rebellion to his God. 

Where, where are now the gay and sprightly birds 

That on their painted plumes 

Round me were used to sport and flutter here 1 

Ah, your closed wings I see 

Amidst the thickest leaves, and fearing all 

The deadly snares of Adam. 

Where, where is now the tiger, bear, and lion, 

The wolf, the pard, and thousand other beasts, 

Obedient all to man, and in his train ? 

Alas ! now made voracious 

Of human carnage and of smoking blood 

1 now behold you all, 

Sharpening 'gainst man the talon and the tooth. 

Where now, ah where, their young 

May all the fleecy kind 

Let fall in safety ? for, alas, I see 

No longer will they offer 

Their milky dugs to thee, their dugs or offspring, 


ADAM. 


235 


Since to escape from man, 

Now, now, I see them eager, 

Man turn'd into a wolf 

By having seized an apple. 

All fly, and all abhor thee, 

And from thee, barbarous, learn barbarity. 

Hence in the earth and sea, 

Beyond their custom, now 

All fish, and all the beasts, 

To battle seem to invite thee ; 

See now the wolf and lamb, 

She who of late not far from him might wander, 

See how she bleating flies from his unfaithful 

Tusk, now expecting bloody violence ! 

Behold the hare, behold 

How timid she is made, and the dog fierce 

In striving for her life, 

While more than native fear to flight inclines her. 

Behold that dusky beast, 

That with white tusks of an enormous size 

Extends its weighty jaw, 

That now forgetting to revere the moon, 

Intractable, ferocious 

Beyond its native temper, 

Rushes in anger with its fibrous trunk 

That serves it for a nose, 

Against the horn which the rhinoceros 

Sharpens of hardest stone ! 

Behold the sea enraged, 

Now by thy rage, the very sea inflamed 

Takes up the fish within its watery arms, 

And in a thousand caverns, 

Against the mossy stones 

Now strikes, and now entombs them. 

At length, behold that ox, 

That now beneath thy crooked yoke of wood 

To turn the sterile earth 

Thou must contrive to couple, 

See how he darts an eye of fire upon thee, 

And foaming now, and panting, fiercely points 

His crooked horn, and threatens thee with death. 

And more, yet more, the earth 

Provokes thee now to conflict, 

Thanks to thy dire offence ; 

And since her bosom must by thee be wounded, 

Strives with thee for thy viands, arm'd herself 

With thistles and with thorns. 

I've sinn'd, Lord, I've sinn'd ! 

I've sinn'd, and for my fault 

My mournful heart in weeping I distil. 

Why wretched do I speak % see what a band 

Of beasts made barbarous, 

Of hostile beasts, now wet 

With crimson's deadly stain, 

I see around me, darting from their caves ! 

Alas ! what see I more ? wretch that I am ! 

Behold, from them affrighted Eve is flying ! 


SCENE THE FIFTH. 
Adam and Eve. 

Eve. Ah whither shall I fly ? and where conceal 
Adam. Haste to my arms, haste ! [me ? 

Let him who sinn'd like thee, 

Like thee become of savage beasts the prey ! 
Eve. Ah, every path becomes 

The pass of death to one of life unworthy ; 


Here in this cavern's depth, 
Here let us plunge, Adam. 

Adam. Ah, they at length depart ; yet not from 
Will misery depart, or mortal anguish. [man 

Oh wonderous wretchedness, even pleasure weeps, 
Joy wears the form of sorrow, 
And life itself now dies. 

Eve. Ah, how I grieve, Adam ! 
heaven ! what tears I shed, 
How do I sigh, God, wounded in heart, 
Now, nor alive nor dead ! 

Adam. But hark, what horrid roarings 
Make air rebellow, and the vallies shake ! 


SCENE THE SIXTH. 

Famine, Thirst, Lassitude, Despair, Adam, and Eve. 

Famine. In vain from our quick grasp 
You strive to fly, vile offspring of the earth ! 
And from the thousand ills that heaven intends thee; 
Fly not, for 'tis in vain. Ye now around 
Block up the paths, and guard each avenue ! 
Famine am I, who in this hideous form 
Now show myself to man, 
To prove how keen I am, 
With bitterness to poison all his sweets ; 
And from the semblance I reveal, thou wretch, 
Clearly shalt thou perceive, 
Beyond all other creatures, 

How sharply Famine's piercing shaft shall wound 
And as I now devour these tender shoots [thee ; 
Of the young fruitful vine, 
And suck, with eager thirst, the dulcet juice, 
So from thy feeble bones, that now derive 
Infirmity from sin, 
Soon will I tear the flesh, 

And suck thus fiercely from thy veins the blood. 
And this fierce monster that you now behold, 
Keen at the limpid fountain 
To satiate its thirst, and foil'd, attempting 
With harpy talon to pollute the water, 
This is call'd Thirst ; and now, in such a form, 
Both horrible and fierce, 
To thee appears, that thou may'st comprehend 
How wildly raging thou shalt feel its fury. 
And this is Lassitude, 

That Lassitude which now on thee shall pour 
The mighty streams of sorrow. 
See how her figure melts in drops of anguish, 
In raising on her back 
That heavy burden of enormous weight ! 
'Tis hers to make thee, Adam, 
So worn with toil, that from thy pallid visage 
The copious streams of painful sweat shall pour ; 
And Lassitude shall so annoy thy frame, 
That thou shalt hate thy life. 
Hence at the last, perforce ye both shall pass 
Through unaccustom'd ways of wretchedness 
To this dire monster, savage and tremendous, 
Who henceforth on the earth 
Shall bear of Desperation 

The desperate name ; look, and behold how fiercely 
He in convulsion rolls, and shrieks and roars ; 
See how he tears his hair and grinds his teeth, 
Wounds all his frame, and makes his breast re-echo 
With his repeated blows ! 
This fierce, relentless monster 
Shall so afflict thee, that thou shalt be eager 


236 ADAM. 

To turn, and hasten to an end more wretched : 

Thy residence is hell, 

And if, perchance, thou think'st I speak not true, 

Become a rebel to thy mighty Maker. 

See him, who from his deep and dark domain ' 

Adam. Oh source of tears ! Oh sorrow ! 

In blackest vapour wrapt, 

Oh miserable sinner ! 

Circled with globes of fire, appears before thee ! 

Eve. Ah me, most wretched Eve ! 


The origin of sin. 

^ 

Adam. Ah, how the heaven grows dark, how it 


withdraws 


Its light from us, who are of light unworthy ! 

SCENE THE SEVENTH. 

But ah ! what flame in heaven quickens and dies, 

Death, Adam, and Eve. 

Dazzling our sight, and sudden darts away, 


A serpent all of fire % 

Death. Thou art the creature, Woman, 

Eve. Alas ! not here the wrath of heaven shall 

Who first hast summon'd me, 

First we must suffer death. [end, 

And with a sinful voice, 

Adam. Ah, what rebellowing sounds I hear 

From the Tartarean shades ; 

above ! 

Thou, perishable flesh and form of clay, 

Perchance with such a voice 

Hast call'd this fearful monster, 

Offended Heaven now drives us from the world, 

Of human bones compacted, 

And sends us banish'd to the gulfs below ! 

This day to look upon the light of heaven. 

What shafts, how numberless 

Say now what wouldst thou speak ? 

Strike down the woods and groves ! with what wild 

Dost thou abhor thy life ? 

The raging winds contend ! [force 

Behold the sickle-bearer, and the sickle 

Now rushes from the sky 

That now invites thee to desert the day. 

Water congeal' d to forceful globes of hail ! 

Now with a lynx's eye, 

Eve. Alas ! how from on high 

I see, in looking into future time, 

The swelling waters pour, 

To my dread name and these ungodly arms, 

That rising o'er their banks, 

What fatal trophies rise. 

The proud o'erflowing rivers 

But what ! not here shall end the full perdition 

Now put the beasts to flight, 

With which heaven threatens thee, such mighty 

And in the groves and woods 

Hell now prepares for thee, [evils 

Precipitately drive the fish to dwell ! 

And such excess of horrors, 

Adam. Fly ! let us haste to fly 

That I, I who am Death, 

Up to those lofty mountains, 

Wish for destruction to escape their sight. 

Where heaven now seems at last 

Thou art condemn'd to die, 

Satiate with ceaseless thundering to repose ! 

ac: 

C V. 

SCENE THE FIRST. 

He bends his watery eyes in deep affliction ! 

The Flesh and Adam. 

Thou art not yet transfix'd 

By my prevailing shaft, but now it seeks thee. 

THE FLESH. 

SHE SINGS. 

If in a bosom form'd in lonely woods, 

Dearest Adam, grieved and fainting, 

An amorous lure, the engine of deceit, 

Let my song thy spirit comfort ! 

May wake a blazing spark, 

And with thee, 

And raise an inextinguishable fire ; 

let me ' 

This day to me shall shine a day of triumph, 

Lead a life of true enjoyment ! 

When in desire's fierce flames 

Gentle Adam, son of glory, 

I shall behold that heart, 

Hearken, hearken ! meek and humble 

Which love's devouring flame yet has not toucli'd. 

Sounds the artless song unpolish'd 

And now if aught of potency resides 

That invites thee 

In golden tresses, or a breast of snow, 

But to kindness ; 

A radiant eye, a cheek of rose and lily, 

Give, give me ease and quiet, 

And teeth of pearl, and lips that vie with coral, 

Gentle Adam, son of glory ! 

In beauty, grace, allurements, arts, and gestures, 

But if thou with different feelings 

To make a wretched mortal heart their captive, 

Wish to wound this tender bosom, 

Such tresses, such a breast, 

See it naked ! 

A cheek, and teeth, and lips, 

Strike ! cruel, 

And my intelligent engaging manners, 

Wherefore pause you ? Haste to kill me ! 

Will hold thee fetter'd in a thousand snares. 

By your hand I fall contented. 

Behold, not distant far, the simple bird 

Adam. thou all-seeing Lord, 

I opportunely see, 

If real grief may touch thee, 

Who for my tempting lure 

Survey the contrite sinner, 

His habitation quits, and his companion, 

Who through his eyes distils his heart in tears. 

To fall at once by amorous deceit : 

No ! of thy mercy do not close the hand, 

how to earth dejected, 

Since what sustains me now must fall and perish. 


ADAM. 


237 


Behold, behold, dread Lord ! unhappy man, 
Who from the fatal fruit 
Has to encounter all the snares of hell ; 
Defend him ; he is thine, thine thou hast call'd him, 
And having once been thine, thou must have loved 
him. 

THE FLESH. 

Go, full of terror and desire ! I must 

With the impetuous be meek and coy, 

And with the timid bold, and urge him on 

Till love's keen canker-worm 

Prey on the simple heart, 

That never yet has felt the sting of passion. 

Adam. Who may this be ? alas, both hope and fear 
Urge me to seek, and bid me still be silent. 

THE FLESH. 

This lowliness, and this affected coyness 

With an undaunted lover, this presumption 

With one more soft and timid, are so prevailing 

They seem two strong incentives 

To kindle the fierce flame of love's desire : 

Whence I a skilful mistress 

Brandish my tongue, 

And give a mortal wound. 

Say why art thou so pensive,' 

my most gentle Adam ? 

Adam. Restrain, restrain thy step 
Whoe'er thou art, nor with thy songs inveigle 
Him, who has only cause for ceaseless tears. 

THE FLESH. 

Without thy strict injunction, 

Creature of noble semblance, 

To stand aloof from thee 

Grieves me ; I want the courage to approach 

The flowery bloom of thy engaging face, 

Fearing lest serpents in thy radiant eyes 

For ever on the watch, 

With stings devoid of pity pierce my heart. 

But every bitter root 

That leads thee to suspicion, 

1 from thy breast will pluck ; for know, I am 
The very soul of love, yes ! of that love 
Which has induced thy Maker 

From nothing to make all : 

And since in that debased 

Condition into which thy sorrows sunk thee, 

This love alone can draw thee, 

To the low world I took my flight from heaven. 

Perchance thou may'st suppose, enjoying love, 

That thou must therefore lead a savage life, 

A lover of the brutes ; 

No, no, adorning all thy form with flowers, 

And wearing on thy locks a wreath of palm, 

Thou shalt enjoy a vest of gold and silver, 

Such as I wear, and such as high in heaven 

The radiant tissue shines, when sun and moon 

Weave their united rays. 

Thine eyes shall sparkle with resplendent fire, 

On thy warm cheek a graceful blush shall glow, 

And when in ecstacy thy lip is press'd, 

Its richer hues shall make the coral pale. 

Say at the very sound dost thou not feel 

Thy heart dissolve in amorous joy ? I see 

Thou art delighted, Adam. 

Adam. I love, in truth I love, 
But only burn with love ♦ 
For my almighty Maker. 


THE FLESH. 

The soul alone can love, 

Can love this heavenly lord : 

But in these sublunary woodland scenes, 

Love has delights of a corporeal kind. 

Adam. The love thou speak'st of it is mine to 
With my beloved consort. • [prove 

THE FLESH. 

Yes ! jthat is true ; yet only sons of death 
Can spring from your affection. 
Adam. Sad fruit of my offence ! 

THE FLESH. 

Ah, but immortal children 

From me shall spring, if thou wilt yield to me. 

Amidst these herbs and flowers 

Be ours sublimest love ! 

Simple ! extend thy hand, 

Behold, and touch my breast that thou wilt find 

Far different from the breast of mortal Eve. 

If thou wilt love, shall I not make thee worthy 

Of the unbounded joy 

To steal thee from thyself ? Ah come, ah come, 

To this pure bosom that I show thee, Adam ! 

Oh say to me, I love thee ! 

Perchance thou may'st believe, 

Each man to spring from thee 

Ought to be happy with a single woman ; 

Each woman too contented 

To love one man alone ! 

Simple, if such thy thought : 

For all the sweets of love 

Become more poignant by the change of lovers. 

See how each animal, that dwells on earth, 

Leads a delicious life, 

By changing its affection ; 

And thou, sole sovereign of each living creature, 

Shalt thou content thee with a single lover ? 

Adam. Let sorrow's flame convert my heart to 
Bather than it may burn with double love ! [ashes, 
Hence then ! depart ! for a blind mole am I 
To all thy proffer'd beauty ; 
And truly in thy presence 
I feel no touch of love. 

THE FLESH. 

thou most icy heart ! 

Now kindle with the flame of my affection. 

Behold this ample cavern of the earth ; 

Lo, it was made for love ; whate'er it holds 

Within its spacious circuit, 

Of love perceives the fire. 

Love rules the earth, the sea, the air, and fire ; 

With endless love a hundred genial stars, 

Not moving from their sphere, 

Scatter their flames through heaven ; 

And other wandering planets 

Through those exalted regions 

Direct their golden steps. 

What river, fount or stream, 

Unconscious flows and destitute of love ? 

What frozen sea does love not penetrate 

With his imperious ardour ? 

What glowing ocean does not oft discover 

A visage pale and wan, 

As if infirm with love ? 

What flower, what plant, or stone, 

Wishes for love in vain, of love deprived ? 

Whate'er inhabits heaven, or earth, or sea, 


238 


ADAM. 


Burns in the flame of love. 

Behold that sportive bird of painted wing, 

That goes with fluttering joy from bough to bough, 

And in his song declares he sings of love ! 

Behold the sweet and oft-repeated kisses 

Of those two doves, what dost thou think of them ? 

Of love they are the kisses. 

The beauteous peacock see, 

That gaily fondles his attractive mate ; 

He whirls the plume of love. 

Hear you that nightingale, does she not mourn ? 

Now does she not exult ? now 'tis her joy 

With her melodious warble 

To stun the vallies, and make glad the hills. 

Simple, what dost thou think \ 

'Tis love that makes her tuneful. 

Behold that river with its banks of flowers, 

Its stream of purest silver, 

And of fine gold its sand ; 

Behold, dost thou not see within its bosom 

A thousand fishes glide % 

They lead the dance of love. 

Behold that sportive goat, that butting runs 

Exulting o'er the plain, 

His conflicts are from love. 

Look there, and see amidst a thousand folds 

Those close entwisted snakes, 

That in a single being seem combined : 

Coy Adam, even these 

Weave the close web of love. 

Behold, at length where yonder clustering vine 

Her amorous arms around the elm extends, 

She also burns with love. 

Even that flower, that ever courts the sun, 

Thus in its glances speaks, 

I dart the glance of love ! 

And thou unmelting soul ! wilt thou alone, 

Wilt thou disdain to feel 

That which all creatures prove ? 

Nought can resist my golden pungent dart, 

Nor air, nor fire, nor sea, nor earth, nor heaven. 


SCENE THE SECOND. 

Lucifer, The Flesh, and Adam. 

Now burn with love, and bless the fond desire 

Of her, whom the Creator 

Made blazing all with love. [locks 

Adam. And who art thou, whose thick and bushy 
And beard of silver shade thy head and face ? 

Lucifer. Adam, I am a man ; I am thy brother, 
But of a higher rank ; 

Since I have drawn the vital air of heaven, 
Thou in this lower world ; 
For well thou know'st, that station 
Affords an airy grandeur to our birth. 
In years too I surpass thee ; 
My voice too, and my language 
Declare me old, as these my locks of silver ; 
Now if all elder things 
Are deem'd superior to their successors, 
In this my merit must be more than thine. 

Adam. How I should answer thee, my tongue 
Thou lofty Lord of Heaven ! [knows not, 

Since my sad error with so thick a cloud 
Of ever-during fear 
O'ershades my eyes and heart. 

Lucifer. Oh, Adam, do not fear ! 


THE FLESH. 

Wait thou a little ! soon 

That shall be known to thee, which now is hid : 

All for thy good alone, 

And to save man from many griefs and pains. 

Lucifer. Now, Adam, understand 
How having made me in his lofty heaven, 
He next created thee ; 
For a new wish he form'd 
To make another man, and give the world 
To be his grateful residence, and then 
Clay he made flesh, and of that flesh made man : 
Then from the side of man he woman drew, 
And then ordain'd the law 
Prohibiting the apple, 
Which if he tasted, man 
Must be deprived of his celestial home. 
Hence is it thou hast felt, 
Hence is it thou hast seen 
Clouds rolling through the air, 
And fiery scintillations in the sky, 
RebelloAving thunder and its rattling bolts, 
And the tempestuous crash. 
These mournful pomps of horror, 
Say, say, what canst thou think 
That they portend below to new-made man ? 
All these appear'd in heaven, because from heaven 
Now the celestial Adam is dislodged. 
As to terrestrial man, 

(As if the world would drive him from the world) 
The earth itself grew barren, 
And every fruit grew harsh, 
The waters full of turbulence and gall, 
And every creature sharpened 
His beak, or tusk, or talon. 
Behold at last, O heaven ! a pah? ©f brothers, 
The citizens of earth. 
0, Adam, do not grieve, 

That I by fault of thine have now lost heaven, 
Since to have haply found 
Thee, my beloved brother, 
Now makes me not to feel the loss of heaven ; 
And happy we will live 
In this, a sylvan, and a sunny seene ; 
Or emulous of heaven, in God's own heaven 
Raised to a noble seat, 
I will, that we ascend, 
And underneath out feet 
Joy to behold the congregated choirs, 
Even like the blessed choirs, 
The children of this man. 
Now if we wish success to our desires, 
And should delight to see 

Springing like grass, and frequent as the flowers, 
Our children rapidly arise to light, 
Turn we our eyes and heart 
To this fair goddess of delightful love ! 
For easy 'tis to her 

To form in sweet array the troops we wish. 
A plant so sweetly fruitful 
Is not ; nor is the earth herself so fertile ; 
Nor does it raise so soon 
Its nutritive production, 
As she will raise, if we are so disposed, 
The fruit of lovely children. 
Then to the lily whiteness 
Of her enchanting cheek 
Advance the living roses of the lip ! 
And of so sweet a flower 


ADAM. 


239 


For this love's goddess let us form a garland ! 

Oh to the living ruby 

Of this sweet fount of kisses, 

If he for kisses thirst, 

The hart of love shall run, 

There bathe his thirsty lip, 

And there on kisses quench his mighty ardour. 

THE FLESH. 

Why this delay, Adam ? 
Approach, approach, my heart ! 
Satiate thy thirst of love ! 

Lucifer. What ! dost thou fear, and tremble ? 
Now let the empty cloud 
Of all thy vain suspicion 
Disperse before the sun of heavenly truth ! 
Extend, extend thy arms 
And in one dear embrace encircle both ! 
Happy who pants for thee ! alas, what dost thou ? 
At once thou givest, and again draw'st back 
Thy blandishments, like lightning, 
That in appearing flies and vanishes. 

Adam. What fear assaults my heart I cannot 
But feel that like a timid deer I pant [tell, 

At the dire barking of blood-thirsty hounds. 


SCENE THE THIRD. 

Cherubim, Guardian of Adam, Adam, The Flesh, and 
Lucifer. 

Cherubim. 'Tis time to succour man. Alas! 
Most miserable Adam ? [what dost thou, 

Lucifer. Why dost thou silent stand ? what are 
thy thoughts ? 

Adam. I seem'd to hear a plaintive, pleasing voice, 
That in this manner spoke : Alas ! what dost thou % 
Most miserable Adam ! 

THE FLESH. 

A vain desire, and dread 
Now lords it o'er thy heart. 

Cherubim. Since thy heart trembles, evils must 

Adam. I tremble at deceit. [be nigh. 

Lucifer. Thou must have lost thy reason, 
If thou canst fear thy mistress, and thy brother. 

Cherubim. Fear ! for they are thy foes. 

Adam. Thou say'st thou art my brother, she my 
But if ye were my foes !— [mistress ; 

THE FLESH. 

Cruel to treat us so ! 

What enemy can man now have on earth ? 

Cherubim. The enemy of Eve. 

Adam. He, who occasion'd misery to Eve, 
And he, who was the cause, that from this brow 
The painful sweat must now descend in streams. 

Lucifer. So little wilt thou trust us ? 
So lightly dost thou love us ? 
Yet it is fit thy fault 
Call forth the tears to flow into thy bosom. 

THE FLESH. 

With treachery 'tis fit to treat with man 

In gesture, tears, and voice, 

Only to plunge him in Tartarean fires. 

Adam. They weep in such abundance, 
That every tear, they shed, strikes on my bosom ; 
And though like marble hard, 
I fear, I fear, that if it does not split, 
It may at least be soften'd. 


Angel. These are the poisonous waters of Aver- 
(Incautious man !) that from their eyes distil, [nus, 

Lucifer. Ah heaven ! why didst thou form me % 
Why didst thou join my lot 
With this ungrateful, misbelieving Adam, 
That feels not his own good, or my affliction \ 

Adam. Restrain thy grief, thy tears ! and suffer 
(If it is true, thy soul desires my good) [me, 

To speak to thee apart, 
And I to thee will open all my thoughts. 

Lucifer. Hast thou no other wish ? 

Adam. No ! I require no more. 

Lucifer. Behold us now apart ! behold us far ! 
If any other wish 

Strike thee, command ! behold ! we are obedient 
Not to thy words alone, but to thy nod. 

Adam. What wouldst thou, my heart ? 
What is thy wish, my soul ? 
Now quiet thy desires ! quiet thy pains ! 

Cherubim. Tell him, if he's thy brother, 
And both descendants from the starry sphere, 
They should with thee, in pure and perfect zeal, 
Adore the Maker of the heaven and earth. 

Adam. That which my heart suggests, I now will 

THE FLESH. *- 

tempter ! now I fear 
Some singular mischance. 

Cherubim. Now, now the fraud is known. 

Adam. Now, brother, if you wish, 
With this your pure celestial paramour, 
Hail'd as the soul of love, 

That I should think the one an heavenly Adam, 
And her the only love of our great Maker, 
Now bend with me your humble knees to earth ! 

Lucifer. How in one instant can two opposites, 
Humility and pride, 
Together reign in me ? 

Adam. Can Adam so delay % 

Lucifer. I'll tell thee ; ah, it seems a thing unfit 
That a celestial knee 
Should bend to this vile earth. 

Adam. Thou hast already told me, 
That in the high celestial plains above 
Thou must no longer dwell, 
But here with me enjoy delightful days, 
Amid these sunny spots ; 
Let it not then displease thee 
With earthly habitudes 
To have thy breast, O Adam, fraught like mine ! 

THE FLESH. 

Well dost thou speak, Adam ! I am ready 
To pay thee prompt obedience. 

Lucifer. And I will also show, 
This fair one's pleasure shall my pleasure be. 

Adam. Behold I bow myself ! behold me bend ! 
Now let united hands be raised to heaven. 

Lucifer. To make palm meet with palm, in vain 
we strive. 

Adam. In truth there seems much pain. 

Lucifer. Perhaps you wish 
Our hands united thus ? 

Adam. No ! what, — do you not see 
That both united form a knot together, 
Finger entwisting finger ? 

the flesh. 
Perhaps you chuse them thus ? 

Adam. Alas ! the example, 
That with my hands before your eyes I show you, 


240 


ADAM. 


Serves it so little ? heavens ! what do I see ? 
So destitute of sense 
Are heavenly creatures ? 

Lucifer. Now behold them join'd. 

THE FLESH. 

In truth I cannot tell, 

If hell this day more tries the strength of Adam, 

Or Adam more torments the powers of hell. 

Lucifer. Vigour! soul! animation! 
For in proportion as our strife is bloody, 
So will our palm of conquest rise in glory. 

Adam. Why do you thus apart 
In such confusion speak ? 
Now raise your eyes to heaven, 
And with delight contemplate 
Of all those starry sapphires 
The pure resplendent rays, 
And those fair blessed seats ! 
Alas, thou shutt'st thine eyes, 
That stream upon the ground. 

Lucifer. Adam, cease at length !- 
Those rays so splendid dazzle us too much. 

Adam. This is my foe : I now discern him well. 
The eagle of the sun 

Is used with pleasure on the sun to gaze ; 
And thou, an heavenly eagle, 
Accustom 'd to the brightest rays of heaven, 
Dost thou disdain or shun them, 
Dazzled, and in confusion ? 

THE FLESH. 

Who knows what splendours in high heaven are 
He, who surveys them oft, [kindled ? 

Is satiated at last ; 

There's nought created so divine and dear, 
That in long intercourse becomes not tiresome. 

Adam. Celestial good ne'er satiates, but delights, 
And magnifies itself in God's perfection ; 
As the fair landscape's beauty 
( Though 'tis a low example) 
Becomes more perfect, and more flowery seems, 
When the sun gilds the vallies and the hills. 
But as I wish what ye too both desire, 
Now let your eyes be closed ; 
And with your opening lips pronounce these words : 
« Thee I adore." 

Lucifer. Go on ! 

Adam. Say then " Thee I adore." 

Lucifer. Go on ! for such a memory have I, 
That by a single effort ' 
I will repeat thy words. 

Adam. I am contented ; 

Yet thou observe my words ! Thee I adore, 
Thus with my knees to earth, and streaming eyes, 
Lord of the empyrean ! 

Great sovereign of the heavens, and only God ! 
Holy, firm, formidable, just, and pious ! 
And still dost thou delay ? 

Lucifer. I meditate thy speech, 
Which to me seems so long, 
I doubt my power to speak it. 

Adam. Shall I again pronounce it ? 

Lucifer. This I cannot desire, 
But find a great defect 
In this imploring speech. 

Adam. Pray tell me what \ 

Lucifer. No humble worshipper, not the adorer, 
But the adored, 'tis just that I should be. 


Alas ! I can no longer 
Such outrages endure : 
No ! who I am, I must at length reveal. 

THE FLESH. 

Alas ! the same thing even I must do. 

Adam. Alas ! what do I see ? 
What horrid form, amidst the clustering trees, 
Does this false denizen of heaven assume ? 
And his immodest partner ? 
Alas ! their winged feet 
The false ones move to me, 
And from their pomp and gold, 
Breathe forth infuriate flame ! 
Succour me ! help, God ! 
Take pity on my failing ! 

Lucifer. Fly, as thou canst, from these my rapid 
Thy flying must be vain. [wings 

Alas ! to my great grief, this day I see 
Who has the prize of conquest, 
Who soonest yields, and from his rival flies. 
So that I well can say 
To the eternal gulf, 

That in this hard and perilous contention, 
The toil belongs to hell ; to man the glory. 
I lose, alas ! I lose : now with what face 
Can this my foot be turn'd again to hell ? 

the flesh. 
Ah ! sad and dire event ! ah strife ! ah death ! 

Lucifer. Yes, yes, 'tis j ust that my infernal rage 
Should all now turn on me, 
Since I have vainly tried 
To work the condemnation of this man. 
But can this be ? (ah ! hard is my belief !) 
Exalted providence ! 

Cherubim. Thou canst not mount, fierce monster! 
I affirm it, 
By this high brandish'd dart of penal fire. 

Lucifer. Ah, for the seats of hell 
I spread my rapid wings. 

Cherubim. And I these happier wings lucid and 
Will exercise around, [light 

For man's protection, and in scorn of hell. 


SCENE THE FOURTH. 


THE WORLD. 


How fine I now appear ! no more I seem 

A monster now of horror, 

But of a lofty spot 

The blissful habitant, and call'd The World; 

That so adorn'd and splendid, 

Amidst thy prime delights, 

Laughter, and songs, and amorous affections, 

My snares of silver, and my nets of gold 

I may extend for man. 

That he may slide and fall, to rise no more ; 

And try in vain to heaven 

Again to rise upon the wings of zeal. 

And should he seem for ever 

Bent to survey the lovely azure heaven, 

The sun's bright lustre, and the lunar ray, 

And trembling stellar fires, 

I will delude him so 

With other lovely skies, that from the first 

Quick he shall turn his view. 

I will that my fair heaven 


ADAM. 


241 


Shall be of living sapphire ; there shall shine 
A sun of bright pyropus, and a moon 
Form'd of the beamy diamond's spotless light. 
A thousand and a thousand sparkling stars, 
Of jewels rich and rare ; 
And if amidst this lightning it may thunder, 
And burning bolts may seem to dart around, 
My lightning be the ruby, 
My thunder sounding silver, 
With thunderbolts of gold, and storms of pearl ! 
As a proud sovereign of so rich a heaven, 
The World shall still exult, 
And this new man shall bend to me in worship ; 
And thus of these my pomps, 
My luxuries, and joys, 

The numerous sons of man, become enamour'd, 
Shall never know repose ; r 
But with destructive force 
Each shall endeavour of his wretched brother 
To gain the envied finery and wealth. 
Man I behold already for this gold, 
And for the world's delights, 
In horrid mansion full of smoke and fire, 
Tempering the deadly steel ; 
Now at the anvil, see ! 
How striking frequent with his iron mace, 
He forms the coat of mail ; makes it his vest, 
And for destruction draws the blade of steel. 
Another see, converting 
Cold iron into fire, 
Tapers, and twists it round ; 
And now a hatchet forms ; now see him eager 
To level trees and woods ; 
And now, with numerous planks, 
Behold him raise a work 
Fit to sustain the fury of the sea. 
Others I see toiling to pass o'er alps, 
To pass o'er mountains, and the riven rock : 
Leeches that prey on ore, 

And from earth's bosom suck great veins of gold. 
Lo ! others in the deep 

Trying the fertile sea, plunge through the waves, 
Fearless encountering its tempestuous pride, 
If they from crusted shell, or craggy rock 
May coral draw, or pearl. 
Ah, labour as thou wilt, and sigh, or sweat 
In this pursuit of gold, 

Thy cares and woes shall gather in proportion 
To all thy gather'd wealth. 
Lo ! to preserve thy jewels and thy wealth, 
Thou hidest them under earth, 
And gold forbids thee to enjoy thy gold. 
Hence treacherous we see 
The servant to his lord, 
And through his breast and heart 
He thrusts the faithless sword, 
Through eagerness of gold. 
Hence on the table of a royal house 
There stands the statue of an unicorn, 
As 1£ i n scorn of man ; 
Since, giving safetv to a mighty lord, 
The beast ^xposesliuman cruelty. 
Hence is it thai the son 
Greedy of gold, beiges his father's foe, 
Wishes him short existence, 
Flies him, and steals his wealth, 
' So that to make him glad, his sire raa^ pint*. 
Hence is it that for gold, 
Brothers, becoming frantic, 
Brandish the hostile steel, 


And deem this gold more precious than their blood. 

Here by the blaze of gold 

The eyes of woman dazzled 

See not her husband, nor regard her children, 

While, on the wings of passion, 

She with the adulterer flies, nor yet perceives 

That for this gold (vile dust !) 

She has resolved to quit her very flesh. 

What more % what more ? not only 

By gold's possession thou shalt prove the foe 

Of wife, of father, brother, and of friend, 

But rebel even to God ; 

Since with intemperate zeal 

Mere idols form'd of gold 

Thou shalt proclaim the only powers of heaven. 

But what do I behold ? blest that I am ! 

I see fair Eve approach ! on her soft back 

Bearing a load of many leafy boughs : 

What she now means to do 

Here will I watch, conceal'd amidst this bower. 


SCENE THE FIFTH. 
Eve and The World. 

Eve. Canst thou presume, afflicted, wretched 
To the bright sun to raise again thine eyes ? [Eve, 
No ! no ! thou art unworthy well thou seest : 
Thou couldst behold him once, 
And gaze delighted on his golden splendour ; 
Now if thou darest to view him, 
His radiance dazzles thee ; rather thou seem'st, 
When thou hast dared to meet his potent beams, 
To have thy fading eyes 
Wrapt in a dusky veil. 
Alas ! it is too true, 
That I in darkness dwell, 
And in the formidable clouds of sin 
I have o'erwhelm'd the light of innocence. 
Ah wretched, mournful Eve ! 
If now thou turn'st thy foot, 
Eager to taste the pure and limpid stream, 
Alas, how troubled dost thou find the water, 
Or else the fountain dry ! 
If with quick appetite thou chance to turn, 
Anxious from lovely plants to pluck the fruit, 
How dost thou find it crude, 
Or made the dark recess of filthy worms ! 
If weary, 'midst the flowers 
Thou seek'st to close thine eyes, 
Behold ! with fluttering pinions at thy feet, 
A serpent 'midst the flowers darts and hisses. 
Now to avoid the heat 

Of the fierce sun if thou wouldst seek the shade 
Of the thick wood, or of the leafy grove, 
Thou fear'stthe rage of monsters, and must tremble 
Like the light leaf that shakes at every breeze. 
And hence it is thy wish 
To fasten bough to bough, and trunk to trunk, 
Raising some safe asylum 

From serpents, monsters, tempests, and the sun. 
To you then will I turn me, verdant boughs, 
That hither on my back with toil I bore, 
Do you defend me now ! now rise you here, 
Afford a safe retreat 
To Eve so wretched ! Lo ! I thus begin. 
It will suffice, if I with tender hand 
Just shadow, what with far superior strength 
And more enlighten'd sense, 
The sinner, Adam, here may terminate. 

R 


242 


ADAM. 


THE WORLD. 

Abode moi'e firm and faithful, 
Hell now prepares for thee, or rather Death. 
Behold, behold, how she 

Employs herself in placing these green boughs ! 
To Eve I will unveil me. Ah ! what dost thou ? 
Why art thou raising thus, 
Eve, gentle fair one, these thy leafy boughs ? 
Tell me, what wouldst thou do, 
Why dost thou toil and sigh ? 
Eve. Alas ! what do I see ? 
Do not approach me ! no ! from me be far ! 

THE WORLD. 

What canst thou fear, lovely, 

Sweet angel of the earth ? 

Joy of all hearts, and honour of the world ? 

Eve. Thou Lord, who didst create me, 
This stranger, who now rich in gold and gems 
Courteous accosts me with a human face, 
Do thou to me reveal ; 
Nor let our God consent, 
That Eve again, or man, 
Precipitately fall in fatal error I 
Alas ! with human face 
An artful base deceiver 
Led me to taste the interdicted apple ; 
And thence my heart must dread 
Other infernal guile, 
Since in the world one man alone exists. 

THE WORLD. 

Before my light, as at the radiant sun 

Darkness itself is used to disappear, 

Drive from thy heart this cloud, 

That makes thy visage pale ; 

And from the lovely cave of glowing rubies, 

Now closed to guard, as in the depth of Ganges, 

The treasure of inestimable pearls, 

Send forth thy tender sighs ; 

And if, thou fair one, 'tis thy wish to sigh, 

Let all thy sighs be sweet ! 

Eve. And who art thou, so eager 
To change the tears of woman into smiles ? 

THE WORLD. 

Know, gentle fair one, you in me behold 

As much as you can see, 

Raising your eyes to heaven, 

Or turning them to earth ; 

An indigested mass, 

Chaos I once was call'd, now fair and fine, 

Heaven, earth, and sea salute me as The World. 

I too have had my residence amidst 

The miracles above ; 

But ! a fault of mine, 

Which now to tell thee would be out of season, 

Induced the sacred Resident above 

From his eternal dome in wrath to drive me ; 

And from a bright and fine 

Trophy of paradise, 

Into a shapeless mass 

Of hideous matter he converted me. 

At last my mighty Maker, having seen 

That my condition balanced my offence, 

Bestow'd upon me soon another form, 

Far from his highest heaven, and thus at once 

Annihilated that tremendous prison, 

Dreary and dark ; he made me in exchange 

The luminous gay World. 


Eve. Alas ! my first alarm 
So deeply wounds, and lords it o'er my heart, 
I know not what to credit, what to do. 

THE WORLD. 

Now, since there's nothing that to me affords 

Such infinite disgust, 

As to behold aught dirty and neglected, 

I pray thee, lovely fair, be it thy study 

With purple, gold, and robes adorn'd with pearl, 

To grace thy gentle form, and cast to earth 

Those skins of animals that shock the sight. 

Observe how much more pleasing and majestic 

Man may be render'd by a graceful dress ! 

Compared to me, dost thou not seem a beast ? 

Rather among the beasts 

Dost thou not seem the vilest animal ? 

Dost thou not see, that every abject creature, 

Or of the foaming sea, 

Or of the fields of air, 

Or of the woods and mountains, 

Are deck'd with humid scales, 

Gay feathers, shaggy skins, or painted bristles ? 

And if on earth thou wert created naked, 

Yet well array 'd with reason 

Appear'd thy noble soul, by which thou might'st 

(Made empress of the world) 

Deck thee with radiant gems, and robes of gold. 

Too vile a mansion are the woods for thee, 

In nakedness surpassing even the beasts. 

For what end dost thou think, 

The great exalted hand 

Created in a moment 

Gold, silver, and rich gems % 

Perchance, perchance thou think'st 

It may be right, that these 

Bright wonders of the world 

Rest ever buried in a blind oblivion. 

No ! no ! thou simpleton, it is that man, 

Sweating in their pursuit, 

May decorate himself; and as the sun 

Flames in full splendour in a sapphire sky, 

Or 'mid the stars of gold 

The bright and silvery moon, 

He thus may glitter in this earthly heaven. 

What more ! behold what gems the sea conceals, 

Or the rich earth embraces, 

Which, tempting man to joy, 

Display their rare endowments : 

Whence it is just to say, 

They were for man created ; and if blind 

Through ignorance he slights them, 

Or shows himself ungrateful, 

Why has such treasure been for man created ? 

Shall it be true, that you, the sovereign fair, 

The gentle ruler of this worldly realm, 

Can prove to God ungrateful ? to the World 

Like earth's vile offspring % Rise ! assume* this gold, 

The topaz, ruby, pearls, and splendid purple, 

Bright robes of gold, and rich habiliments ! 

In worldly trophies like our lofty queen 

Shine, Eve, and let all creatures worsKp thee ! 

how in viewing thee, thou radial ^ v i 
Cover'd with gems and gold, 

1 seem to joy ! how, 

While you majestically move along, 

The flowpra appear before your feet to weave 

A sweet impediment ! 

Rather I seem to see the stars from heaven 

Innumerous descend, 


ADAM. 


243 


Here for your feet to form a bright support. 

What dost thou, pensive fair? 

Now of thy radiant locks, that stream at length, 

A store of jewels, of fine threads you weave, 

For hearts a net of gold. 

Now let a charming smile 

Enliven thy sweet cheek ! 

Then shalt thou hear in accents of delight 

The birds around miraculously say, 

" O what a lip of coral ! 

And what fair teeth of pearl, 

Has Eve's sweet mouth, so delicately small ! 

How sweet is her discourse, 

That seems to be below, what, in high heaven, 

The voice of God is to the blessed host." 

Arise, arise ! be warm, 

Thou spring of tenderness, and flame of souls ! 

Come ! leave ! O leave the woods 

To creatures of the forest ; 

And with resplendent brass, 

And snowy shining marble, 

Let a proud palace now be raised to heaven, 

To form a worthy mansion for thy merit ! 

To make this easy to thee 

The World will not find difficult. That wood, 

Which you have wish'd to join, 

Fearing the fury of the savage beasts, 

Let that now form a seat 

With walls of silver, and a roof of gold, 

Of emerald its pillars, 

And hung on golden hinges, gates of pearl ! 

Eve. Oh heaven ! what do I see ? what's this, 

THE WORLD. [God? 

What hast thou more to say \ Ah, simple, enter 

With light and speedy foot, there, where alone 

Thou find'st a fit abode ! 

Then wilt thou truly be of thy great Maker 

The image and ingenious imitator, 

Since he among so many 

Legions in heaven, as much as he excels them 

In majesty, so much himself he raised 

On his exalted throne, in highest heaven. 

Thus here below let man amid these tribes 

Of fishes and of birds, 

And of unnumber'd beasts, 

Possess a mansion worthy 

Both of his name and empire ! 

Eve. In truth when I behold your mighty pomps, 
That might so soon be counted as my own, 
I will not say that my high heart feels not 
The goading of ambition ; but in turning 
My eyes upon the precept of my Father, 
I will disdain, and from your proffers fly, 
As from vile dirt the snowy ermine flies ; 
And this poor skin alone 
Shall be my golden robe adorn'd with pearl ; 
A cave my proud abode ; 
The troubled water and rude herbs to me, 
Dear beverage and food. 
No ! no ! I will not to my first dread fault 
Now add a second like it ; making thus 
A path more recent to the gulf of ruin. 

THE WORLD. 

O simple fair, come forth \ 

Come forth, ye fair and gentle virgins all, 

From this my golden palace ! 

Be you devoted handmaids 

Around this fair, and 'midst your tuneful songs 

Present to her rich robes, adorn'd with gold ! 


SCENE THE SIXTH. 
Chorus of Nymphs, Eve, The World, and Adam. 

Behold in dance, joyful World, 

Little virgins ; 

See these maidens, 

With their treasure bright and cheerful; 

Hearken now how they are singing, 

Eve alone invoke, and honour ! 

See their robes with gold inwoven ; 

See their vestments 

Shedding lustre 

From the treasure of their jewels ! 

Bright the crown, and rich the sceptre, 

That to Eve is now presented. 

If in heaven, nor sun nor planet 

Shed its ardour 

And its radiance, 

Heaven would be a mass of horror ; 

But with light so pure and radiant 

Heaven is term'd the seat of splendour. 

He, who made so many wonders, 

Fair and beauteous, 

Is desirous 

All that's fair to have before him : 

Deck thyself then, thou coy one, 

If thy God delights in beauty. 

Adam. What dost thou, Eve, not see 
That if uncautious to these charms thou yieldest, 
We shall sink deeper in the snares of hell ? 

Eve. Alas ! what do I hear ? 

Adam. Hence, ye rebellious crew ! 
By virtue of my God depart confounded, 
To the infernal realms ! 

Chorus. Ah, thou must then avoid this light of 
Thou sightless mole of hell ! [day, 

THE WORLD. 

Ah flesh infected ! 
Await, yet await 

Fit punishment to your presumptuous rage ! 
And hast thou dared so highly, 
Thou creature of corruption, 
That this bright palace which for Eve I raised, 
Speaking thou hast ingulf 'd, 
And from the day hast banish'd 
A numerous group of fair and graceful nymphs ? 
Come forth, now all come forth, 
Ye horrid monsters, from the caves of hell ! 
Let us this hour display 
Our utmost fortitude, and force supreme. 
Now let this man be chain'd ; 
Fix him a prisoner in the depths of hell, 
And let his victor reap the glory due. 

Eve. Succour, God ! succour ! 
Lord show thy mercy to my great offence ! 

Adam. Ah do not fear, my love, 
But hope, still hope in heaven ; hope, for at last 
Celestial grace was never slow to save. 


SCENE THE SEVENTH. 

Lucifer, Death, The "World, and Chorus of Demons, 
armed with various arms. 

Lucifer. Thou fool, in vain thou toil'st 
To invocate high heaven ; thy God may arm, 
If he is not abased, and with him arm 


244 


ADAM. 


His flying warriors all, 

From our infernal chains 

And these sharp talons, now to draw thee forth ; 

To his first loss, and first discomfiture, 

A second like the first shall soon be join'd. 

Of his supernal loss has he not heal'd 

The painful memory, 

The ruin of his angeis ? ' 

That now, inflamed with anger, 

He seeks in heaven another mightier ruin ? 

To arms ! at length to arms, 

Satanic warriors all ! 

And let his wretched residue of angels, 

All falling out of heaven, 

Be all ingulf 'd in hell ! 

Lo meteors in the air and storms at sea 

I kindle and I raise : 

Lo Tartarus his wings 

Spreads for celestial seats : 

Behold the stars of God 

By Lucifer's proud foot crush'd and extinguished; 

And girt for war and glory, 

Let Tartarus through heaven proclaim a triumph! 


SCENE THE EIGHTH. 

Archangel Michael, Chorus of Angels, Chorus of 
Demons. 

Michael. Tremble, thou son of wrath, 
At this sharp dart's inevitable glance, 
At the dread stroke of the celestial leader ; 
Not against God, against thyself alone, 
Thou raisest wrath, and wounding wound'st thyself. 
Sink into shade, misguided, wretched spirit ! 
Utterly void of all angelic light, 
Be blind in gazing on that heavenly lustre 
To me imparted by the Lord of light, 
The dazzler of the sun. 
Fly, ye infected crew, 
Ye enemies of God, 
Nor let the breathing whirlwind, 
"With blast from hell, the yet unruin'd life 
Of man overwhelm with deeper shades of darkness. 
No more thy fatal hiss, thou snake of hell, 
Shall by its discord stun ; 
Since pierced and panting now 
Thou faintest, poison' d by thy own contagion. 

Lucifer. Heaven's talking minister, 
With rays more loaded than inspired with courage; 
Soft creature of the sky, 
Thou angel of repose, 
In solemn indolence, 

Humility's calm nest, a seat of peace, 

A warrior but in name, 

Whose countenance is fear, whose heart confusion; 

Spread, spread thy pinions for the arms of God, 

Take refuge there, and there be confident ! 

For too unequal would the combat be 

'Twixt cowardice and valour, 

The warrior and the slave, 

Infirmity and strength, and, let me say, 

Betwixt vile Michael and brave Lucifer. 

But if such daring can inflame thy heart, 

As now to rescue from this warlike arm 

That man, mere flesh and clay, 

That animated dust, I warn thee well 

Of mortal conflict sharp, where thou shalt see, 

By this avenging hand 


All the large family of God extinguish'd. 

Michael. Such mournful victory, 
Belial, in thy frenzy desperate, 
As once in heaven thou gain'st, now with mankind 
Subduing the deceived, 
And hence the conquer'd conquers, 
Freed is the captive, and thyself ensnared. 
Now be it manifest 

What palms of victory 'tis thine to raise. 
Behold against thee, thou unfaithful spirit, 
Michael become compassionately cruel. 

Lucifer. If at the early sound of war, the first 
Encounter of our arms, 
'Twas given a mighty warrior to destroy 
A third part of the stars, 
See in what brief assault 
I can demolish the great seat of God ! 
Be dazzled now before this warlike blaze, 
That from the brow of death I now diffuse, 
Whirling in bloody circle 

From my high front these death-denouncing comets ! 
Behold, behold at length 

Heaven yields no more a refuge to its angels ! 
Since to a fate more joyous 
A happy pass expands, and seems to say, 
Begone, at length begone, 
Ye frighten'd angels, now relinquish heaven ! 
The warrior doom'd to hell 
Becomes the blessed lord of these bright seats. 

Michael. Why longer pause to crush the proud 
loquacity 
Of this presumptuous and insulting rebel ? 
Soon with a pen of adamant, with striking 
Dread characters of blood, 
Within the volume of eternal woe 
The glory shall be blazon'd 
Of thy lost victory. 
To arms ! at length to arms, 
To spread dismay through hell ! 
Joy, man ! smile, heaven ; and Tartarus, lament ! 

Lucifer. Seldom upon the vaunting 
Of a proud tongue too bold 
Boldness of hand attends. To arms ! to arms ! 
Thou fight with me ; and you, my followers, all 
Unconquerable warriors, 
Transperse and put to flight this abject crew, 
The timid partisans 
Of an unwarlike leader ! 

Ah ! him who favours brief, and endless shame 
Possess'd in heaven, and now on earth display'd 
Great fortitude but with unequal force, 
Him a celestial stroke 
Now drives confounded to the blind abyss ; 
And justice here decrees 

That he who lost the fight should lose the sun. 
Angels and God, at length ye are triumphant ! 
Now, now is Lucifer 
O'erwhelm'd, and all his legion 
Sinks from the light of day to endless night. 

Michael. Fall thou at length, fall wounded and 
Fierce monster of the shades, [subdued, 

To death's deep horrors, there be doom'd to die 
By an immortal death ! 
Nor hope thy wings to heaven 
Ever to spread again ! that >vish, too bold 
For thee, so desperate and unrepenting. 
Thou'rt fallen, at length thou'rt fallen, 
Most aiTogant of monsters ! 
In pain thou sink'st as low, 
As high in joy it was thy hope to soar. 


ADAM. 


245 


Again thou learn' st to fall, 

Transfixt with thunder, to the drear abyss. 

Fool ! thou hast wish'd to take this man thy captive, 

And thou alone hast plunged 

Within the deepest gulf: 

Hence, pierced and overwhelm'd, 

Sinking to Tartarus, 

The flame of wrath eternal 

Bore thee to hell, the hell of hottest fires. 

A spotless angel, thou prince of falsehood, 

Thy folly hoped to put to flight and wound y 

But thou, opposed to him 

Hast yielded, plying thy wing'd feet in haste. 

Thou too hast hoped to turn the spacious world, 

In hostile flame, to ashes, 

And at thy ardent blast and baleful breathing 

Clouds,lightning,and tempestuous bursts of thunder, 

With rattling deadly bolts of arrowy flame, 

Roll'd through the air, whence all the mountains 

And all the vales re-echoed in convulsion, [shook, 

And yet, behold, in heaven 

The spheres move round more musical than ever, 

And all the azure sky 

The lucid sun with brighter beam adorns : 

Behold the ocean, tremulously placid, 

And from his Persian gulf 

In gay abundance scattering pearl and coral j 

Nor weary are the sportive fish in gliding 

Along the trembling sapphire. 

Behold, what verdant and what flowery brows 

These pleasant vales in exultation raise ! 

Hark, to the grateful accents 

Of every flying songster, 

Inhabitant of air, 

That in his flight now gives 

Voice to the woods and music to the vales. 

Now, all rejoicing in a day so noble, 

To the confusion and the shame of hell, 

Let every spotless ensign rise to heaven, 

And fluttering sport with the exulting winds ; 

Let all the instruments of heavenly glory 

Sound through the sky the victories of heaven ! 


SCENE THE NINTH. 

Adam, Eve, Chorus of Angels. 

Adam. O sounds beloved, that call us now in joy, 
To scenes we left in sorrow ; ah ! I fear 
To taint the fragrance of the heavenly host, 
Stain' d as I am with sin. 
O thou, that haply of celestial ruby 
Wearest the blazing mail, 
Hallow'd and brave Archangel, 
Brave, yet compassionate, thy golden locks 
Radiant as light, thy glittering helmet covers ; 
Thou in thy right hand shakest the spear of victory, 
And raisest in thy left a golden balance ; 
Close, close thy painted plumes so rich in gold, 
And cast a gentle look 
On him who, prostrate, honours and adores thee. 

Eve. happy dawn of the eternal sun, 
Thou courteous kind restorer, 
To these my blinded eyes 

With sorrow darken'd, and bedew'd with tears ; 
Now, of thy rays a fixt contemplator, 
The mole of error stands ; 
Now on your voice depends 
An asp, once deaf to heaven's most friendly dictates. 


I, wavering wanderer, 

Who undissembling own 

The fault hi which I fell, to thee I bend, 

Nor in my speech deny 

That I am Eve, the cause 

Of human-kind's perdition. 

Now let thy guardian hand 

(0 in the deeds of God thou faithful servant !) 

Relieve me from the depth 

Of my so great offences. 

Adam. Of heavenly mysteries- 
And secret will of God, 
Thou hallow'd blest revealer, 
Angel of eloquence ! 
The fatal presages 
Of mournful Eve and Adam 
Now quiet with the breath 
Of thy exalted converse ; 
So that this troubled flood 

That strikes the heart, in issuing from the eyes, 
No more may make me seem 
A rock of sorrow in a sea of tears. 

Michael. Arise, both arise, you who of God 
Are creatures so regarded, 
Dismiss your fears of the infernal portent. 
If your eternal. Lord 
Corrects you with one hand, 
He with the other proffers your protection. 
With happy auspices, 
He who delivers souls, 
On his light wings directs his flight to you, 
In God's dread warfare harbinger of peace. 
The mighty Fount of life, 
The Artificer of souls, 
The Architect of worlds,' 
The mighty Lord of heaven, 
Maker of angels and of all things made, 
The infinite Creator, 
To safety summons you, 
And to short war a lasting peace ordains. 
Now from those double fountains 
The warm and gushing streams 
Of sorrow, Eve, restrain ! 
Thou hast been culpable 
In rashly seizing the forbidden fruit ; 
To man thou hast occasion'd 
Anguish and grief ; thou hast indeed converted 
Peace into war, and life into perdition : 
Now by the aid of Him, 
Whose handmaid nature is, and servant fate, 
Who can restrain the sun, 
And motion give to this unmoving mass, 
Even yet may Eve enjoy 
In prison liberty ; 
May be unbound, though fetter' d, 
And triumph, while she is o'ercome, and vanquish. 
Now, since there shines in heaven 
The star of love and peacej 
And to the shame of hell, 
The victor to the vanquish'd yields his palm, 
Ah now let each, with humble eyes to heaven, 
Incline the knee to earth, 
And supplicant in prayer, give God the praise 
Of goodness infinite ; 

For you shall find, to recompense your zeal, 
That God your father is, your mansion heaven. 

Adam. Thou mighty Lord,, who resting high 
With regulated errors [above, 

And with discordant union guidest heaven ; 
of the fan- eternal realms of light 


246 ADAM. 

Thou Lord immutable, resplendent power, 

Exulting shall derive fertility. 

Thou dazzler and obscurer of the sun ! 

And now to you, ye mortal pair, I promise, 

Now in these weeping eyes 

As ye together sinn'd, 

And on this humid cheek 

If ye in penitence have join'd together, 

I dry my bitter tears, I cheer my heart. 

Together even in heaven, 

Now, by thy zealous mercy, 

In a corporeal veil 

Though spotted, I have safety ; 

Contemplating the sacred face of God, 

Security in hazard, love in hate ; 

Ye shall enjoy the bliss of Paradise. 

And sinking into hell, 

Adam. Greater than my offence I now acknow- 

Am yet a citizen of highest heaven. 

Your mercy, my God ! [ledge 

Eve. With dissolution life, 

Since you, become the sovereign friend of man, 

With strife and contest peace, 

To him, though ruin'd, now extend your hand ! 

With ruin victory, 

Eve. As I have known to sin, 

With deep offence salvation, 

So shall I know to weep ; 

With powers of darkness heaven, 

For who in sinning knew forbidden joy, 

These to unite is not a human talent, 

Humble in punishment, should know to suffer. 

But of the eternal hand, 

Be mute, be mute, my tongue ; 

Omnipotence supreme ; hence is it, Lord, 

Speak thou within, my heart, 

That wounded Eve is whole, 

And say with words of love, 

Triumphs in loss, and, though subdued, has glory. 

See how to mortals, even in perdition, 

My guide, I will obey thee ; 

The hand of heavenly succour was extended ! 

Since, benignant Lord, 

Michael. At length, since now with joy 

Thy service is dominion, 

Man, being thus deliver' d 

And to obey thee, glory. 

From hell's keen talon, feels unbounded transport 

If pain allow not that I speak the pain 

And in his rapture deems 

Which wounds my heart so deeply, 

Earth turn'd to heaven, this world a paradise ; 

Thou most indulgent Father 

By these pure splendid dazzling rays of heaven, 

Givest to the heart and soul a new existence : 

By these delightful fires, 

Awaken'd by affliction, 

That in the light of God more lovely blaze, 

Raising my voice to heaven, 

Rich with new beams, and with new suns this day, 

I'll teach resounding echo 

Day of festivity, 

To carry to the sky my humble song, 

The day of paradise, rather a day 

Devoted to thy praise. 

Blest in itself, and blessing every other ! 

Michael. Ye victims cleansed by tears, 

Let all with festive joy 

Ye martyrs in affliction, 

Of God's indulgence sing ; 

Amidst your blessed pains, 

Of Adam and of Eve, 

Ye holocausts of life and of content ! 

Now made on earth the denizens of heaven ; 

Now call the stars no more 

And let your tuneful songs 

Vindictive ; war is now 

Become the wonder of futurity. 

Converted into peace, 


And death turn'd into life. 

angels sing. 

Hence mortal Adam is now made immortal, 

Move, let us move our feet 

And Eve, though dead in many parts, revives. 

There, where this man shall now 

The potent fire of love, 

Wash out his past offence 

In which the tender God of mercy blazes, 

With humble, hallow'd drops ; 

Inflames him with pure zeal to save the sinner. 

And of the mighty Maker 

Contend, resist, and bravely 

Praise we the love and mercy, 

Wage with the hostile Serpent constant war ; 

That in this day to man's envenom'd wound 

It is man's province now 

Suddenly gives his pity's healing aid ; 

To conquer hell, and triumph over death. 

Rejects him and receives, 

Creatures of grace ! feel deeply now for ever, 

Deeming his every wrong and error light , 

That your most gracious Father 

And now at last with more benignant zeal, 

Would not direct towards the ground your face, 

And in despite of Satan, 

As he has made the brute, but up to heaven ; 

Gives him, redeem'd from hell, 

So that, for ever mindful of their source, 

A seat amid the golden stars of heaven. 

Your happy souls may point towards their home : 

Ye progeny of Adam, 

For the high realm of heaven 

Whose race we shall behold adorn the world, 

Is as a shining glass, in which of God 

Ye shall not pray in vain 

The glories ever blaze. 

To your high Lord, the fountain of all mercy. 

Inure yourselves to water, sun, and winds, 

Be leaves of that pure branch, 

And in the stony caves, 

On which the Word Incarnate shall be grafted ! 

In the most barren desert 

Thunder, infuriate hell, 

That the sun visits when he blazes most, 

Be stormy ! yet his leaf shall never fall : 

There both exert your powers ; 

To him a joyous offspring 

There many years and many, 

Is promised by the Lord of heaven's great vineyard, 

United ye shall dwell in hallow'd love; 

Stricken, transfixt, enkindled in a blaze, 

And from your progeny henceforth the world 

And burning with eternal love for man. 


HOMER, 




TRANSLATED INTO ENGLI&H BLANK VERSE. 


BY WILLIAM COWPER, 

OF THE INNER TEMPLE, ESQ. 


PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 


Whether a translation of Homer may be best 
executed in blank verse or in rhyme, is a question 
in the decision of which no man can find difficulty, 
who has ever duly considered what translation 
ought to be, or who is in any degree practically 
acquainted with those very different lands of ver- 
sification. I will venture to assert that a just 
translation of any ancient poet in rhyme, is impos- 
sible. No human ingenuity Can be equal to the 
task of closing every couplet with sounds homoto- 
nous, expressing at the same time the full sense, 
and only the full sense of his original. The trans- 
lator's ingenuity, indeed, in this case becomes 
itself a snare, and the readier he is at invention 
and expedient, the more likely he is to be betrayed 
into the widest departures from the guide whom 
he professes to follow. Hence it has happened, 
that although the public have long been in posses- 
sion of an English Homer by a poet whose writings 
have done immortal honour to his country, the 
demand of a new one, and especially in blank 
verse, has been repeatedly and loudly made by 
some of the best judges and ablest writers of the 
present day. 

I have no contest with my predecessor. None 
is supposeable between performers on different 
instruments. Mr- Pope has surmounted all diffi- 
culties in his version of Homer that it was possible 
to surmount in rhyme. But he was fettered, and 
his fetters were his choice. Accustomed always 
to rhyme, he had formed to himself an ear which 
probably could not be much gratified by verse that 
wanted it, and determined to encounter even im- 
possibilities, rather than abandon a mode of 
writing in which he had excelled everybody, for 
the sake of another to which, unexercised in it as 
he was, he must have felt strong objections. 

I number myself among the warmest admirers 
of Mr. Pope as an original writer, and I allow him 
all the merit he can justly claim as the translator 
of this chief of poets. He has given us the Tale 
of Troy divine in smooth verse, generally in correct 
and elegant language, and in diction often highly 
poetical. But his deviations are so many, occa- 
sioned chiefly by the cause already mentioned, that, 
much as he has done, and valuable as his work is 
on some accounts, it was yet in the humble 
province of a translator that I thought it possible 
even for me to follow him with some advantage. 

That he has sometimes altogether suppressed 
the sense of his author, and has not seldom inter- 


mingled his own ideas with it, is a remark which, 
on this occasion, nothing but necessity should have 
extorted from me. But we differ sometimes so 
widely in our matter, that unless this remark, in- 
vidious as it seems, be premised, I know not how 
to obviate a suspicion, on the one hand, of careless j 
oversight, or of factitious embellishment on the j 
other. On this head, therefore, the English reader 
is to be admonished, that the matter found in me, 
whether he like it or not, is found also in Homer, 
and that the matter not found in me, how much 
soever he may admire it, is found only in Mr. 
Pope. I have omitted nothing ; I have invented 
nothing. 

There is indisputably a wide difference between 
the case of an original writer in rhyme and a 
translator. In an original work, the author KHree ; 
if the rhyme be of difficult attainment, and he 
cannot find it in one direction, he is at liberty to 
seek it in another ; the matter that will not accom- 
modate itself to his occasions he may discard, 
adopting such as will. But in a translation, no 
such option is allowable ; the sense of the author is 
required, and we do not surrender it willingly even 
to the plea of necessity. Fidelity is indeed of the 
very essence of translation, and the term itself 
implies it. For which reason, if we suppress the 
sense of our original, and force into its place our 
own, we may call our work an imitation, if we 
please, or perhaps a paraphrase, but it is no longer 
the same author only in a different dress, and 
therefore it is not translation. Should a painter, 
professing to draw the likeness of a beautiful 
woman, give her more or fewer features than be- 
long to her, and a general cast of countenance of 
his own invention, he might be said to have pro- 
duced a jeu-d' 'esprit, a curiosity perhaps in its way, 
but by no means the lady in question. 

It will however be necessary to speak a little 
more largely to this subject, on which discordant 
opinions prevail even among good judges. 

The free and the close translation have, each, 
their advocates. But inconveniences belong to 
both. The former can hardly be true to the 
original author's style and maimer, and the latter 
is apt to be servile. The one loses his peculiar- 
ities, and the other his spirit. Were it possible, 
therefore, to find an exact medium, a manner so 
close that it should let slip nothing of the text, nor 
mingle anything extraneous with it, and at the 
same time so free as to have an air of originality, 


250 


PREFACE TO THE 


this seems precisely the mode in which an author 
might be best rendered. I can assure my readers 
from my own experience, that to discover this very 
delicate line is difficult, and to proceed by it 
when found, through the whole length of a poet 
voluminous as Homer, nearly impossible. I can 
only pretend to have endeavoured it. 

It is an opinion commonly received, but, like 
many others, indebted for its prevalence to mere 
want of examination, that a translator should 
imagine to himself the style which his author 
would probably have used, had the language into 
which he is rendered been his own. A direction 
which wants nothing but practicability to recom- 
mend it. For suppose six persons, equally quali- 
fied for the task, employed to translate the same 
Ancient into their own language, with this rule to 
guide them. In the event it would be found that 
each had fallen on a manner different from that of 
all the rest, and by probable inference it would 
follow that none had fallen on the right. On the 
whole, therefore, as has been said, the translation 
which partakes equally of fidelity and liberality, 
that is close, but not so close as to be servile, free, 
but not so free as to be licentious, promises fairest ; 
and my ambition will be sufficiently gratified, if 
such of my readers as are able, and will take the 
pains to compare me in this respect with Homer, 
shall judge that I have in any measure attained a 
point so difficult. 

As to energy and harmony, two grand requisites 
in a translation of this most energetic and most 
harmonious of all poets, it is neither my purpose 
nor my wish, should I be found deficient in either, 
or in both, to shelter myself under an unfihal im- 
putation of blame to my mother-tongue. Our lan- 
guage is indeed less musical than the Greek, and 
there is no language with which I am at all ac- 
quainted that is not. But it is musical enough for 
the purposes of melodious verse, and if it seem to 
fail, on whatsoever occasion, in energy, the blame 
is due, not to itself, but to the unskilful manager 
of it. For so long as Milton's works, whether his 
prose or his verse, shall exist, so long there will be 
abundant proof that no subject, however important, 
however sublime, can demand greater force of ex- 
pression than is within the compass of the English 
language. 

I have no fear of judges familiar with original 
Homer. They need not be told that a translation 
of him is an arduous enterprise, and as such, 
entitled to some favour. From these, therefore, 
I shall expect, and shall not be disappointed, con- 
siderable candour and allowance. Especially they 
will be candid, and I believe that there are many 
such, who have occasionally tried their own 
strength in this bow of Ulysses. They have not 
found it supple and pliable, and with me are per- 
haps ready to acknowledge that they could not 
always even approach with it the mark of their 
ambition. But I would willingly, were it possi- 
ble, obviate uncandid criticism, because to answer 
it is lost labour, and to receive it in silence has 
the appearance of stately reserve, and self-import- 
ance. 

To those, therefore, who shall be inclined to tell 
me hereafter that my diction is often plain and 
unelcvated, I reply beforehand that I know it, — 
that it would be absurd were it otherwise, and that 
Homer himself stands in the same predicament. 


In fact, it is one of his numberless excellencies, 
and a point in which'his judgment never fails him, 
that he is grand and lofty always in the right place, 
and knows infallibly how to rise and fall with his 
subject. Big words on small matters may serve as 
a px'etty exact definition of the burlesque ; an in- 
stance of which they will find in the Battle of the 
Frogs and Mice, but none in the Iliad. 

By others I expect to be told that my numbers, 
though here and there tolerably smooth, are not 
always such, but have, now and then, an ugly 
hitch in their gait, ungraceful in itself, and incon- 
venient to the reader. To this charge also I plead 
guilty, but beg leave in alleviation of judgment to 
add, that my limping lines are not numerous, com- 
pared with those that linip not. The truth is, that 
not one of them all escaped me, but, such as they 
are, they were all made such with a wilful inten- 
tion. In poems of great length there is no blemish 
more to be feared than sameness of numbers, and 
every art is useful by which it maybe avoided. A 
line, rough in itself, has yet its recommendations ; 
it saves the ear the pain of an irksome monotony, 
and seems even to add greater smoothness to 
others. Milton, whose ear and taste were exqui- 
site, has exemplified in his Paradise Lost the effect 
of this practice frequently. 

Having mentioned Milton, I cannot but add an 
observation on the similitude of his manner to that 
of Homer. It is such, that no person familiar 
with both, can read either without being reminded 
of the other ; and it is in those breaks and pauses, 
to which the numbers of the English poet are so 
much indebted both for their dignity and variety, 
that he chiefly copies the Greecian. But these are 
graces to which rhyme is not competent ; so broken, 
it loses all its music ; of which any person may con- 
vince himself by reading a page only of any of our 
poets anterior to Denham, Waller, and Dryden. 
A translator of Homer, therefore, seems directed 
by Homer himself to the use of blank verse, as to 
that alone in which he can be rendered with any 
tolerable representation of his manner in this par- 
ticular. A remark which I am naturally led to 
make by a desire to conciliate, if possible, some, 
who, rather unreasonably partial to rhyme, de- 
mand it on all occasions, and seem persuaded that 
poetry in our language is a vain attempt without 
it. Verse, that claims to be verse hi right of its 
metre only, they judge to be such rather by 
courtesy than by kind, on an apprehension that it 
costs the writer little trouble, that he has only to 
give his lines their prescribed number of syllables, 
and, so far as the mechanical part is concerned, 
all is well. Were this true, they would have rea- 
son on their side, for the author is certainly best 
entitled to applause who succeeds against the 
greatest difficulty, and in verse that calls for the 
most artificial management in its construction. 
But the case is not as they suppose. To rhyme, 
in our language, demands no great exertion of in- 
genuity, but is always easy to a person exercised 
in the practice. Witness the multitudes who 
rhyme, but have no other poetical pretensions. 
Let it be considered too, how merciful we are apt 
to be to unclassical and indifferent language for 
the sake of rhyme, and we shall soon see that the 
labour lies principally on the other side. Many 
ornaments of no easy purchase are required to 
atone for the absence of this single recommenda- 


FIRST EDITION. 


251 


tion. It is not sufficient that the lines of blank 
verse be smooth in themselves, they must also be 
harmonious in the combination. Whereas the 
chief concern of the rhymist is to beware that his 
couplets and his sense be commensurate, lest the 
regularity of his numbers should be (too frequently 
at least) interrupted. A trivial difficulty this, 
compared with those which attend the poet unac- 
companied by his bells. He, in order that he may 
be musical, must exhibit all the variations, as he 
proceeds, of which ten syllables are susceptible ; 
between the first syllable and the last there is no 
place at which he must not occasionally pause, and 
the place of the pause must be perpetually shifted. 
To effect this variety, his attention must be given, 
at one and the same time, to the pauses he has 
already made in the period before him, as well as 
to that which he is about to make, and to those 
which shall succeed it. On no lighter terms than 
these is it possible that blank verse can be written 
which will not, in the course of a long work, fatigue 
the ear past all endurance. If it be easier, there- 
fore, to throw five balls into the air and to catch 
them in succession, than to sport in that manner 
with one only, then may blank verse be more 
easily fabricated than rhyme. And if to these 
labours we add others equally requisite, a style in 
general more elaborate than rhyme requires, far- 
ther removed from the vernacular idiom both in 
the language itself and in the arrangement of it, 
we shall not long doubt which of these two very 
different species of verse threatens the composer 
with most expense of study and contrivance. I 
feel it unpleasant to appeal to my own experience, 
but, having no other voucher at hand, am con- 
strained to it. As I affirm, so I have found. I 
have dealt pretty largely in both kinds, and have 
frequently written more verses in a day, with tags, 
than I could ever write without them. To what 
has been here said (which whether it have been 
said by others or not, I cannot tell, having never 
read any modern book on the subject) I shall only 
add, that to be poetical without rhyme, is an argu- 
ment of a sound and classical constitution in any 
language. 

A word or two on the subject of the following 
translation, and I have done. 

My chief boast is that I have adhered closely to 
my original, convinced that every departure from 
him would be punished with the forfeiture of some 
grace or beauty for which I could substitute no 
equivalent. The epithets that would consent to 
an English form I have preserved as epithets ; 
others that would not, I have melted into the con- 
text. There are none, I believe, which I have not 
translated in one way or other, though the reader 
will not find them repeated so often as most of 
them are in Homer, for a reason that need not be 
mentioned. 

Few persons of any consideration are introduced 
either in the Iliad or Odyssey by their own name 
only, but their patronymic is given also. To this 
ceremonial I have generally attended, because it is 
a circumstance of my author's manner. 

Homer never allots less than a whole line to the 
introduction of a speaker. No, not even when the 
speech itself is no longer than the line that leads 
it. A practice to which, since he never departs 
from it, he must have been determined by some 
cogent reason. He probably deemed it a formality 


necessary to the majesty of his narration. In this 
article, therefore, I have scrupulously adhered to 
my pattern, considering these introductory lines as 
heralds in a procession ; important persons, be- 
cause employed to usher in persons more important 
than themselves. 

It has been my point everywhere to be as little 
verbose as possible, though, at the same time, my 
constant determination not to sacrifice my author's 
full meaning to an affected brevity. 

In the affair of style, I have endeavoured neither 
to creep nor to bluster, for no author is so likely 
to betray his translator into both these faults, as 
Homer, though himself never guilty of either. I 
have cautiously avoided all terms of new invention, 
with an abundance of which, persons of more in- 
genuity than judgment have not enriched our lan- 
guage, but incumbered it. I have also everywhere 
used an unabbreviated fulness of phrase as most 
suited to the nature of the work, and, above all, 
have studied perspicuity, not only because verse is 
good for little that wants it, but because Homer is 
the most perspicuous of all poets. 

In all difficult places I have consulted the best 
commentators, and where they have differed, or 
have given, as is often the case, a variety of solu- 
tions, I have ever exercised my best judgment, and 
selected that which appears, at least to myself, the 
most probable interpretation. On this ground, 
and on account of the fidelity which I have already 
boasted, I may venture, I believe, to recommend 
my work as promising some usefulness to young 
students of the original. 

The passages which will be least noticed, and 
possibly not at all, except by those who shall wish 
to find me at a fault, are those which have cost me 
abundantly the most labour. It is difficult to kill 
a sheep with dignity in a modern language, to flay 
and to prepare it for the table, detailing every cir- 
cumstance of the process. Difficult also, without 
sinking below the level of poetry, to harness mules 
to a waggon, particularizing every article of their 
furniture, straps, rings, staples, and even the tying 
of the knots that kept all together. Homer, who 
writes always to the eye, with all his sublimity and 
grandeur, has the minuteness of a Flemish painter. 

But in what degree I have succeeded in my 
version either of these passages, and such as these, 
or of others more buoyant and above-ground, and 
especially of the most sublime, is now submitted 
to the decision of the reader, to whom I am ready 
enough to confess that I have not at all consulted 
their approbation, who account nothing grand that 
is not turgid, or elegant that is not bedizened with 
metaphor. 

I purposely decline all declamation on the merits 
of Homer, because a translator's praises of his 
author are liable to a suspicion of dotage, and be- 
cause it were impossible to improve on those which 
this author has received already. He has been 
the wonder of all countries that his works have 
ever reached, even deified by the greatest names 
of antiquity, and in some places actually wor- 
shiped. And to say truth, were it possible that 
mere man could entitle himself by pre-eminence of 
any kind to divine honours, Homer's astonishing 
powers seem to have given him the best preten- 
sions. 

I cannot conclude without due acknowledg- 
ments to the best critic on Homer I have ever met 


252 


PREFACE TO THE 


with, the learned and ingenious Mr. Fuseli. Un- 
known as he was to me when I entered on this ar- 
duous) undertaking, (indeed to this moment I have 
never seen him) he yet voluntarily and generously 
offered himself as my revisor. To his classical 
taste and just "discernment I have been indebted 
for the discovery of many blemishes in my own 
work, and of beauties which would otherwise have 
escaped me in the original. But his necessary 
avocations would not suffer him to accompany me 
farther than to the latter books of the Iliad, a 
circumstance which I fear my readers, as well 
as myself, will regret with too much reason 1 . 
I have obligations likewise to many friends, 


whose names, were it proper to mention them here, 
would do me great honour. They have encouraged 
me by their approbation, have assisted me with 
valuable books, and have eased me of almost the 
whole labour of transcribing. 

And now I have only to regret that my pleasant 
work is ended. To the illustrious Greek I owe the 
smooth and easy flight of many thousand hours. 
He has been my companion at home and abroad, 
in the study, in the garden, and in the field ; and 
no measure of success, let my labours succeed as 
they may, will ever compensate to me the loss of 
the innocent luxury that I have enjoyed, as a 
Translator of Homer. 


PREFACE 


PREPARED BY MR. COWPER, 

FOR 

A SECOND EDITION. 


Soon after my publication of this work, I began 
to prepare it for a second edition, by an accurate 
revisal of the first. It seemed to me, that here and 
there, perhaps, a slight alteration might satisfy the 
demands of some, whom I was desirous to please ; 
and I comforted myself with the reflection, that if 
I still failed to conciliate all, I should yet have no 
cause to account myself in a singular degree un- 
fortunate. To please an unqualified judge, an 
author must sacrifice too much ; and the attempt 
to please an uncandid one were altogether hopeless. 
In one or other of these classes may be ranged all 
such objectors, as would deprive blank verse of 
one of its principal advantages, the variety of its 
pauses ; together with all such as deny the good 
effect, on the whole, of a line, now and then, less 
harmonious than its fellows. 

With respect to the pauses, it has been affirmed 
with an unaccountable rashness, that Homer him- 
self has given me an example of verse without 
them. Had this been true, it would by no means 
have concluded against the use of them in an 
English version of Homer ; because, in one lan- 
guage, and in one species of metre, that may be 
musical, which in another would be found disgust- 
ing. But the assertion is totally unfounded. The 
pauses in Homer's verse are so frequent and 
various, that to name another poet, if pauses are a 
fault, more faulty than He, were, perhaps, impos- 
sible. It may even be questioned, if a single 
passage of ten lines flowing with uninterrupted 
smoothness could be singled out from all the thou- 
sands that he has left us. He frequently pauses 
at the first word of the line, when it consists of 
three or more syllables ; not seldom when of two ; 
and sometimes even when of one only. In this 
practice he was followed, as was observed in my 

1 Some of the few notes subjoined to my translation of 
the Odyssey are by Mr. Fuseli, who had a short opportu- 
nity to peruse the MSS. while the Iliad was printing. 
They are marked with his initial. 


Preface to the first Edition, by the Author of 
the Paradise Lost. An example inimitable indeed, 
but which no writer of English heroic verse with- 
out rhyme can neglect with impunity. 

Similar to this is the objection which proscribes 
absolutely the occasional use of a line irregularly 
constructed. When Horace censured Lucilius 
for his lines incomposito pede currentes, he did 
not mean to say, that he was chargeable with such 
in some instances, or even in many, for then the 
censure would have been equally applicable to 
himself; but he designed by that expression to 
characterize all his writings. The censure there- 
fore was just ; Lucilius wrote at a time when the 
Roman verse had not yet received its polish, and 
instead of introducing artfully his rugged lines, 
and to serve a particular purpose, had probably 
seldom, and never but by accident, composed a 
smooth one. Such has been the versification of 
the earliest poets in every country. Children lisp, 
at first, and stammer ; but, in time, their speech 
becomes fluent, and, if they are well taught, har- 
monious. 

Homer himself is not invariably regular in the 
construction of his verse. Had he been so, Eus- 
tathius, an excellent critic and warm admirer of 
Homer, had never affirmed, that some of his lines 
want a head, some a tail, and others a middle. 
Some begin with a word that is neither Dactyl nor 
Spondee, some conclude with a Dactyl, and in the 
intermediate part he sometimes deviates equally 
from the established custom. I confess that in- 
stances of this sort are rare ; but they are surely, 
though few, sufficient to warrant a sparing use of 
similar license in the present day. 

Unwilling, however, to seem obstinate, in both 
these particulars, I conformed myself in some 
measure to these objections, though unconvinced 
myself of their propriety. Several of the rudest 
and most unshapely lines I composed anew ; and 
several of the pauses least in use I displaced for 


SECOND EDITION. 


253 


the sake of an easier enunciation. — And this was 
the state of the work after the revisal given it 
about seven years since. 

Between that revisal and the present a consider- 
able time intervened, and the effect of long dis- 
continuance was, that I became more dissatisfied 
with it myself, than the most difficult to be pleased 
of all my judges. Not for the sake of a few un- 
even lines or unwonted pauses, but for reasons far 
more substantial. The diction seemed to me in 
many passages either not sufficiently elevated, or 
deficient in the grace of ease, and in others I found 
the sense of the original either not adequately ex- 
pressed or misapprehended. Many elisions still 
remained unsoftened; the compound epithets I 
found not always happily combined, and the same 
sometimes too frequently repeated. 

There is no end of passages in Homer, which 
must creep unless they are lifted ; yet in such, all 
embellishment is out of the question. The hero 
puts on his clothes, or refreshes himself with food 
and wine, or he yokes his steed, takes a journey, 
and in the evening preparation is made for his 
repose. To give relief to subjects prosaic as these 
without seeming unseasonably tumid, is extremely 
difficult. Mr. Pope much abridges some of them, 
and others he omits ; but neither of these liberties 
was compatible with the nature of my undertaking. 
These, therefore, and many similar to these, have 
been new-modeled ; somewhat to their advantage 
I hope, but not even now entirely to my satisfac- 
tion. The lines have a more natural movement, 
the pauses are fewer and less stately, the expres- 
sion as easy as I could make it without meanness, 
and these were all the improvements that I could 
give them. 

The elisions, I believe, are all cured, with only 
one exception. An alternative proposes itself to a 
modern versifier, from which there is no escape, 
which occurs perpetually, and which, chuse as he 
may, presents him always with an evil. I mean 
in the instance of the particle (the). When this 
particle precedes a vowel, shall he melt it into 
the substantive, or leave the hiatus open ? Both 


practices are offensive to a delicate ear. The 
particle absorbed occasions harshness, and the 
open vowel a vacuity equally inconvenient. Some- 
times, therefore, to leave it open, and sometimes 
to ingraft it into its adjunct, seems most adviseable ; 
this course Mr. Pope has taken, whose authority 
recommended it to me ; though of the two evils I 
have most frequently chosen the elision as the least. 

Compound epithets have obtained so long in the 
poetical language of our country, that I employed 
them without fear or scruple. To have abstained 
from them in a blank verse translation of Homer, 
who abounds with them, and from whom our poets 
probably first adopted them, would have been 
strange indeed. But though the genius of our 
language favours the formation of such words 
almost as much as that of the Greek, it happens 
sometimes, that a Greecian compound either cannot 
be rendered in English at all, or, at best, but 
awkwardly. For this reason, and because I found 
that some readers much disliked them, I have 
expunged many ; retaining, according to my best 
judgment, the most eligible only, and making less 
frequent the repetitions even of these. 

I know not that I can add anything material on 
the subject of this last revisal, unless it be proper 
to give the reason why the Iliad, though greatly 
altered, has undergone much fewer alterations 
than the Odyssey. The true reason I believe is 
this. The Iliad demanded my utmost possible 
exertions; it seemed to meet me like an ascent 
almost perpendicular, which could not be sur- 
mounted at less cost than of all the labour that I 
could bestow on it. The Odyssey on the contrary 
seemed to resemble an open and level country, 
through which I might travel at my ease. The 
latter, therefore, betrayed me into some negligence, 
which, though little conscious of it at the time, on 
an accurate search, I found had left many dis- 
agreeable effects behind it. 

I now leave the work to its fate. Another may 
labour hereafter in an attempt of the same kind 
with more success; but more industriously, I 
believe, none ever will. 


TO 

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EARL COWPER, 

THIS 

TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAD, 

THE INSCRIPTION OF WHICH TO HIMSELF, 

THE LATE LAMENTED EARL, 

BENEVOLENT TO ALL, AND ESPECIALLY KIND TO THE AUTHOR, 

HAD NOT DISDAINED TO ACCEPT, 

IS HUMBLY OFFERED, 
AS A SMALL BUT GRATEFUL TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF HIS FATHER, 

BY HIS LORDSHIP'S 
AFFECTIONATE KINSMAN AND SERVANT, 

WILLIAM COWPER. 

June 4, 1791. 


THE ILIAD. 


BOOK I. 

ARGUMENT. 

The book opens with an account of a pestilence that 
prevailed in the Greecian camp, and the cause of it is 
assigned. A council is called, in which fierce altercation 
takes place between Agamemnon and Achilles. The 
latter solemnly renounces the field. Agamemnon by his 
heralds demands Brisei's, and Achilles resigns her. He 
makes his complaint to Thetis, who undertakes to plead 
his cause with Jupiter. She pleads 'it, and prevails. 
The book concludes with an account of what passed in 
heaven on that occasion . 

The English reader will be pleased to observe, that by 
Achaians, Argives, Dana'i, are signified Greecians. Homer 
himself having foimd these various appellatives both 
graceful and convenient, it seemed unreasonable that a 
Translator of him should be denied the same advantage. 

Achilles sing, Goddess ! Peleus' son ; 
His wrath pernicious, who ten thousand woes 
Caused to Achaia's host, sent many a soul 
Illustrious into Ades premature, 
And heroes gave (so stood the will of Jove) 
To dogs and to all ravening fowls a prey, 
When fierce dispute had separated once 
The noble chief Achilles from the son 
Of Atreus, Agamemnon, king of men. 

Who them to strife impell'd? What power divine ? 
Latona's son and Jove's. For He, incensed 
Against the king, a foul contagion raised 
In all the host, and multitudes destroy'd, 
For that the son of Atreus had his priest 
Dishonour'd, Chryses. To the fleet he came 
Bearing rich ransom glorious to redeem 
His daughter, and his hands charged with the wreath 
And golden sceptre of the God shaft-arm'd. 

His suppli cation was at large to all 
The host of Greece, but most of all to two, 
The sons of Atreus, highest in command. 

Ye gallant chiefs, and ye their gallant host, 
(So may the gods who in Olympus dwell 
Give Priam's treasures to you for a spoil, 
And ye return in safety) take my gifts 
And loose my child, in honour of the son 
Of Jove, Apollo, archer of the sides. 

At once the voice of all was to respect 
The priest, and to accept the bounteous price ; 
But so it pleased not Atreus' mighty son, [miss'd. 
Who with rude threatenings stern him thence dis- 

Beware, old man ! that at these hollow barks 
I find thee not now lingering, or henceforth 
Returning, lest the garland of thy god 
And his bright sceptre should avail thee nought. 
I will not loose thy daughter, till old age 
Steal on her. From her native country far, 
In Argos, in my palace, she shall ply 
The loom, and shall be partner of my bed. [mays't. 
Move me no more. Begone ; hence while thou 


He spake, the old priest trembled and obey'd. 
Forlorn he roam'd the ocean's sounding shore, 
And, solitary, with much prayer his king 
Bright-hair'd Latona's son, Phoebus, implored. 

God of the silver bow, who with thy power 
Encirclest Chrysa, and who reign'st supreme 
In Tenedos and Cilia the divine, 
Sminthian 1 Apollo ! If I e'er adorn'd 
Thy beauteous fane, or on thy altar burn'd 
The fat acceptable of bulls or goats, 
Grant my petition. With thy shafts avenge 
On the Achaian host thy servant's tears. 

Such prayer he made, and it was heard. The god, 
Down from Olympus with his radiant bow 
And his full quiver o'er his shoulder slung, 
March'd in his anger ; shaken as he moved 
His rattling arrows told of his approach. 
Gloomy he came as night ; sat from the ships 
Apart, and sent an arrow. Clang'd the cord 
2 Dread-sounding, bounding on the silver bow. 
Mules first and dogs he struck, but at themselves 
Dispatching soon his bitter arrows keen, 
Smote them . Death -piles on all sides always blazed. 
Nine days throughout the camp his arrows flew ; 
The tenth, Achilles from all parts convened 
The host in council. Juno the white-armed, 
Moved at the sight of Greecians all around 
Dying, imparted to his mind the thought. 
The full assembly, therefore, now convened, 
Uprose Achilles ardent, and began. 

Atrides ! Now, it seems, no course remains 
For us, but that the seas roaming again, 
We hence return ; at least if we survive ; 
But haste, consult we quick some prophet here 
Or priest, or even interpreter of dreams, 
(For dreams are also of Jove) that we may learn 
By what crime we have thus incensed Apollo, 
What broken vow, what hecatomb unpaid 
He charges on us, and if soothed with steam 
Of lambs or goats unblemish'd, he may yet 
Be won to spare us, and avert the plague. 

He spake and sat, when Thestor's son arose, 
Calchas, an augur foremost in his art, 
Who all things, present, past, and future knew, 
And whom his skill in prophecy, a gift 
Conferr'd by Phoebus on him, had advanced 
To be conductor of the fleet to Troy ; 
He, prudent, them admonishing, replied. [me 

Jove-loved Achilles ! Would'st thou learn from 
What cause hath moved Apollo to this wrath, 
The shaft-arm'd King ? I shall divulge the cause. 

i So called on account of his having saved the people of 
Troas from a plague of mice, sminthos in their language 
meaning a mouse. 

2 For this singular line the Translator begs to apologize, 
by pleading the strong desire he felt to produce an English 
line, if possible, somewhat resembling in its effect the 
famous original one : 

Aeiv^i 5e KXayy^i yever apyvpioio fiioio. 


256 


THE ILIAD. 


But thou, swear first and covenant on thy part 
That speaking, acting, thou wilt stand prepared 
To give me succour ; for I judge amiss, 
Or he who rules the Argives, the supreme 
O'er all Achaia's host, will be incensed. 
Woe to the man who shall provoke the king ! 
For if, to-day, he smother close his wrath, 
He harbours still the vengeance, and in time 
Performs it. Answer, therefore, wilt thou save me ? 

To whom Achilles, swiftest of the swift. 
What thou hast learn'd in secret from the God, 
That speak, and boldly. By the son of Jove, 
Apollo, whom thou, Calchas seek'st in prayer 
Made for the Dana'i, and who thy soul 
Fills with futurity, in all the host 
The Greecian lives not, who while I shall breathe, 
And see the light of day, shall in this camp 
Oppress thee ; no, not even if thou name 
Him, Agamemnon, sovereign o'er us all. 

Then was the seer embolden'd, and he spake. 
Nor vow nor hecatomb unpaid on us 
He charges, but the wrong done to his priest 
Whom Agamemnon slighted when he sought 
His daughter's freedom, and his gifts refused. 
He is the cause. Apollo for his sake 
Afflicts and will afflict us, neither end 
Nor intermission of his heavy scourge 
Granting, till unredeem'd, no price required, 
The black-eyed maid be to her father sent, 
And a whole hecatomb in Chrysa bleed. 
Then, not before, the God may be appeased. 

He spake and sat ; when Atreus' son arose, 
The hero Agamemnon, throned supreme. 
Tempests of black resentment overcharged 
His heart, and indignation fired his eyes. 
On Calchas louring, him he first address'd. 

Prophet of mischief ! from whose tongue no note 
Of grateful sound to me, was ever heard ; 
111 tidings are thy joy, and tidings glad 
Thou tell'st not, or thy words come not to pass. 
And now among the Dana'i thy dreams 
Divulging, thou pretend'st the archer-god 
For his priest's sake, our enemy, because 
I scorn'd his offer'd ransom of the maid 
Chryseis, more desirous far to bear 
Her to my home, for that she charms me more 
Than Clytemnestra, my own first espoused, 
With whom, in disposition, feature, form, 
Accomplishments, she may be well compared. 
Yet, being such, I will return her hence 
If that she go be best. Perish myself, — 
But let the people of my charge be saved ! 
Prepare ye, therefore, a reward for me, 
And seek it instant. It were much unmeet 
That I alone of all the Argive host 
Should want due recompense, whose former prize 
Is elsewhere destined, as ye all perceive. 

To whom Achilles, matchless in the race. 
Atrides, glorious above all in rank, 
And as intent on gain as thou art great, 
Whence shall the Greecians give a prize to thee ? 
The general stock is poor ; the spoil of towns 
Which we have taken, hath already pass'd 
In distribution, and it were unjust 
To gather it from all the Greeks again. 
But send thou back this virgin to her god, 
And when Jove's favour shall have given us Troy, 
A threefold, fourfold share shall then be thine. 

To whom the sovereign of the host replied. 
Godlike Achilles, valiant as thou art, 


Would'st thou be subtle too ? But me no fraud 

Shall overreach, or art persuade, of thine. 

Would'st thou, that thou be recompensed, and I 

Sit meekly down defrauded of my due ? 

And did'st thou bid me yield her ? Let the bold 

Achaians give me competent amends, 

Such as may please me, and it shall be well. 

Else, if they give me none, I will command 

Thy prize, the prize of Ajax, or the prize 

It may be of Ulysses to my tent, 

And let the loser chafe. But this concern 

Shall be adjusted at convenient time. 

Come, — Launch we now into the sacred deep 

A bark with lusty rowers well supplied ; 

Then put on board Chryseis, and with her 

Tile sacrifice required. Go also one 

High in authority, some counsellor, 

Idomeneus, or Ajax, or thyself, 

Thou most untractable of all mankind ; 

And seek by rites of sacrifice and prayer 

To appease Apollo on our host's behalf. 

Achilles eyed him with a frown, and spake. 
Ah ! cloath'd with impudence as with a cloak, 
And full of subtlety, who, thinkest thou — 
What Greecian here will serve thee, or for thee 
Wage covert war, or open ? Me thou know'st, 
Troy never wrong'd ; I came not to avenge 
Harm done to me ; no Trojan ever drove 
My pastures, steeds or oxen took of mine, 
Or plunder'd of their fruits the golden fields 
Of Phthia the deep-soil'd. She lies remote, 
And obstacles are numerous interposed, 
Vale-darkening mountains, and the dashing sea. 
No, ] shameless wolf ! For thy good pleasure sake 
We came, and, 2 face of flint ! to avenge the wrongs 
By Menelaus and thyself sustain'd, 
On the offending Trojan — service kind, 
But lost on thee, regardless of it all. 
And now — What now % Thy threatening is to seize 
Thyself, the just requital of my toils, 
My prize hard-earn'd, by common suffrage mine. 
I never gain, what Trojan town soe'er 
We ransack, half thy booty. The swift march 
And furious onset, — these I largely reap, 
But, distribution made, thy lot exceeds 
Mine far ; while I, with any pittance pleased, 
Bear to my ships the little that I win 
After long battle, and account it much. 
But 1 am gone, I and my sable barks 
(My wiser course) to Phthia, and I judge, 
Scorn'd as I am, that thou shalt hardly glean 
Without me, more than thou shalt soon consume. 

He ceased, and Agamemnon thus replied. 
Fly, and fly now ; if in thy soul thou feel 
Such ardour of desire to go — begone ! 
I woo thee not to stay ; stay not an hour 
On my behalf, for I have others here 
Who will respect me more, and above all 
All-judging Jove. There is not in the host 
King or commander whom I hate as thee, 
For all thy pleasure is in strife and blood, 
And at all times ; yet valour is no ground 
Whereon to boast, it is the gift of heaven. 
Go, get ye back to Phthia, thou and thine ! 
There rule thy Myrmidons. I need not thee, 
Nor heed thy wrath a jot. But this I say, 
Sure as Apollo takes my lovely prize 
Chryseis, and I shall return her home 


Kwwira. 


2 yuey auatShs. 


THE ILIAD. 


257 


In mine own bark, and with my proper crew, 

So sure the fair Briseis shall be mine. 

I shall demand her even at thy tent. 

So shalt thou well be taught, how high in power 

I soar above thy pitch, and none shall dare 

Attempt, thenceforth, comparison with me. 

He ended, and the big disdainful heart 
Throbb'd of Achilles ; racking doubt ensued 
And sore perplex'd him, whether forcing wide 
A passage through them, with his blade unsheath'd 
To lay Atrides breathless at his foot, 
Or to command his stormy spirit down. 
So doubted he, and undecided yet 
Stood drawing forth his falchion huge ; when lo ! 
- Down sent by Juno, to whom both alike 
Were dear, and who alike watch'd over both, 
Pallas descended. At his back she stood 
To none apparent, save himself alone, 
And seized his golden locks. Startled, he turned, 
And instant knew Minerva. Flash'd her eyes 
Terrific ; whom with accents on the wing 
Of haste, incontinent he question'd thus. 

Daughter of Jove, why comest thou ? that thyself 
May'st witness these affronts which I endure 
From Agamemnon ? Surely as I speak, 
This moment, for his arrogance, he dies. 

To whom the blue-eyed deity. From heaven 
Mine errand is, to sooth, if thou wilt hear, 
Thine anger. Juno the white-arm'd, alike 
To him and thee propitious, bade me down : 
Restrain thy wrath. Draw not thy faulchion forth. 
Retort, and sharply, and let that suffice. 
For I foretel thee true. Thou shalt receive, 
Some future day, thrice told, thy present loss 
For this day's wrong. Cease, therefore, and be still. 

To whom Achilles. Goddess, although much 
Exasperate, I dare not disregard 
Thy word, which to obey is always best. 
Who hears the gods, the gods hear also him. 

He said ; and on his silver hilt the force 
Of his broad hand impressing, sent the blade 
Home to its rest, nor would the counsel scorn 
Of Pallas. She to heaven well-pleased return'd, 
And in the mansion of Jove segis'-arm'd 
Arriving, mingled with her kindred gods. 
But though from violence, yet not from words 
Abstain'd Achilles, but with bitter taunt 
Opprobrious, his antagonist reproach'd. 

Oh charged with wine, in stedfastness of face 
Dog unabash'd, and yet at heart a deer ! 
Thou never, when the troops have taken arms, 
Hast dared to take thine also ; never thou 
Associate with Achaia's chiefs, to form 
The secret ambush. No. The sound of war 
Is as the voice of destiny to thee. 
Doubtless the course is safer far, to range 
Our numerous host, and if a man have dared 
Dispute thy will, to rob him of his prize. 
King ! over whom ? Women and spiritless — 
Whom therefore thou devourest ; else themselves 
Would stop that mouth that it should scoff no more. 
But hearken. I shall swear a solemn oath. 
By this same sceptre, which shall never bud, 
Nor boughs bring forth as once, which having left 
Its stock on the high mountains, at what time 
The woodman's axe lopp'd off its foliage green, 
And stript its bark, shall never grow again ; 

i The shield of Jupiter, made by Vulcan, and so called 
from its covering, which was the skin of the goat that 
suckled him. 


Which now the judges of Achaia bear, 
Who under Jove, stand guardians of the laws, 
By this I swear, (mark thou the sacred oath) 
Time shall be, when Achilles shall be miss'd ; 
When all shall want him, and thyself the power 
To help the Achaians, whatsoe'er thy will ; 
When Hector at your heels shall mow you down ; 
The hero-slaughtering Hector ! Then thy soul, 
Vexation-stung, shall tear thee with remorse, 
That thou hast scorn'd, as he were nothing worth, 
A chief, the soul and bulwark of your cause. 

So saying, he cast his sceptre on the ground 
Studded with gold, and sat. On the other side 
The son of Atreus all impassion'd stood, 
When the harmonious orator arose 
Nestor, the Pylian oracle, whose lips 
Dropp'd eloquence — the honey not so sweet. 
Two generations past of mortals born 
In Pylus, coetaneous with himself, • 
He govern'd now the third — amid them all 
He stood, and thus, benevolent, began. 

Ah ! what calamity hath fallen on Greece ! 
Now Priam and his sons may well exult, 
Now all in Ilium shall have joy of heart 
Abundant, hearing of this broil, the prime 
Of Greece between, in council and in arms. 
But be persuaded ; ye are younger both 
Than I, and I was conversant of old 
With princes your superiors, yet from them 
No disrespect at any time received. 
Their equals saw I never ; never shall ; 
Exadius, Coeneus, and the god-like son 
Of ^Egeus, mighty Theseus ; men renown'd 
For force superior to the race of man. [fought, 
Brave chiefs they were, and with brave foes they 
With the rude dwellers on the mountain-heights 
The Centaurs, whom with havock such as fame 
Shall never cease to celebrate, they slew. 
With these men I consorted erst, what time 
From Pylus, though a land from theirs remote, 
They call'd me forth, and such as was my strength, 
With all that strength I served them. Who is he ? 
What prince or chief of the degenerate race 
Now seen on earth who might with these compare? 
Yet even these would listen and conform 
To my advice in consultation given, 
Which hear ye also ; for compliance proves 
Oft-times the safer and the manlier course. 
Thou Agamemnon ! valiant as thou art, 
Seize not the maid, his portion from the Greeks, 
But leave her his ; nor thou, Achilles, strive 
With our imperial chief ; for never king 
Had equal honour at the hands of Jove 
With Agamemnon, or was throned so high. 
Say thou art stronger, and art goddess-born,, 
How then ? His territory passes thine, 
And he is lord of thousands more than thou. 
Cease, therefore, Agamemnon ; calm thy wrath j 
And it shall be mine office to entreat 
Achilles also to a calm, whose might 
The chief munition is of all our host* 

To whom the sovereign of the Greeks replied, 
The son of Atreus. Thou hast spoken well, 
Old chief, and wisely. But this wrangler here — 
Nought will suffice him but the highest place ; 
He must controul us all, reign over all,, 
Dictate to all ; but he shall find at least 
One here, disposed to question his commands. 
If the eternal gods have made him brave, 
Derives he thence a privilege to rail ? 


258 


THE ILIAD. 


Whom thus Achilles interrupted fierce. 
Could I be found so abject as to take 
The measure of my doings at thy lips, 
W ell might they call me coward through the camp, 
A vassal, and a fellow of no worth. 
Give law to others. Think not to control 
Me, subject to thy proud commands no more. 
Hear yet again ! And weigh what thou shalt hear. 
I will not strive with thee in such a cause, 
Nor yet with any man ; I scorn to fight 
For her, whom having given, ye take away. 
But I have other precious things on board ; 
Of those take none away without my leave. 
Or if it please thee, put me to the proof 
Before this whole assembly, and my spear 
Shall stream that moment, purpled with thy blood. 

Thus they long time in opposition fierce 
Maintain'd the war of words ; and now, at length, 
(The grand consult dissolved,) Achilles walk'd, 
(Patroclus and the Myrmidons his steps 
Attending) to his camp and to his fleet. 
But Agamemnon order'd forth a bark, 
A swift one, mann'd with twice ten lusty rowers ; 
He sent on board the hecatomb : he placed 
Chryseis with the blooming cheeks, himself, 
And to Ulysses gave the freight in charge. 
So all embark'd, and plow'd their watery way. 
Atrides, next, bade purify the host ; 
The host was purified, as he enjoin'd, 
And the ablution cast into the sea. 

Then to Apollo, on the shore they slew, 
Of the untillable and barren deep, 
Whole hecatombs of bulls and goats, whose steam 
Slowly hi smoky volumes climb'd the skies. 

Thus was the camp employ'd ; nor ceased the 
while 
The son of Atreus from his threats denounced 
At first against Achilles, but command 
Gave to Talthybius and Eurybates 
His heralds, ever faithful to his will. 

Haste — Seek ye both the tent of Peleus' son 
Achilles. Thence lead hither by the hand 
Blooming Briseis, whom if he withhold, 
Not her alone, but other spoil myself 
Will take in person — He shall rue the hour. 

With such harsh message charged he them dis- 
miss'd. 
They, sad and slow, beside the barren waste 
Of ocean, to the galleys and the tents 
Moved of the Myrmidons. Him there they found 
Beneath the shadow of his bark reclined, 
Nor glad at their approach. Trembling they 

stood, 
In presence of the royal chief, awe-struck, 
Nor question'd him or spake. He not the less 
Knew well their embassy, and thus began. 

Ye heralds, messengers of gods and men, 
Hail, and draw near ! I bid you welcome both. 
I blame not you ; the fault is his alone 
Who sends you to conduct the damsel hence 
Briseis. Go, Patroclus, generous friend ! 
Lead forth, and to their guidance give the maid. 
But be themselves my witnesses before 
The blessed gods, before mankind, before 
The ruthless king, should want of me be felt 
To save the host from havoc ' — Oh, his thoughts 
Are madness all ; intelligence or skill 

1 The original is here abrupt, and expresses the preci- 
pitancy of the speaker by a most beautiful aposiope6is. 


Forecast or retrospect, how best the camp 
May be secured from inroad, none hath he. 

He ended, nor Patroclus disobey'd, 
But leading beautiful Briseis forth, 
Into their guidance gave her ; loath she went 
From whom she loved, and looking oft behind. 
Then wept Achilles, and apart from all, 
With eyes directed to the gloomy deep 
And arms outstretch'd, his mother suppliant sought. 

Since, mother, though ordain'd so soon to die, 
I am thy son, I might with cause expect 
Some honour at the Thunderer's hands, but none 
To me he shows, whom Agamemnon, chief 
Of the Achaians, hath himself disgraced, 
Seizing by violence my just reward. 

So pray'd he weeping, whom his mother heard 
Within the gulfs of ocean where she sat 
Beside her ancient sire. From the grey flood 
Ascending sudden, like a mist, she came, 
Sat down before him, stroked his face, and said. 

Why weeps my son ? and what is thy distress \ 
Hide not a sorrow that I wish to share. 

To whom Achilles, sighing deep, replied. 
Why tell thee woes to thee already known ? 
At Thebes, Eetion's city, we arrived, 
Smote, sack'd it, and brought all the spoil away. 
Just distribution made among the Greeks, 
The son of Atreus for his lot received 
Blooming Chryseis. Her, Apollo's priest 
Old Chryses follow'd to Achaia's camp, 
That he might loose his daughter. Ransom rich 
He brought, and in his hands the hallow'd wreath 
And golden sceptre of the archer god 
Apollo, bore ; to the whole Greecian host, 
But chiefly to the foremost in command 
He sued, the sons of Atreus ; then, the rest 
All recommended reverence of the seer, 
And prompt acceptance of his costly gifts. 
But Agamemnon might not so be pleased, 
Who gave him rude dismission ; he in wrath 
Returning, pray'd, whose prayer Apollo heard, 
For much he loved him. A pestiferous shaft 
He instant shot into the Greecian host, 
And heap'd the people died. His arrows swept 
The whole wide camp of Greece, till at the last 
A seer, by Phoebus taught, explain'd the cause. 
I first advised propitiation. Rage 
Fired Agamemnon. Rising, he denounced 
Vengeance, and hath fulfill'd it. She, in truth, 
Is gone to Chrysa, and with her we send 
Propitiation also to the king 
Shaft-arm'd Apollo. But my beauteous prize 
Briseis, mine by the award of all, 
His heralds, at this moment, lead away. 
But thou, wherein thou canst, aid thy own son ! 
Haste hence to heaven, and if thy word or deed 
Hath ever gratified the heart of Jove, 
With earnest suit press him on my behalf. 
For I, not seldom, in my father's hall 
Have heard thee boasting, how when once the Gods, 
With Juno, Neptune, Pallas, at their head, 
Conspired to bind the Thunderer, thou did'st loose 
His bands, Goddess ! calling to his aid 
The hundred-handed warrior, by the Gods 
Briareus, but by men iEgeon named. 
For he in prowess and in might surpass'd 
His father Neptune, who, enthroned sublime, 
Sits second only to Saturnian Jove, 
Elate with glory and joy. Him all the Gods 
Fearing, from that bold enterprise abstain'd. 


THE ILIAD. 


259 


Now, therefore, of these things reminding Jove, 
Embrace his knees ; entreat him that he give 
The host of Troy Ms succour, and shut fast 
The routed Greecians, prisoners in the fleet, 
That all may find much solace ' in their king, 
And that the mighty sovereign o'er them all, 
Their Agamemnon, may himself be taught 
His rashness, who hath thus dishonour'd foul 
The life itself, and bulwark of his cause. 

To him, with streaming eyes, Thetis replied. 
Born as thou wast to sorrow, ah, my son ! 
Why have I rear'd thee ! Would that without tears, 
Or cause for tears (transient as is thy life, 
A little span) thy days might pass at Troy ! 
But short and sorrowful the fates ordain 
Thy life, peculiar trouble must be thine, 
Whom, therefore, oh that I had never borne ! 
But seeking the Olympian hill snow-crown'd, 
I will myself plead for thee in the ear 
Of Jove, the Thunderer. Meantime at thy fleet 
Abiding, let thy wrath against the Greeks 
Still burn, and altogether cease from war. 
For to the banks of the Oceanus 2 , 
Where ^Ethiopia holds a feast to Jove, 
He journey'd yesterday, with whom the gods 
Went also, and the twelfth day brings them home. 
Then will I to his brazen-floor'd abode, 
That I may clasp his knees, and much misdeem 
Of my endeavour, or my prayer shall speed. 

So saying, she went ; but him she left enraged 
For fair Briseis' sake, forced from his arms 
By stress of power. Meantime Ulysses came 
To Chrysa with the hecatomb in charge. 
Arrived within the haven 3 deep, their sails 
Furling, they stow'd them in the bark below. 
Then by its tackle lowering swift the mast 
Into its crutch, they briskly push'd to land, 
Heaved anchors out, and moor'd the vessel fast. 
Forth came the mariners, and trod the beach ; 
Forth came the victims of Apollo next, 
And, last, Chryseis. Her Ulysses led 
Toward the altar, gave her to the arms 
Of her own father, and him thus address'd. 

Chryses ! Agamemnon, king of men, 

Hath sent thy daughter home, with whom we bring 

An hecatomb on all our host's behalf 

To Phcebus, hoping to appease the god 

By whose dread shafts the Argives now expire. 

So saying, he gave her to him, who with joy 
Received his daughter. Then, before the shrine 
Magnificent in order due they ranged 
The noble hecatomb. Each laved his hands 
And took the salted meal, and Chryses made 
His fervent prayer with hands upraised on high. 

God of the silver bow, who with thy power 
Encirclest Chrysa, and who reign'st supreme 
In Tenedos, and Cilia the divine ! 
Thou provedst propitious to my first request, 
Hast honour'd me, and punish 'd sore the Greeks ; 
Hear yet thy servant's prayer ; take from their host 
At once the loathsome pestilence away ! 

So Chryses pray'd, whom Phoebus heard well- 
pleased ; 
Then pray'd the Greecians also, and with meal 

1 iiravpcovrai. 

2 A name by which we are frequently to understand the 
Nile in Homer. 

3 The original word (iroKv/SevQeos) seems to express 
variety of soundings, an idea probably not to be conveyed 
in an English epithet. 


Sprinkling the victims, their retracted necks 
First pierced, then flay'd them ; the disjointed 

thighs 
They, next, invested with the double cawl, 
Which with crude slices thin they overspread. 
The priest burn'd incense, and libation pour'd 
Large on the hissing brands, while, him beside, 
Busy with spit and prong, stood many a youth 
Train'd to the task. The thighs with fire consumed, 
They gave to each his portion of the maw, 
Then slash'd the remnant, pierced it with the spits, 
And managing with culinary skill 
The roast, withdrew it from the spits again. 
Their whole task thus accomplish'd, and the board 
Set forth, they feasted, and were all sufficed. 
When neither hunger more nor thirst remain'd 
Unsatisfied, boys crown'd the beakers high 
With wine delicious, and from right to left 
Distributing the cups, served every guest. 
Thenceforth the youths of the Achaian race 
To song propitiatory gave the day, 
Paeans to Phcebus, archer of the skies, 
Chanting melodious. Pleased, Apollo heard. 
But, when, the sun descending, darkness fell, 
They on the beach beside their hawsers slept ; 
And, when the day-spring's daughter rosy-palm'd 
Aurora look'd abroad, then back they steer'd 
To the vast camp. Fair wind, and blowing fresh, 
Apollo sent them ; quick they rear'd the mast, 
Then spread the unsullied canvass to the gale, 
And the wind fill'd it. Roar'd the sable flood 
Around the bark, that ever as she went 
Dash'd wide the brine, and scudded swift away. 
Thus reaching soon the spacious camp of Greece, 
Their galley they updrew sheer o'er the sands 
From the rude surge remote, then propp'd her sides 
With scantlings long, and sought their several tents. 

But Peleus' noble son, the speed-renown'd 
Achilles, he, his well-built bark beside, 
Consumed his hours, nor would in council more, 
Where wise men win distinction, or in fight 
Appear, to sorrow and heart-withering woe 
Abandon'd ; though for battle, ardent, still 
He panted, and the shout-resounding field. 
But when the twelfth fair morrow streak'd the east, 
Then all the everlasting gods to heaven 
Resorted, with the Thunderer at their head, 
And Thetis, not unmindful of her son, 
From the salt flood emerged, seeking betimes 
Olympus and the boundless fields- of heaven. 
High, on the topmost eminence sublime 
Of the deep-fork'd Olympian she perceived 
The Thunderer seated, from the gods apart. 
She sat before him, clasp'd with her left hand 
His knees, her right beneath his chin she placed, 
And thus the king, Saturnian Jove, implored. 

Father of all, by all that I have done 
Or said that ever pleased thee, grant my suit. 
Exalt my son, by destiny short-lived 
Beyond the lot of others. Him with shame 
The king of men hath overwhelm'd, by force 
Usurping his just meed ; thou, therefore, Jove, 
Supreme in wisdom, honour him, and give 
Success to Troy, till all Achaia's sons 
Shall yield him honour more than he hath lost ! 

She spake, to whom the Thunderer nought re- 
plied, 
But silent sat long time. She, as her hand 
Had grown there, still importunate, his knees 
Clasp'd as at first, and thus her suit renew'd. 
s2 


200 


THE ILIAD. 


Or grant my prayer, and ratify the grant, 
Or send me hence, (for thou hast none to fear) 
Plainly refused ; that I may know and feel 
By how much I am least of all in heaven. 

To whom the cloud-assembler at the last 
Spake . deep-distress'd. Hard task and full of strife 
Thou hast enjoiird me ; Juno will not spare 
For gibe and taunt injurious, whose complaint 
Sounds daily in the ears of all the gods, 
That I assist the Trojans ; but depart, 
Lest she observe thee ; my concern shall be 
How best I may perform thy full desire. 
And to assure thee more, I give the sign 
Indubitable, which all fear expels 
At once from heavenly minds. Nought, so con- 
May, after, be reversed or render'd vain, [firm'd, 

He ceased, and under his dark brows the nod 
Vouchsafed of confirmation. All around 
The sovereign's everlasting head his curls 
Ambrosial shook, and the huge mountain reel'd. 

Their conference closed, they parted. She, at 
once, 
From bright Olympus plunged into the flood 
Profound, and Jove to his own courts withdrew. 
Together all the gods, at his approach, 
Uprose ; none sat expectant till he came, 
But all advanced to meet the eternal sire. 
So on his throne he sat. Nor Juno him 
Not understood ; she, watchful, had observed, 
In consultation close with Jove engaged 
Thetis, bright-footed daughter of the deep, 
And keen the son of Saturn thus reproved. 

Shrewd as thou art, who now hath had thine ear 1 
Thy joy is ever such, from me apart 
To plan and plot clandestine, and thy thoughts, 
Think what thou may'st, are always barr'd to me. 

To whom the father, thus, of heaven and earth. 
Expect not, Juno, that thou shalt partake 
My counsels at all times, which oft in height 
And depth, thy comprehension far exceed, 
Jove's consort as thou art. When aught occurs 
Meet for thine ear, to none will I impart 
Of gods or men more free than to thyself. 
But for my secret thoughts, which I withhold 
From all in heaven beside, them search not thou 
With irksome curiosity and vain. 

Him answer'd then the goddess ample-eyed. 
What word hath pass'd thy lips, Saturnian Jove, 
Thou most severe ! I never search thy thoughts, 
Nor the serenity of thy profound 
Intentions trouble ; they are safe from me : 
But now there seems a cause. Deeply I dread 
Lest Thetis, silver-footed daughter fair 
Of ocean's hoary sovereign, here arrived 
At early dawn to practise on thee, Jove ! 
I noticed her a suitress at thy knees, 
And much misdeem or promise-bound thou stand'st 
To Thetis past recal, to exalt her son, 
And Greeks to slaughter thousands at the ships. 

To whom the cloud-assembler god, incensed. 
Ah subtle ! ever teeming with surmise, 
And fathomer of my conceal'd designs, 
Thy toil is vain, or (which is worse for thee) 
Shall but estrange thee from mine heart the more. 


And be it as thou say'st, — I am well pleased 
That so it should be. Be advised, desist, 
Hold thou thy peace. Else, if my glorious hands 
Once reach thee, the Olympian powers combined 
To rescue thee, shall interfere in vain. 

He said, — whom Juno, awful goddess, heard 
Appall'd, and mute submitted to his will. 
But through the courts of Jove the heavenly powers 
All felt displeasure ; when to them arose 
Vulcan, illustrious artist, who with speech 
Conciliatory interposed to soothe 
His white-arm'd mother Juno, goddess dread. 

Hard doom is ours, and not to be endured, 
If feast and merriment must pause in heaven 
While ye such clamour raise tumultuous here 
For man's unworthy sake : yet thus we speed 
Ever, when evil overpoises good. 
But I exhort my mother, though herself 
Already warn'd, that meekly she submit 
To Jove our father, lest our father chide 
More roughly, and confusion mar the feast. 
For the Olympian Thunderer could with ease 
Us from our thrones precipitate, so far 
He reigns to all superior. Seek to assuage 
His anger, therefore ; so shall he with smiles 
Cheer thee, nor thee alone, but all in heaven. 

So Vulcan, and, upstarting, placed a cup 
Full-charged between his mother's hands, and said, 

My mother, be advised, and, though aggrieved, 
Yet patient ; lest I see thee whom I love 
So dear, with stripes chastised before my face, 
Willing, but impotent to give thee aid. 
Who can resist the Thunderer ? Me, when once 
I flew to save thee, by the foot he seized 
And hurl'd me through the portal of the skies. 
" From morn to eve I fell, a summer's day," 
And dropp'd, at last, in Lemnos. There half-dead 
The Sintians found me, and with succour prompt 
And hospitable, entertain'd me fallen. 

So he ; then Juno smiled, goddess white-arm'd, 
And smiling still, from his unwonted hand l 
Received the goblet. He from right to left 
Rich neetar from the beaker drawn, alert 
Distributed to all the powers divine. 
Heaven rang with laughter inextinguishable 
Peal after peal, such pleasure all conceived 
At sight of Vulcan in his new employ. 

So spent they in festivity the day, 
And all were cheer'd ; nor was Apollo's harp 
Silent, nor did the Muses spare to add 
Responsive melody of vocal sweets. 
But when the sun's bright orb had now declined, 
Each to his mansion, wheresoever built 
By the lame matchless architect, withdrew. 
Jove also, kindler of the fires of heaven, 
His couch ascending as at other times 
When gentle sleep approach'd him, slept serene, 
With golden-sceptred Juno at his side. 


1 The reader, in order that he may partake with the 
gods in the drollery of this scene, should observe that the 
crippled and distorted Vulcan had thrust himself into an 
office at all other times administered either by Hebe or 
Ganymede. 


THE ILIAD. 


261 


BOOK II. 


ARGUMENT. 

Jupiter, in pursuance of his purpose to distress the 
Greeeians in answer to the prayer of Thetis, deceives 
Agamemnon by a dream. He, in consequence of it, 
calls a council, the result of which is that the army 
shall go forth to battle. Thersites is mutinous, and is 
chastised by Ulysses. Ulysses, Nestor, and Agamemnon, 
harangue the people; and preparation is made for 
battle. An exact account follows of the forces on both 
sides. 


All night both gods and chiefs equestrian slept, 
But not the sire of all. He, waking soon, 
Mused how to exalt Achilles, and destroy 
No few in battle at the Greecian fleet. 
This counsel, at the last, as best he chose 
And likeliest ; to despatch an evil dream 
To Agamemnon's tent, and to his side 
The phantom summoning, him thus address'd. 

Haste, evil dream ! Fly to the Greecian fleet, 
And, entering royal Agamemnon's tent, 
His ear possess thou thus, omitting nought 
Of all that I enjoin thee. Bid him arm 
His universal host, for that the time 
When the Achaians shall at length possess 
Wide Ilium, hath arrived. The gods above 
No longer dwell at variance. The request 
Of Juno hath prevail'd ; now, woe to Troy ! 

So charged, the dream departed. At the ships 
Well-built arriving of Achaia's host, 
He Agamemnon, son of Atreus, sought. 
Him sleeping in his tent he found, immersed 
In soft repose ambrosial. At his head 
The shadow stood, similitude exact 
Of Nestor, son of Neleus ; sage, with whom 
In Agamemnon's thought might none compare. 
His form assumed, the sacred dream began. 

O son of Atreus the renown'd in arms 
And in the race ! Sleep'st thou ? It ill behoves 
To sleep all night the man of high employ, 
And charged, as thou art, with a people's care. 
Now, therefore, mark me well, who, sent from Jove, 
Inform thee, that although so far remote, 
He yet compassionates and thinks on thee 
With kind solicitude. He bids thee arm 
Thine universal host, for that the time 
When the Achaians shall at length possess 
Wide Ilium, hath arrived. The gods above 
No longer dwell at variance. The requests 
Of Juno have prevail'd. Now, woe to Troy 
From Jove himself ! Her fate is on the wing. 
Awaking from thy dewy slumbers, hold 
In firm remembrance all that thou hast heard. 

So spake the dream, and vanishing, him left 
In false hopes occupied and musings vain. 
Full sure he thought, ignorant of the plan 
By Jove design'd, that day the last of Troy. 
Fond thought ! For toils and agonies to Greeks 
And Trojans both, in many a bloody field 
To be endured, the Thunderer yet ordain'd. 
Starting he woke, and seeming still to hear 
The warning voice divine, with hasty leap 
Sprang from his bed, and sat. His fleecy vest 
New-woven he put on, and mantle wide ; 
His sandals fair to his unsullied feet 
He braced, and slung his ai'gent-studded sword. 
Then, incorruptible for evermore 


The sceptre of his sires he took, with which 
He issued forth into the camp of Greece. 

Aurora now on the Olympian heights 
Proclaiming stood new day to all in heaven, 
When he his clear- voiced heralds bade convene 
The Greeks in council. Went the summons forth 
Into all quarters, and the throng began. 
First, at the ship of Nestor, Pylian king, 
The senior chiefs for high exploits renown'd 
He gather'd, whom he prudent thus address'd. 

My fellow- warriors, hear ! A dream from heaven, 
Amid the stillness of the vacant night 
Appi'oach'd me, semblance close in stature, bulk, 
And air, of noble Nestor. At mine head 
The shadow took his stand, and thus he spake. 

Oh son of Atreus the renown'd in arms 
And in the race, sleep'st thou ? It ill behoves 
To sleep all night" the man of high employ, 
And charged as thou art with a people's care. 
Now, therefore, mark me well, who, sent from Jove, 
Inform thee, that although so far remote, 
He yet compassionates and thinks on thee 
With kind solicitude. He bids thee arm 
Thine universal host ; for that the time 
When the Achaians shall at length possess 
Wide Ilium, hath arrived. The gods above 
No longer dwell at variance. The requests 
Of Juno have prevail'd. Now, woe to Troy 
From Jove himself ! Her fate is on the wing. 
Charge this on thy remembrance. Thus he spake, 
Then vanish'd suddenly, and I awoke. 
Haste therefore, let us arm, if arm we may 1 9 
The warlike sons of Greece ; but first, myself 
Will prove them, recommending instant flight 
With all our ships, and ye throughout the host 
Dispersed, shall, next, encourage all to stay. 

He ceased, and sat ; when in the midst arose 
Of highest fame for wisdom, Nestor, king 
Of sandy Pylus, who them thus bespake. 

Friends, counsellors, and leaders of the Greeks ! 
Had any meaner Argive told his dream, 
We had pronounced it false, and should the more 
Have shrunk from battle ; but the dream is his 
Who boasts himself our highest in command. 
Haste, arm we, if we may, the sons of Greece. 

So saying, he left the council ; him, at once, 
The sceptred chiefs, obedient to his voice, 
Arising, follow'd ; and the throng began. 
As from the hollow rock bees stream abroad, 
And in succession endless seek the fields, 
Now clustering, and now scatter'd far and near,. 
In spring-time, among all the new-blown flowers, 
So they to council swarm'd, troop after troop, 
Greeeians of every tribe, from camp and fleet 
Assembling orderly o'er all the plain 
Beside the shore of ocean. In the midst 
A kindling rumour, messenger of Jove, 
Impell'd them, and they went. Loud was the din 
Of the assembling thousands ; groan'd the earth 
When down they sat, and murmurs ran around. 
Nine heralds cried aloud — Will ye restrain 
Your clamours, that your .heaven-taught kings 

may speak % 
Scarce were they settled, and the clang had ceased, 
When Agamemnon, sovereign o'er them all, 
Sceptre in hand, arose. (That sceptre erst 

i Agamemnon seems to entertain some doubts lest the 
army should so resent his treatment of their favourite 
Achilles, as to be indisposed to serve him. 


262 


THE ILIAD. 


Vulcan with labour forged and to the hand 
Consign'd it of the king, Saturnian Jove ; 
Jove to the vanquisher 1 of Ino's 2 guard, 
And he to Pelops ; Pelops in his turn, 
To royal Atreus ; Atreus at his death 
Bequeath'd it to Thyestes rich in flocks, 
And rich Thyestes left it to be borne 
By Agamemnon, symbol of his right 
To empire over Argos and her isles) 
On that he lean'd, and, rapid, thus began. 

Friends, Greecians, heroes, ministers of Mars ! 
Ye see me here entangled in the snares 
Of unpropitious Jove. He promised once, 
And with a nod confirm'd it, that with spoils 
Of Ilium laden, we should hence return ; 
But now, devising ill, he sends me shamed, 
And with diminish'd numbers, home to Greece. 
So stands his sovereign pleasure, who hath laid 
The bulwarks of full many a city low, 
And more shall level, matchless in his might. 
That such a numei-ous host of Greeks as we, 
Warring with fewer than ourselves, should find 
No fruit of all our toil, (and none appears) 
Will make us vile with ages yet to come. 
For should we now strike truce, till Greece and Troy 
Might number each her own, and were the Greeks 
Distributed in bands, ten Greeks in each, 
Our banded decads should exceed so far 
Their units, that all Troy could not supply 
For every ten, a man, to fill us wine ; 
So far the Achaians, in my thought, surpass 
The native Trojans. But in Troy are those 
Who baffle much my purpose ; aids derived 
From other states, spear-arm'd auxiliars, firm 
In the defence of Ilium's lofty towers. 
Nine years have pass'd us over, nine long years ; 
Our ships are rotted, and our tackle marr'd, 
And all our wives and little ones at home 
Sit watching our return, while this attempt 
Hangs still in doubt, for which that home we left. 
Accept ye then my counsel. Fly we swift 
With all our fleet back to our native land, 
Hopeless of Troy, not yet to be subdued. 

So spake the king, whom all the concourse heard 
With minds in tumult toss'd ; all, save the few, 
Partners of his intent. Commotion shook 
The whole assembly, such as heaves the flood 
Of the Icarian deep, when south and east 
Burst forth together from the clouds of Jove. 
And as when vehement the west-wind falls 
On standing corn mature, the loaded ears 
Innumerable bow before the gale, 
So was the council shaken. With a shout 
All flew toward the ships ; upraised, the dust 
Stood o'er them ; universal was the cry, 
" Now clear the passages, strike down the props, 
Set every vessel free, launch, and away !" 
Heaven rang with exclamation of the host 
All homeward bent, and launching glad the fleet. 
Then baffled fate had the Achaians seen 
Returning premature, but Juno thus, 
With admonition quick to Pallas spake. 

Unconquer'd daughter of Jove segis-arm'd ! 
Ah foul dishonour ! Is it thus at last 
That the Achaians on the billows borne, 
Shall seek again their country, leaving here, 
To be the vaunt of Ilium and her king, 
Helen of Argos, in whose cause the Greeks 


Mercury. 


Argus. 


Have numerous perish'd from their home remote ? 
Haste ! Seek the mail-arm'd multitude, by force 
Detain them of thy soothing speech, ere yet 
All launch their oary barks into the flood. 

She spake, nor did Minerva not comply, 
But darting swift from the Olympian heights, 
Reach'd soon Achaia's fleet. There, she perceived 
Prudent as Jove himself, Ulysses ; firm 
He stood ; he touch'd not even with his hand 
His sable bark, for sorrow whelm'd his soul. 
The Athensean Goddess azure-eyed 
Beside him stood, and thus the Chief bespake. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Why seek ye, thus precipitate, your ships % 
Intend ye flight % And is it thus at last, 
That the Achaians on the billows borne, 
Shall seek again their country, leaving here, 
To be the vaunt of Ilium and her king, 
Helen of Argos, in whose cause the Greeks 
Have numerous perish'd from their home remote ? 
Delay not. Rush into the throng ; by force 
Detain them of thy soothing speech, ere yet 
All launch their oary barks into the flood. 

She ceased, whom by her voice Ulysses knew. 
Casting his mantle from him, which his friend 
Eurybates the Ithacensian caught, 
He ran ; and in his course meeting the son 
Of Atreus, Agamemnon, from his hand 
The everlasting sceptre quick received, 
Which bearing, through Achaia's fleet he pass'd. 
What king soever, or distinguish'd Greek 
He found, approaching to his side, in terms 
Of gentle sort he stay'd him. Sir, he cried, 
It is unseemly that a man renown'd 
As thou, should tremble. Go — Resume the seat 
Which thou hast left, and bid the people sit. 
Thou know'st not clearly yet the monarch's mind. 
He proves us now, but soon he will chastise. 
All were not present ; few of us have heard 
His speech this day in council. Oh, beware, 
Lest in resentment of this hasty course 
Irregular, he let his anger loose. 
Dread is the anger of a king ; he reigns 
By Jove's own ord'nance, and is dear to Jove. 

But what plebeian base soe'er he heard 
Stretching his throat to swell the general cry, 
He laid the sceptre smartly on his back. 
With reprimand severe. Fellow, he said, 
Sit still ; hear others ; thy superiors hear. 
For who art thou ? A dastard and a drone, 
Of none account in council, or in arms. 
By no means may we all alike bear sway 
At Ilium ; such plurality of kings 
Were evil. One suffices. One, to Avhom 
The son of politic Saturn hath assign'd 
The sceptre, and inforcement of the laws, 
That he may rule us as a monarch ought. 

With such authority the troubled host 
He sway'd ; they, quitting camp and fleet again, 
Rush'd back to council ; deafening was the sound 
As when a billow of the boisterous deep 
Some broad beach dashes, and the ocean roars. 

The host all seated, and the benches fill'd, 
Thersites, only of loquacious tongue 
Ungovern'd, clamour'd mutinous ; a wretch 
Of utterance prompt, but in coarse phrase obscene 
Deep learn'd alone, with which to slander kings. 
Might he but set the rabble in a roar, 
He cared not with what jest ; of all from Greece 
To Ilium sent, his country's chief reproach. 


THE ILIAD. 


2G3 


Cross-eyed he was, and halting moved on legs 

Ill-pair'd ; his gibbous shoulders o'er his breast 

Contracted, pinch'd it ; to a peak his head 

Was moulded sharp, and sprinkled thin with hair 

Of starveling length, flimsy and soft as down. 

Achilles and Ulysses had incurr'd 

Most his aversion ; them he never spared ; 

But now, imperial Agamemnon 'self 

In piercing accents stridulous he charged 

With foul reproach. The Greecians with contempt 

Listen'd, and indignation, while with voice 

At highest pitch, he thus the monarch mock'd. 

What would'st thou now 1 Whereof is thy com- 
plaint 
Now, Agamemnon ? Thou hast fill'd thy tents 
With treasure, and the Greecians, when they take 
A city, chuse the loveliest girls for thee. 
Is gold thy wish ? More gold ? A ransom brought 
By some chief Trojan for his son's release, 
Whom I, or other valiant Greek may bind ? 
Or would'st thou yet a virgin, one, by right 
Another's claim, but made by force thine own ? 
It was not well, great Sir, that thou shouldst bring 
A plague on the Achaians, as of late. 
But come, my Greecian sisters, soldiers named 
Unfitly, of a sex too soft for war, 
Come, let us homeward : let him here digest 
What he shall gorge, alone ; that he may learn 
If our assistance profit him or not. 
For when he shamed Achilles, he disgraced 
A chief far worthier than himself, whose prize 
He now withholds. But tush,— Achilles lacks 
Himself the spirit of a man ; no gall 
Hath he within him, or his hand long since 
Had stopp'd that mouth ', that it should scoff no 

Thus, mocking royal Agamemnon, spake [more. 
Thersites. Instant starting to his side, 
Noble Ulysses with indignant brows 
Survey'd him, and him thus reproved severe. 

Thersites! Railer !— peace. Think not thyself, 
Although thus eloquent, alone exempt 
From obligation not to slander kings. 
I deem thee most contemptible, the worst 
Of Agamemnon's followers to the war ; 
Presume not then to take the names revered 
Of sovereigns on thy sordid lips, to asperse 
Their sacred character, and to appoint 
The Greeks a time when they shall voyage home. 
How soon, how late, with what success at last 
We shall return, we know not : but because 
Achaia's heroes numerous spoils allot 
To Agamemnon, leader of the host, 
Thou therefore from thy seat revilest the king. 
But mark me. If I find thee, as even now, 
Raving and foaming at the lips again, 
May never man behold Ulysses' head 
On these my shoulders more, and may my son 
Prove the begotten of another sire, 
If I not strip thee to that hide of thine. 
As bare as thou wast born, and whip thee hence 
Home to thy galley, sniveling like a boy. 

He ceased, and with his sceptre on the back 
And shoulders smote him. Writhing to and fro, 
He wept profuse, while many a bloody whelk 
Protuberant beneath the sceptre sprang. 
Awe-quell' d he sat, and from his visage mean, 


1 The extremest provocation is implied in this expres- 
sion, which Thersites quotes exactly as he had heard it 
from the lips of Achilles.- 


Deep-sighing, wiped the rheums. It was no time 

For mirth, yet mirth illumined every face, 

And laughing, thus they spake. A thousand acts 

Illustrious, both by well-concerted plans 

And prudent disposition of the host 

Ulysses hath achieved, but this by far 

Transcends his former praise, that he hath quell'd 

Such contumelious rhetoric profuse. 

The valiant talker shall not soon, we judge, 

Take liberties with royal names again. 

So spake the multitude. Then, stretching forth 
The sceptre, city-spoiler chief, arose 
Ulysses. Him beside, herald in form, 
Appeared Minerva. Silence she enjoin' d 
To all, that all Achaia's sons might hear, 
Foremost and rearmost, and might weigh his words. 
He then his counsel, prudent, thus proposed. 

Atrides ! Monarch ! The Achaians seek 
To make thee ignominious above all 
In sight of all mankind. None recollects 
His promise more in steed-famed Argos pledged, 
Here to abide till Ilium wall'd to heaven 
Should vanquish'd sink, and all her wealth be ours. 
No — now, like widow'd women, or weak boys, 
They whimper to each other, wishing home. 
And home, I grant, to the afflicted soul 
Seems pleasant 1 . The poor seaman from his wife 
One month detain'd, cheerless his ship and sad 
Possesses, by the force of wintry blasts, 
And by the billows of the troubled deep 
Fast lock'd in port. But us the ninth long year 
Revolving, finds camp'd under Ilium still. 
I therefore blame not, if they mourn beside 
Their sable barks, the Greecians. Yet the shame 
That must attend us after absence long 
Returning unsuccessful, who can bear \ 
Be patient, friends ! wait only till we learn 
If Calchas truly prophesied, or not ; 
For well we know, and I to all appeal, 
Whom fate hath not already snatch'd away, 
(It seems but yesterday, or at the most 
A day or two before) that when the ships 
Woe-fraught for Priam, and the race of Troy, 
At Aulis met, and we beside the fount 
With perfect hecatombs the gods adored 
Beneath the plane-tree, from whose root a stream 
Ran crystal-clear, there we beheld a sign 
Wonderful in all eyes. A serpent huge, 
Tremendous spectacle ! with crimson spots 
His back all dappled, by Olympian Jove 
Himself protruded, from the altar's foot 
Slipp'd into light, and glided to the tree. 
There on the topmost bough, close-cover' d sat 
With foliage broad, eight sparrows, younglings all, 
Then newly feather'd, with their dam, the ninth. 
The little ones lamenting shrill he gorged, 
While, wheeling o'er his head, with screams the dam 
Bewail'd her darling brood. Her also, next, 
Hovering and clamouring, he by the wing 
Within his spiry folds drew, and devour'd. 
All eaten thus, the nestlings and the dam, 
The god who sent him, signalized him too, 
For him Saturnian Jove transform'd to stone. 
We wondering stood, to see that strange portent 
Intrude itself into our holy rites, 
When Calchas, instant, thus the sign explain'd. 

1 Some for ttSvos here read ir6dos, which reading I 
have adopted for the sake hoth of perspicuity and con- 


26*4 


THE ILIAD. 


Why stand ye, Greeks, astonished ? Ye behold 
A prodigy, by Jove himself produced, 
An omen, whose accomplishment indeed 
Is distant, but whose fame shall never die. 
Even as this serpent in your sight devour'd 
Eight youngling sparrows, with their dam,the ninth, 
So we nine years must war on yonder plain, 
And in the tenth, wide-bulwark d Troy is ours. 

So spake the seer, and as he spake, is done. 
Wait, therefore, brave Achaians ! go not hence 
Till Priam's spacious city be your prize. 

He ceased, and such a shout ensued, that all 
The hollow ships the deafening roar return'd 
Of acclamation, every voice the speech 
Extolling of Ulysses, glorious chief. 

Then Nestor the Gerenian, warrior old, 
Arising, spake ; And, by the gods, he said, 
Ye more resemble children inexpert 
In war, than disciplined and prudent men. 
Where now are all your promises and vows, 
Councils, libations, 'right-hand covenants ? 
Burn them, since all our occupation here 
Is to debate and wrangle, whereof end 
Or fruit, though long we wait, shall none be found. 
But, sovereign, be not thou appall'd. Be firm. 
Relax not aught of thine accustom'd sway, 
But set the battle forth as thou art wont. 
And if there be a Greecian, here and there, 
One ', adverse to the general voice, let such 
Wither alone. He shall not see his wish 
Gratified, neither will we hence return 
To Argos, ere events shall yet have proved 
Jove's promise false or true. For when we climb'd 
Our gallant barks full-charged with Ilium's fate, 
Saturnian Jove omnipotent, that day, 
(Omen propitious !) thunder'd on the right. 
Let no man therefore pant for home, till each 
Possess a Trojan spouse, and from her lips 
Take sweet revenge for Helen's pangs of heart. 
Who then ? What soldier languishes and sighs 
To leave us % Let him dare to lay his hand 
On his own vessel, and he dies the first. 
But hear, king ! I shall suggest a course 
Not trivial. Agamemnon ! sort the Greeks 
By districts and by tribes, that tribe may tribe 
Support, and each his fellow. This perform'd, 
And with consent of all, thou shalt discern 
With ease what chief, what private man deserts, 
And who performs his part. The base, the brave, 
Such disposition made, shall both appear ; 
And thou shalt also know, if heaven or we, 
The gods, or our supineness, succour Troy. 

To whom Atrides, king of men, replied. 
Old chief ! Thou passest all Achaia's sons 
In consultation ; would to Jove our sire, 
To Athenian Pallas, and Apollo ! 
That I had ten such coadjutors, wise 
As thou art, and the royal city soon 
Of Priam, with her wealth, should all be ours. 
But me the son of Saturn, Jove supreme 
Himself afflicts, who in contentious broils 
Involves me, and in altercation vain. 
Thence all that wordy tempest for a girl 
Achilles and myself between, and I 
The fierce aggressor. Be that breach hut heal'd! 
And Troy's reprieve thenceforth is at an end. 
Go — take refreshment now, that we may inarch 
Forth to our enemies. Let each whet well 


1 Nestor is supposed here to glance at Achilles. 


His spear, brace well his shield, well feed his brisk 
High-mettled horses, well survey and search 
His chariot on all sides, that no defect 
Disgrace his bright habiliments of war. 
So will we give the day from morn to eve 
To dreadful battle. Pause there shall be none 
Till night divide us. Every buckler's thong 
Shall sweat on the toil'd bosom, every hand 
That shakes the spear shall ache, and every steed 
Shall smoke that whirls the chariot o'er the plain. 
Woe then to whom I shall discover here 
Loitering among the tents ; let him escape 
My vengeance if he can. The vultures' maw 
Shall have his carcase, and the dogs his bones. 

He spake ; whom all applauded with a shout 
Loud as against some headland cliff the waves 
Roll'd by the stormy south o'er rocks that shoot . 
Afar into the deep, which in all winds 
The flood still overspreads, blow whence they may. 
Arising, forth they rush'd, among the ships 
All scatter'd ; smoke from every tent arose, 
The host their food preparing ; next, his god 
Each man invoked (of the immortals him 
Whom he preferr'd) with sacrifice and prayer 
For safe escape from danger and from death. 
But Agamemnon to Saturnian Jove 
Omnipotent, an ox of the fifth year 
Full-flesh'd devoted, and the princes call'd 
Noblest of all the Greecians to his feast. 
First, Nestor with Idomeneus the king, 
Then either Ajax, and the son he call'd 
Of Tydeus, with Ulysses sixth and last, 
Jove's peer in Avisdom. Menelaus went, 
Heroic chief ! unbidden, for he knew 
His brother's mind with weight of care oppress'd. 
The ox encircling, and their hands with meal 
Of consecration fill'd, the assembly stood, 
When Agamemnon thus his prayer preferr'd. 

Almighty Father ! Glorious above all ! 
Cloud-girt, who dwell'st in heaven thy throne sub- 
Let not the sun go down, till Priam's roof [lime, 
Fall flat into the flames ; till I shall burn 
His gates with fire ; till I shall hew away 
His hack'd and riven corslet from the breast 
Of Hector, and till numerous chiefs, his friends, 
Around him, prone in dust, shall bite the ground. 

So pray'd he, but with none effect. The god 
Received his offering, but to double toil 
Doom'd them, and sorrow more than all the past. 

They then, the triturated barley grain 
First duly sprinkling, the sharp steel infix'd 
Deep in the victim's neck reversed, then stripp'd 
The carcase, and divided at their joint 
The thighs, which in the double cawl involved 
They spread with slices crude, and burn'd with fire 
Ascending fierce from billets sere and dry. 
The spitted entrails next they o'er the coals 
Suspended held. The thighs with fire consumed, 
They gave to each his portion of the maw, 
Then slash'd the remnant, pierced it with the spits, 
And managing with culinary skill 
The roast, withdrew it from the spits again. 
Thus, all their task accomplish'd, and the board 
Set forth, they feasted, and were all sufficed. 
When neither hunger more nor thirst remain'd 
Unsatisfied, Gerenian Nestor spake. 

Atrides ! Agamemnon ! King of men ! 
No longer waste we time in useless words, 
Nor to a distant hour postpone the work [forth, 
To which heaven calls thee. Send thine heralds 


THE ILIAD. 


265 


Who shall convene the Achaians at the fleet, 
That, we, the chiefs assembled here, may range, 
Together, the imbattled multitude, 
And edge their spirits for immediate fight. 

He spake, nor Agamemnon not complied. 
At once he bade his clear-voiced heralds call 
The Greeks to battle. They the summons loud 
Gave forth, and at the sound the people throng'd. 
Then Agamemnon and the kings of Greece 
Dispatchful drew them into order just, 
With whom Minerva azure-eyed advanced, 
The inestimable segis on her arm, 
Immortal, unobnoxious to decay. 
An hundred braids, close twisted, all of gold, 
Each valued at an hundred beeves 1 , around 
Dependent fringed it. She from side to side 
Her eyes cserulean roll'd, infusing thirst 
Of battle endless into every breast. 
War won them now, war sweeter now to each 
Than gales to waft them over ocean home. 
As when devouring flames some forest seize 
On the high mountains, splendid from afar 
The blaze appears, so, moving on the plain, 
The steel-clad host innumerous flash' d to heaven. 
And as a multitude of fowls in flocks 
Assembled various, geese, or cranes, or swans 
Lithe-neck'd, long hovering o'er Cayster's banks 
On wanton plumes, successive on the mead 
Alight at last, and with a clang so loud 
That all the hollow vale of Asius rings ; 
In number such from ships and tents effused, 
They cover'd the Scamandrian plain ; the earth 
Rebellow'd to the feet of steeds and men. 
They overspread Scamander's grassy vale, 
Myriads, as leaves, or as the flowers of spring. 
As in the hovel where the peasant milks 
His kine in spring-time, when his pails are fill'd, 
Thick clouds of humming insects on the wing 
Swarm all around him, so the Greecians swarm'd 
An uusumm'd multitude o'er all the plain, 
Bright -arm' d, high-crested, and athirst for war. 
As goat-herds separate their numerous flocks 
With ease, though fed promiscuous, with like ease 
Their leaders them on every side reduced 
To martial order glorious ; among whom 
Stood Agamemnon " with an eye like Jove's, 
To threaten or command," like Mars in girth, 
And with the port of Neptune. As the bull 
Conspicuous among all the herd appears, 
For he surpasses all, such Jove ordain 'd 
That day the son of Atreus, in the midst 
Of heroes, eminent above them all. 

Tell me, (for ye are heavenly, and beheld 
A scene, whereof the faint report alone 
Hath reach'd our ears, remote and ill-inform'd) 
Tell me, ye Muses, under whom, beneath 
What chiefs of royal or of humbler note 
Stood forth the embattled Greeks ? The host at 

large ; 
They were a multitude in number more 
Than with ten tongues, and with ten mouths, each 

mouth 
Made vocal with a trumpet's throat of brass, 
I might declare, unless the Olympian nine, 
Jove's daughters, would the chronicle themselves 
Indite, of all assembled, under Troy. 
I will rehearse the captains and their fleets. 

Boeotia's sturdy sons Peneleus led, 

1 Money stamped with the figure of an ox. 


And Leitus, whose partners in command 
Arcesilaus and Prothoenor came, 
And Clonius. Them the dwellers on the rocks 
Of Aulis follow'd, with the hardy clans 
Of Hyrie, Schoenos, Scholos, and the hills 
Of Eteon ; Thespia, Greea, and the plains 
Of Mycalessus them, and Harma served, 
Eleon, Erythrse, Peteon ; Hyle them, 
Ilesius and Ocalea, and the strength 
Of Medeon ; Copse also in their train 
March'd, with Eutresis and the mighty men 
Of Thisbe famed for doves ; nor pass unnamed 
Whom Coronsea, and the grassy land 
Of Haliartus added to the war, 
Nor whom Platsea, nor whom Glissa bred, 
And Hypothebee 1 , and thy sacred groves 
To Neptune, dark Onchestus. Arne claims 
A record next for her illustrious sons, 
Vine-bearing Arne. Thou wast also there 
Mideia, and thou Nissa ; nor be thine 
Though last, Anthedon, a forgotten name. 
These in Boeotia's fair and gallant fleet 
Of fifty ships, each bearing o'er the waves 
Thrice forty warriors, had arrived at Troy. 

In thirty ships deep-laden with the brave, 
Aspledon and Orchomenos had sent 
Their chosen youth ; them ruled a noble pair, 
Sons of Astyoche ; she, lovely nymph, 
Received by stealth, on Actor's stately roof, 
The embraces of a god, and bore to Mars 
Twins like himself, Ascalaphus the bold, 
And bold Ialmenus, expert in arms. 

Beneath Epistrophus and Schedius, took 
Their destined station on Boeotia's left, 
The brave Phocensians ; they in forty ships 
From Cyparissus came, and from the rocks 
Of Python, and from Crissa the divine ; 
From Anemoria, Daulis, Panopeus, 
And from Hyampolis, and from the banks 
Of the Cephissus, sacred stream, and froiri 
Lilsea, seated at its fountain-head. 

Next from beyond Euboea's happy isle 
In forty ships convey 'd, stood forth well arm'd 
The Locrians ; dwellers in Augeia some 
The pleasant, some of Opoeis possess' d, 
Some of Calliarus ; these Scarpha sent, 
And Cynus those ; from Bessa came the rest, 
From Tarpha, Thronius, and from the brink 
Of loud Boagrius ; Ajax them, the swift, 
Son of Oileus led, not such as he 
From Telamon, big-boned and lofty built, 
But small of linib, and of an humbler crest ; 
Yet he, competitor had none throughout 
The Greecians of what land soe'er, for skill 
In ushering to its mark the rapid lance. 

Elphenor brought (Calchodon's mighty son) 
The Euboeans to the field. In forty ships 
From Histrisea for her vintage famed, 
From Chalcis, from Iretria, from the gates 
Of maritime Cerinthus, from the heights 
Of Dios rock-built citadel sublime, 
And from Caristus and from Styra came 
His warlike multitudes, all named alike 
Abantes, on whose shoulders fell behind 
Their locks profuse, and they were eager all 
To split the hauberk with the pointed spear. 

1 Some say Thebes the less, others, the suburbs of 
Thebes the greater. It is certain that Thebes itself sent 
none. 


266 


THE ILIAD. 


Nor Athens had withheld her generous sons, 
The people of Erectheus. Him of old 
The teeming glebe produced, a wonderous birth ! 
And Pallas rear'd him : her own unctuous fane 
She made his habitation, where with bulls 
The youth of Athens, and with slaughter'd lambs 
Her annual worship celebrate. Them led 
Menestheus, whom, (sage Nestor's self except, 
Thrice school'd in all events of human life) 
None rival'd ever in the just array 
Of horse and man to battle. Fifty ships 
Black-prow 'd, had borne them to the distant war 

Ajax from Salamis twelve vessels brought, 
And where the Athenian band in phalanx stood 
Marshal'd compact, there station'd he his powers. 

The men of Argos and Tyrintha next, 
And of Hermione, that stands retired 
With Asine, within her spacious bay ; 
Of Epidaurus, crown'd with purple vines, 
And of Troezena, with the Achaian youth 
Of sea-begirt iEgina, and with thine, 
Maseta, and the dwellers on thy coast, 
Wave-worn E'fonse ; these all obey'd 
The dauntless hero Diomede, whom served 
Sthenelus, son of Capaneus, a chief 
Of deathless fame, his second in command, 
And godlike man, Euryalus, the son 
Of King Mecisteus, Talaiis' son, his third. 
But Diomede controll'd them all, and him 
Twice forty sable ships their leader own'd. 

Came Agamemnon with a hundred ships, 
Exulting in his powers ; more numerous they, 
And more illustrious far than other chief 
Could boast, whoever. Clad in burnish'd brass, 
And conscious of pre-eminence, he stood. 
He drew his host from cities far renown' d, 
Mycenae, and Corinthus, seat of wealth, 
Orneia, and Cleonae bulwark'd strong, 
And lovely Areethyria ; Sicyon, where 
His seat of royal power held at the first 
Adrastus : Hyperesia, and the heights 
Of Gonoessa ; ^Egium, with the towns 
That sprinkle all that far-extended coast, 
Pellene also and wide Helice 
With all their shores, were number'd in his tram. 

From hollow Lacedsemon's glen profound, 
From Phare, Sparta, and from Messa, still 
Resounding with the ring-dove's amorous moan, 
From Brysia, from Augeia, from the rocks 
Of Laas, from Amycla, Otilus, 
And from the towers of Helos, at whose foot 
The surf of ocean falls, came sixty barks 
With Menelaus. From the monarch's host 
The royal brother ranged his own apart, 
And panted for revenge of Helen's wrongs, 
And of her sighs and tears. From rank to rank, 
Conscious of dauntless might he pass'd, and sent 
Into all hearts the fervour of his own. 

Gerenian Nestor in thrice thirty ships 
Had brought his warriors ; they from Pylus came, 
From blythe Arene, and from Thryos, built 
Fast by the fords of Alpheus, and from steep 
And stately vEpy. Their confederate powers 
Sent Amphigenia, Cyparissa veil'd 
With broad redundance of funereal shades, 
Pteleos and Helos, and of deathless fame 
Dorion. In Dorion erst the Muses met 
Thre'i'cian Thamyris, on his return 
From Eurytus, Oechalian Chief, and hush'd 
His song for ever ; for he dared to vaunt 


That he would pass in song even themselves 
The Muses, daughters of Jove eegis-arm'd. 
They, therefore, by his boast incensed, the bard 
Struck blind, and from his memory dash'd severe 
All traces of his once celestial strains. 

Arcadia's sons, the dwellers at the foot 
Of mount Cyllene, where iEpytus sleeps 
Intomb'd ; a generation bold in fight, 
And warriors hand to hand ; the valiant men 
Of Pheneus, of Orchomenos by flocks 
Grazed numberless, of Ripe, Stratia, bleak 
Enispe ; Mantinea city fair, 
Stymphelus and Parrhasia, and the youth 
Of Tegea ; royal Agapenor these, 
Ancseus' offspring, had in sixty ships 
To Troy conducted ; numerous was the crew, 
And skill'd in arms, which every vessel brought, 
And Agamemnon had with barks himself 
Supplied them, for, of inland realms possess'd, 
They little heeded maritime employs. 

The dwellers in Buprasium, on the shores 
Of pleasant Elis, and in all the land 
Myrsinus and the Hyrminian plain between, 
The rock Olenian, and the Alysian fount ; 
These all obey'd four chiefs, and galleys ten 
Each chief commanded, with Epeans fill'd. 
Amphimachus and Thalpius govern'd these, 
This, son of Cteatus, the other, sprung 
From Eurytus, and both of Actor's house. 
Diores, son of Amarynceus, those 
Led on, and, for his godlike form renown'd, 
Polyxenus was chieftain o'er the rest, 
Son of Agasthenes, Augeias' son. 

Dulichium, and her sister sacred isles 
The Echinades, whose opposite aspect 
Looks toward Elis o'er the curling waves, 
Sent forth their powers with Meges at their head, 
Brave son of Phyleus, warrior dear to Jove. 
Phyleus in wrath, his father's house renounced, 
Aud to Dulichium wandering, there abode. 
Twice twenty ships had follow'd Meges forth. 

Ulysses led the Cephallenians bold. 
From Ithaca, and from the lofty woods 
Of Neritus they came, and from the rocks 
Of rude iEgilipa. Crocylia these, 
And those Zacynthus own'd ; nor yet a few 
From Samos, from Epirus join'd their aid, 
And from the opposite Ionian shore. 
Them, wise as Jove himself, Ulysses led 
In twelve fair ships, with crimson prows adorn'd. 

From forty ships, Thoas, Andraemon's son, 
Had landed his iEtolians ; for extinct 
Was Meleager, and extinct the house 
Of Oeneus all, nor Oeneus self survived ; 
To Thoas therefore had yEtolia fallen ; 
Him Olenos, Pylene, Chalcis served, 
With Pleuro, and the rock-bound Calydon. 

Idomeneus, spear-practised warrior, led 
The numerous Cretans. In twice forty ships 
He brought his powers to Troy. The warlike bands 
Of Ciiossus, of Gortyna wall'd around, 
Of Lyctus, of Lycastus chalky-white, 
Of Pheestus, of Miletus, with the youth 
Of Rhytius him obey'd ; nor these were all, 
But others from her hundred cities Crete 
Sent forth, all whom Idomeneus the brave 
Commanded, with Meriones in arms 
Dread as the god of battles blood-imbrued. 

Nine ships Tlepolemus, Herculean-born, 
For courage famed and for superior size, 


THE ILIAD. 


267 


FilPd with his haughty Rhodians. They, in tribes 
Divided, dwelt distinct. Jelyssus these, 
Those Lindus, and the rest the shining soil 
Of white Camirus occupied. Him bore 
To Hercules, (what time he led the nymph 
From Ephyre, and from Sellea's banks, 
After full many a city laid in dust) 
Astyocheia. In his father's house 
Magnificent, Tlepolemus spear-famed 
Had scarce up-grown to manhood's lusty prime, 
When he his father's hoary uncle slew 
Lycimnius, branch of Mars. Then built he ships, 
And, pushing forth to sea, fled from the threats 
Of the whole house of Hercules. Huge toil 
And many woes he suffer'd, till at length 
At Rhodes arriving, in three separate bands 
He spread himself abroad. Much was he loved 
Of all-commanding Jove, who bless'd him there, 
And shower'd abundant riches on them all. 

Nireus of Syma, with three vessels came ; 
Nireus, Aglsea's offspring, whom she bore 
To Charopus the king ; Nireus in form, 
(The faultless son of Peleus sole except) 
Loveliest of all the Greecians call'd to Troy. 
But he was heartless and his men were few. 

Nisyrus, Casus, Crapathus, and Cos 
Where reigned Eurypylus, with all the isles 
Calydnee named, under two valiant chiefs 
Their troops disposed ; Phidippus one, and one, 
His brother Antiphus, begotten both 
By Thessalus, whom Hercules begat. 
In thirty ships they sought the shores of Troy. 

The warriors of Pelasgian Argos next, 
Of Alus, and Alope, and who held 
Trechina, Phthia, and for women fair 
Distinguish'd, Hellas ; known by various names 
Hellenes, Myrmidons, Achaeans, them 
In fifty ships embark'd, Achilles ruled. 
But these were deaf to the hoarse-throated war, 
For there was none to draw the battle forth, 
And give them just array. Close in his ships 
Achilles, after loss of the bright-hair'd 
Briseis, lay, resentful ; her obtain'd 
Not without labour hard, and after sack 
Of Thebes and of Lyrnessus, where he slew 
Two mighty chiefs, sons of Evenus both, 
Epistrophus and Mynes, her he mourn'd, 
And for her sake self-prison'd in his fleet 
And idle lay, though soon to rise again. 

From Phylace, and from the flowery fields 
Of Pyrrhasus, a land to Ceres given 
By consecration, and from I ton green, 
Mother of flocks ; from Antron by the sea, 
And from the grassy meads of Pteleus, came 
A people, whom while yet he lived, the brave 
Protesilaus led ; but him the earth 
Now cover'd dark and drear. A wife he left, 
To rend in Phylace her bleeding cheeks, 
And an unfinish'd mansion. First he died 
Of all the Greeks ; for as he leap'd to land 
Foremost by far, a Dardan struck him dead. 
Nor had his troops, though fill'd with deep regret, 
No leader ; them Podarces led, a chief 
Like Mars in battle, brother of the slain, 
But younger born, and from Iphiclus sprung 
Who sprang from Phylacus the rich in flocks. 
But him Protesilaus, as in years, 
So also in desert of arms excell'd 
Heroic, whom his host, although they saw 
Podarces at their head, still justly mourn'd ; 


For he was fierce in battle, and at Troy 
With forty sable-sided ships arrived. 

Eleven galleys, Pherse on the lake, 
And Boebe, and Iblchus, and the vale 
Of Glaphyrae supplied with crews robust 
Under Eumelus ; him Alcestis, praised 
For beauty above all her sisters fair, 
In Thessaly to King Admetus bore. 

Methone, and Olizon's craggy coast, 
With Meliboea and Thaumasia sent 
Seven ships ; their rowers were good archers all, 
And every vessel dipp'd into the wave 
Her fifty oars. Them Philoctetes, skill'd 
To draw with sinewy arm the stubborn bow, 
Commanded ; but he suffering anguish keen 
Inflicted by a serpent's venom'd tooth, 
Lay sick in Lemnos ; him the Greecians there 
Had left sore wounded, but were destined soon 
To call to dear remembrance whom they left. 
Meantime, though sorrowing for his sake, his troops 
Yet wanted not a chief ; them Medon ruled, 
Whom Rhena to the far-famed conqueror bore 
Oileus, fruit of their unsanction'd loves. 

From Tricca, from Ithome rough and rude 
With rocks and glens, and from Oechalia, town 
Of Eurytus Oechalian-born, came forth 
Their warlike youth by Podalirius led 
And by Machaon, healers both expert 
Of all disease, and thirty ships were theirs. 

The men of Ormenus, and from beside 
The fountain Hypereia, from the tops 
Of chalky Titan, and Asteria's band ; 
Them ruled Eurypylus, Evsemon's son 
Illustrious, whom twice twenty ships obey'd. 

Orthe, Gyrtone, Oloosson white, 
Argissa and Helone ; they their youth 
Gave to control of Polypcetes, son 
Undaunted of Pirithous, son of Jove. 
Him, to Pirithous, (on the self-same day, 
When he the Centaurs punish'd, and pursued 
Sheer to vEthicse driven from Pelion's heights 
The shaggy race) Hippodamia bore. 
Nor he alone them led. With him was join'd 
Leonteus, dauntless warrior, from the bold 
Coronus sprung, who Cseneus call'd his sire. 
Twice twenty ships awaited their command. 

Guneus from Cyphus twenty and two ships 
Led forth ; the Enienes him obey'd, 
And the robust Peroebi, warriors bold, 
And dwellers on Dodona's wintry brow. 
To these were join'd who till the pleasant fields 
Where Titaresius winds ; the gentle flood 
Pours into Peneus all his limpid stores, 
But with the silver-eddied Peneus flows 
Unmixt as oil ; for Stygian is his stream, 
And Styx is the inviolable oath. 

Last with his forty ships, Tenthredon's son, 
The active Prothoiis came. From the green banks 
Of Peneus his Magnesians far and near 
He gather'd, and from Pelion forest-crown'd. 

These were the princes and the chiefs of Greece. 
Say, Muse, who most in personal desert 
Excell'd, and whose were the most warlike steeds 
And of the noblest strain. Their hue, their age, 
Their height the same, swift as the winds of heaven 
And passing far all others, were the mares 
Which drew Eumelus ; on Pierian hills 
The heavenly archer of the silver bow, 
Apollo, bred them. But of men, the chief 
Was Telamonian Ajax, while wrath-bound 


268 


THE ILIAD. 


Achilles lay ; for he was worthier far, 

And more illustrious were the steeds which bore 

The noble son of Peleus ; but revenge 

On Agamemnon leader of the host 

Was all his thought, while in his gallant ships 

Sharp-keel'd to cut the foaming flood, he lay. 

Meantime, along the margin of the deep 

His soldiers hurl'd the disk, or bent the bow, 

Or to its mark dispatch'd the quivering lance. 

Beside the chariots stood the unharness'd steeds 

Cropping the lotus, or at leisure browzed 

On celery wild, from watery freshes gleaned. 

Beneath the shadow of the sheltering tent 

The chariot stood, while they, the charioteers 

Roarn'd here and there the camp, their warlike lord 

Regretting sad, and idle for his sake. 

As if a fire had burnt along the ground, 
Such seem'd their march ; earth groan'd their steps 

beneath ; 
As when in Arimi, where fame reports 
Typhoeus stretch'd, the fires of angry Jove 
Down darted, lash the ground, so groan'd the 

earth 
Beneath them, for they traversed swift the plain. 

And now from Jove, with heavy tidings charged, 
Wind-footed Iris to the Trojans came. 
It was the time of council, when the throng 
At Priam's gate assembled, young and old : 
Them, standing nigh, the messenger of heaven 
Accosted with the voice of Priam's son, 
Polites. He, confiding in his speed 
For sure deliverance, posted was abroad 
On ^Esyeta's tomb, intent to watch 
When the Achaian host should leave the fleet. 
The goddess in his form thus them address'd. 

Oh, ancient monarch ! Ever, evermore 
Speaking, debating, as if all were peace : 
I have seen many a bright-embattled field, 
But never one so throng'd as this to-day. 
For like the leaves, or like the sands they come 
Swept by the winds, to gird the city round. 

But Hector ! chiefly thee I shall exhort. 
In Priam's spacious city are allies 
Collected numerous, and of nations wide- 
Disseminated various are the tongues. 
Let every chief his proper troop command, 
And marshal his own citizens to war. 

She ceased ; her Hector heard intelligent, 
And quick dissolved the council. All took arms. 
Wide flew the gates ; forth rush'd the multitude, 
Horsemen and foot, and boisterous stir arose. 
In front of Ilium, distant on the plain, 
Clear all around from all obstruction, stands 
An eminence high-raised, by mortal men 
Call'd Batiea, but the gods the tomb 
Have named it of Myrinna swift in fight. 
Troy and her aids there set the battle forth. 

Huge Priameian Hector, fierce in arms, 
Led on the Trojans ; with whom march'd the most 
And the most valiant, dexterous at the spear. 

yEneas, (on the hills of Ida him 
The lovely Venus to Anchises bore, 
A goddess by a mortal man embraced) 
Led the Dardanians ; but not he alone ; 
Archilochus with him and Acamas 
Stood forth, the offspring of Antenor, each, 
And well instructed in all forms of war. 

Fast by the foot of Ida, where they drank 
The limpid water of ^Esepus, dwelt 


The Trojans of Zeleia. Rich were they 

And led by Pandarus, Lycaon's son, 

Whom Phoebus self graced with the bow he bore. 

Apsesus, Adrastea, Terie steep, 
And Pitueia — them, Amphius clad 
In mail thick-woven, and Adrastus, ruled. 
They were the sons of the Percosian seer 
Merops, expert in the sooth-sayers' art 
Above all other ; he his sons forbad 
The bloody fight, but disobedient they 
Still sought it, for their destiny prevail'd. 

The warriors of Percote, and who dwelt 
In Practius, in Arisba, city fair, 
In Sestus, in Abydus, march'd behind 
Princely Hyrtacides ; his tawny steeds, 
Strong-built and tall, from Selleentes' bank 
And from Arisba, had him borne to Troy. 

Hippothous and Pilseus, branch of Mars, 
Both sons of Lethus the Pelasgian, they, 
Forth from Larissa for her fertile soil 
Far-famed, the spear-expert Pelasgians brought. 

The Thracians (all whom Hellespont includes 
Within the banks of his swift-racing tide) 
Heroic Acamas and Pirous led. 
Euphemus, offspring of Trcezenus, son 
Of Jove-protected Ceas, was the chief 
Whom the spear-arm'd Ciconian band obey'd. 

Pseonia's archers follow'd to the field 
Pyreechmes ; they from Amydon remote 
Were drawn, where Axius winds ; broad Axius, 
Diffused delightful over all the vale. [stream 

Pyleemenes, a chief of giant might 
From the Eneti for forest-mules renown'd 
March'd with his Paphlagonians ; dwellers they 
In Sesamus and in Cytorus were, 
And by the stream Parthenius ; Cromna these 
Sent forth, and those JEgialus on the lip 
And margin of the land, and some, the heights 
Of Erythini, rugged and abrupt. 

Epistrophus and Odius from the land 
Of Alybe, a region far remote, 
Where veins of silver wind, led to the field 
The Halizonians. With the Mysians came 
Chromis their chief, and Ennomus ; him skill'd 
In augury, but skill'd in vain, his art 
Saved not, but by ^Eacides the swift, 
With others in the Xanthus slain, he died. 

Ascanius, lovely youth, and Phorcis, led 
The Phrygians from Ascania far remote, 
Ai'dent for battle. The Moeonian race, 
(All those who at the foot of Tmolus dwelt) 
Mesthles and Antiphus, fraternal pair, 
Sons of Pylsemenes commanded, both 
Of the Gygsean lake in Lydia born. 

Amphimachus and Nastes led to fight 
The Carians, people of a barbarous speech, 
With the Milesians, and the mountain-race 
Of wood-crown'd Phthira, and who dwelt beside 
Mseander, or on Mycale sublime. 
Them led Amphimachus and Nastes, sons 
Renown'd of Nomion. Like a simple girl 
Came forth Amphimachus with gold bedight, 
But him his trappings from a woeful death 
Saved not, when whirl'd beneath the bloody tide 
To Peleus' stormy son his spoils he left. 

Sarpedon with the noble Glaucus led 
Their warriors forth from farthest Lycia, where 
Xanthus deep-dimpled rolls his oozy tide. 


THE ILIAD. 


269 


BOOK III. 

ARGUMENT. 

The armies meet. Paris throws out a challenge to the 
Greecian Princes. Menelaus accepts it. The terms of 
the combat are adjusted solemnly by Agamemnon on 
the part of Greece, and by Priam on the part of Troy. 
The combat ensues, in which Paris is vanquished, whom 
yet Venus rescues. Agamemnon demands from the 
Trojans a performance of the covenant. 

Now marshal'd all beneath their several chiefs, 

With deafening shouts, and with the clang of arms, 

The host of Troy advanced. Such clang is heard 

Along the skies, when from incessant showers 

Escaping, and from winter's cold, the cranes 

Take wing, and over ocean speed away ; 

Woe to the land of dwarfs ! prepared, they fly 

For slaughter of the small Pygmaean race. 

Not so the Greeks ; they breathing valour came, 

But silent all, and all with faithful hearts 

On succour mutual to the last, resolved. 

As when the south wind wraps the mountain top 

In mist the shepherd's dread, but to the thief 

Than night itself more welcome, and the eye 

Is bounded in its ken to a stone's cast, 

Such from beneath their footsteps dun and dense 

Uprose the dust, for swift they cross'd the plain. 

When host to host opposed, full nigh they stood, 
Then Alexander 1 in the Trojan van 
Advanced was seen, all beauteous as a god ; 
His leopard's skin, his falchion and his bow 
Hung from his shoulder ; bright with heads of brass 
He shook two spears, and challenged to the fight 
The bravest Argives there, defying all. 
Him, striding haughtily his host before 
When Menelaus saw, such joy he felt 
As hunger-pinch 'd the lion feels, by chance 
Conducted to some carcass huge, wild goat, 
Or antler'd stag ; huntsmen or baying hounds 
Disturb not him, he gorges in their sight. 
So Menelaus at the view rejoiced 
Of lovely Alexander, for he hoped 
His punishment at hand. At once, all arm'd, 
Down from his chariot to the ground he leap'd. 

When godlike Paris him in front beheld 
Conspicuous, his heart smote him, and his fate 
Avoiding, far within the lines he shrank. 
As one, who in some woodland height descrying 
A serpent huge, with sudden start recoils, 
His limbs shake under him ; with cautious step 
He slow retires ; fear blanches cold his cheeks ; 
So beauteous Alexander at the sight 
Of Atreus' son dishearten'd sore, the ranks 
Of haughty Trojans enter'd deep again : 
Him Hector eyed, and thus rebuked severe. 

Curst Paris ! Fair deceiver ! Woman-mad ! 
I would to all in heaven that thou hadst died 
Unborn, at least unmated ! happier far 
Than here to have incurr'd this public shame ! 
Well may the Greecians taunt, and laughing loud, 
Applaud the champion, slow indeed to fight 
And pusillanimous, but wonder ous fair. 
Wast thou as timid, tell me, when with those . 
Thy loved companions in that famed exploit, 
Thou didst consort with strangers, and convey 
From distant lands a warrior's beauteous bride 

1 Paris, frequently named Alexander in the original. 


To be thy father's and his people's curse, 
Joy to our foes, but to thyself reproach ? 
Behold her husband ! Darest thou not to face 
The warlike prince ? Now learn how brave a chief 
Thou hast defrauded of his blooming spouse. 
Thy lyre, thy locks, thy person, specious gifts 
Of partial Venus, will avail thee nought, 
Once mixt by Menelaus with the dust. 
But we are base ourselves, or long ago, 
For all thy numerous mischiefs, thou hadst slept 
Secure beneath a coverlet ' of stone. 

Then godlike Alexander thus replied. 
Oh Hector, true in temper as the axe 
Which in the shipwright's hand the naval plank 
Divides resistless, doubling all his force, 
Such is thy dauntless spirit, whose reproach 
Perforce I own, nor causeless nor unjust. 
Yet let the gracious gifts uncensured pass 
Of golden Venus ; man may not reject 
The glorious bounty by the gods bestow'd, 
Nor follows their beneficence our choice. 
But if thy pleasure be that I engage 
With Menelaus in decision fierce 
Of desperate combat, bid the host of Troy 
And bid the Greecians sit ; then face to face 
Commit us, in the vacant field between, 
To fight for Helen and for all her wealth. 
Who strongest proves, and conquers, he, of her 
And her's possess'd, shall bear them safe away ; 
While ye (peace sworn and firm accord) shall dwell 
At Troy, and these to Argos shall return 
And to Achaia praised for women fair. 

He ceased, whom Hector heard with joy; he 
Into the middle space, and with his spear [moved 
Advanced athwart push'd back the Trojan van, 
And all stood fast. Meantime at him the Greeks 
Discharged full volley, showering thick around 
From bo*v and sling ; when with a mighty voice 
Thus Agamemnon, leader of the host. 

Argives ! Be still — shoot not, ye sons of Greece! 
Hector bespeaks attention. Hear the chief ! 

He said, at once the Greecians ceased to shoot, 
And all sat silent. Hector then began. 

Hear me, ye Trojans, and ye Greeks mail-arm'd, 
While I shall publish in your ears the words 
Of Alexander, author of our strife. 
Trojans, he bids, and Greecians on the field 
Their arms dispose ; while he, the hosts between, 
With warlike Menelaus shall in fight 
Contend for Helen, and for all her wealth. 
Who strongest proves, and conquers, he, of her 
And her's possess'd, shall bear them safe away, 
And oaths of amity shall bind the rest. 

He ceased, and all deep silence held, amazed ; 
When valiant Menelaus thus began. 

Hear now me also, on whose aching heart 
These woes have heaviest fallen. At last I hope 
Decision near, Trojans and Greeks between, 
For ye have suffer'd in my quarrel much, 
And much by Paris, author of the war. 
Die he who must, and peace be to the rest. 
But ye shall hither bring two lambs, one white, 
The other black ; this to the earth devote, 
That to the sun. We shall ourselves supply 
A third for Jove. Then bring ye Priam forth, 
Himself to swear the covenant, (for his sons 
Are faithless) lest the oath of Jove be scorn'd 
Young men are ever of unstable mind ; 

1 Aaivov ecrao X'^wj/o. 


270 


THE ILIAD. 


But when an elder interferes, he views 
Future and past together, and insures 
The compact to both parties, uninfringed. 

So Menelaus spake ; and in all hearts 
Awaken'd joyful hope that there should end 
War's long calamities. Alighted each, 
And drew his steeds into the lines. The field 
Glitter'd with arms put off, and side by side, 
Ranged orderly, while the interrupted war 
Stood front to front, small interval between. 

Then Hector to the city sent in haste 
Two heralds for the lambs, and to invite 
Priam ; while Agamemnon, royal chief, 
Talthybius to the Greecian fleet dismiss'd 
For a third lamb to Jove ; nor he the voice 
Of noble Agamemnon disobey'd. 

Iris, ambassadress of heaven, the while, 
To Helen came. Laodice she seem'd, 
Loveliest of all the daughters of the house 
Of Priam, wedded to Antenor's son, 
King Helicaon. Her she found within. 
An ample web magnificent she wove, 
Inwrought with numerous conflicts for her sake 
Beneath the hands of Mars endured by Greeks 
Mail-arm'd, and Trojans of equestrian fame. 
Swift Iris, at her side, her thus address'd. 

Haste, dearest nymph ! a wondrous sight behold! 
Greeks brazen-maiPd,and Trojans steed-renown'd, 
So lately on the cruel work of Mars 
Intent and hot for mutual havoc, sit 
Silent ; the war hath paused, and on his shield 
Each leans, his long spear planted at his side. 
Paris and Menelaus, warrior bold, 
With quivering lances shall contend for thee, 
And thou art his who conquers ; his for ever. 

So saying, the goddess into Helen's soul 
Sweetest desire infused to see again 
Her former lord, her parents, and her home. 
At once o'ermantled with her snowy veil 
She started forth, and as she went, let fall 
A tender tear ; not unaccompanied 
She went, but by two maidens of her train 
Attended, iEthra, Pittheus' daughter fair, 
And soft-eyed Clymene. Their hasty steps 
Convey'd them quickly to the Sceean gate. 
There Priam, Panthous, Clytius, Lampus sat, 
Thymoetes, Hicetaon, branch of Mars, 
Antenor and Ucalegon the wise, 
All, elders of the people ; warriors erst, 
But idle now through age, yet of a voice 
Still indefatigable as the fly's l 
Which perch'd among the boughs sends forth at noon 
Through all the grove his slender ditty sweet. 
Such sat those Trojan leaders on the tower, 
Who, soon as Helen on the steps they saw, 
In accents quick, but whisper'd, thus remark'd. 

Trojans and Greecians wage, with fair excuse, 
Long war for so much beauty. Oh, how like 
In feature to the goddesses above ! 
Pernicious loveliness ! Ah, hence away, 
Resistless as thou art and all divine, 
Nor leave a curse to us, and to our sons. 

So they among themselves ; but Priam call'd 
Fair Helen to his side. My daughter dear ! 
Come, sit beside me. Thou shalt hence discern 

1 Not the grasshopper, hut an insect well known in hot 
countries, and which in Italy is called cicala. The grass- 
hopper rests on the ground, but the favourite abode of the 
cicala is in trees and hedges. 


Thy former lord, thy kindred and thy friends. 
I charge no blame on thee. The gods have caused, 
Not thou, this lamentable war to Troy. 
Name to me yon Achaian chief for bulk 
Conspicuous, and for port. Taller indeed 
I may perceive than he ; but with these eyes 
Saw never yet such dignity, and grace. 
Declare his name. Some royal chief he seems. 

To whom thus Helen, loveliest of her sex. 
My other sire ! by me for ever held 
In reverence, and with filial fear beloved ! 
Oh that some cruel death had been my choice, 
Rather than to abandon, as I did, 
All joys domestic, matrimonial bliss, 
Brethren, dear daughter, and companions dear, 
A wanderer with thy son. Yet I alas ! 
Died not, and therefore now, live but to weep. 
But I resolve thee. Thou behold'st the son 
Of Atreus, Agamemnon, mighty king, 
In arms heroic, gracious in the throne, 
And, (though it shame me now to call him such) 
By nuptial ties a brother once to me. 

Then him the ancient king admiring, said. 
Oh blest Atrides, happy was thy birth, 
And thy lot glorious, whom this gallant host 
So numerous, of the sons of Greece obey ! 
To vine-famed Phrygia, in my days of youth, 
I journey'd; many Phrygians there I saw, 
Brave horsemen, and expert ; they were the powers 
Of Otreus and of Mygdon, godlike chief, 
And on the banks of Sangar's stream encamp'd. 
I march'd among them, chosen in that war 
Ally of Phrygia, and it was her day 
Of conflict with the man-defying race, 
The Amazons ; yet multitudes like these 
Thy bright-eyed Greeks, I saw not even there. 

The venerable king observing next 
Ulysses, thus enquired. My child, declare 
Him also. Shorter by the head he seems 
Than Agamemnon, Atreus' mighty son, 
But shoulder'd broader, and of ampler chest ; 
He hath disposed his armour on the plain, 
But like a ram, himself the warrior ranks 
Ranges majestic ; like a ram full-fleeced 
By numerous sheep encompass'd snowy-white. 

To whom Jove's daughter Helen thus replied. 
In him the son of old Laertes know, 
Ulysses ; born in Ithaca the rude, 
But of a piercing wit, and deeply wise. 

Then answer thus, Antenor sage return'd. 
Princess, thou hast described him : hither once 
The noble Ithacan, on thy behalf 
Embassador with Menelaus, came : 
Beneath my roof, with hospitable fare 
Friendly I entertain' d them. Seeing then 
Occasion opportune, I closely mark'd 
The genius and the talents of the chiefs, 
And this I noted well ; that when they stood 
Amid the assembled counsellors of Troy, 
Then Menelaus his advantage show'd, 
Who by the shoulders overtopp'd his friend. 
But when both sat, Ulysses in his air 
Had more of state and dignity than he. 
In the delivery of a speech address'd 
To the full senate, Menelaus used 
Few words, but to the matter, fitly ranged, 
And with much sweetness utter'd ; for in loose 
And idle play of ostentatious terms 
He dealt not, though he were the younger man. 
But when the wise Ulysses from his seat 




THE ILIAD. 


271 


Had once arisen, he would his downcast eyes 
So rivet on the earth, and with a hand 
That seem'd untutor'd in its use, so hold 
His sceptre, swaying it to neither side, 
That hadst thou seen him, thou hadst thought him, 
Some chafed and angry idiot, passion-fixt. [sure, 
Yet, when at length, the clear and mellow base 
Of his deep voice brake forth, and he let fall 
His chosen words like flakes of feather'd snow, 
None then might match Ulysses ; leisure, then, 
Found none to wonder at his noble form. 

The third of whom the venerable king 
Enquired, was Ajax. — Yon Achaian tall, 
Whose head and shoulders tower above the rest, 
And of such bulk prodigious — who is he % 

Him answer'd Helen, loveliest of her sex. 
A bulwark of the Greeks. In him thou seest 
Gigantic Ajax. Opposite appear 
The Cretans, and among the chiefs of Crete 
Stands, like a god, Idomeneus. Him oft 
From Crete arrived, was Menelaus wont 
To entertain ; and others now I see, 
Achaians, whom I could recal to mind, 
And give to each his name ; but two brave youths 
I yet discern not ; for equestrian skill 
One famed, and one a boxer never foil'd ; 
My brothers ; born of Leda ; sons of Jove ; 
Castor and Pollux. Either they abide 
In lovely Sparta still, or if they came, 
Decline the fight, by my disgrace abash'd, 
And the reproaches which have fallen on me. 

She said ; but they already slept inhumed 
In Lacedemon, in their native soil. 

And now the heralds, through the streets of Troy 
Charged with the lambs, and with a goat- skin filled 
With heart-exhilarating wine prepared 
For that divine solemnity, return'd. 
Idseus in his hand a beaker bore 
Resplendent, with its fellow cups of gold, 
And thus he summon'd ancient Priam forth. 

Son of Laomedon, arise. The chiefs 
Call thee, the chiefs of Ilium and of Greece. 
Descend into the plain. We strike a truce, 
And need thine oath to bind it. Paris fights 
With warlike Menelaus for his spouse ; 
Their spears decide the strife. The conqueror wins 
Helen and all her treasures. We, thenceforth, 
(Peace sworn and amity) shall dwell secure 
In Troy, while they to Argos shall return 
And to Achaia praised for women fair. 

He spake, and Priam, shuddering, bade his train 
Prepare his steeds ; they sedulous obey'd. 
First, Priam mounting, backward stretch'd the 
Antenor, next, beside him sat, and through [reins; 
The Scsean gate they drove into the plain. 
Arriving at the hosts of Greece and Troy 
They left the chariot, and proceeded both 
Into the interval between the hosts. 

Then uprose Agamemnon, and uprose 
All-wise Ulysses. Next, the heralds came 
Conspicuous forward, expediting each 
The ceremonial ; they the beaker fill'd 
With wine, and to the hands of all the kings 
Minister'd water. Agamemnon then 
Drawing his dagger which he ever bore 
Appendant to his heavy falchion's sheath, 
Cut off the forelocks of the lambs, of which 
The heralds gave to every Greecian chief 
A portion, and to all the chiefs of Troy. 
Then Agamemnon raised his hands, and pray'd. 


Jove, Father, who from Ida stretchest forth 
Thine arm omnipotent, o'erruling all, 
And thou, all-seeing and all-hearing sun, 
Ye livers, and thou conscious earth, and ye 
Who under earth on human kind avenge 
Severe, the guilt of violated oaths, 
Hear ye, and ratify what now we swear ! 
Should Paris slay the hero amber-hair'd, 
My brother Menelaus, Helen's wealth 
And Helen's self are his, and all our host 
Shall home return to Greece ; but should it chance 
That Paris fall by Menelaus' hand, 
Then Troy shall render back what she detains, 
With such amercement as is meet, a sum 
To be remember'd in all future times. 
Which penalty should Priam and his sons 
Not pay, though Paris fall, then here in arms 
I will contend for payment of the mulct 
My due, till, satisfied, I close the war. 

He said, and with his ruthless steel the lambs 
Stretch'd panting all, but soon they ceased to pant, 
For mortal was the stroke. Then drawing forth 
Wine from the beaker, they with brimming cups 
Hail'd the immortal gods, and pray'd again, 
And many a Greecian thus and Trojan spake. 

All-glorious Jove, and ye the powers of heaven, 
Whoso shall violate this contract first, 
So be the brains of them and of their sons 
Pour'd out, as we this wine pour on the earth, 
And may their wives bring forth to other men ! 

So they : but them Jove heard not. Then arose 
Priam, the son of Dardanus, and said, 

Hear me, ye Trojans and ye Greeks well-arm'd. 
Hence back to wind-swept Ilium I return, 
Unable to sustain the sight, my son 
With warlike Menelaus match'd in arms. 
Jove knows, and the immortal gods, to whom 
Of both, this day is preordain'd the last. 

So spake the godlike monarch, and disposed 
Within the royal chariot all the lambs ; 
Then, mounting, check'd the reins ; Antenor next 
Ascended, and to Ilium both return'd. 

First, Hector and Ulysses, noble chief, 
Measured the ground ; then taking lots for proof 
Who of the combatants should foremost hurl 
His spear, they shook them in a brazen casque ; 
Meantime the people raised their hands on high, 
And many a Greecian thus and Trojan pray'd. 

Jove, Father, who on Ida seated, seest 
And rulest all below, glorious in power ! 
Of these two champions, to the drear abodes 
Of Ades him appoint who furnish'd first 
The cause of strife between them, and let peace 
Oath-bound, and amity unite the rest ! 

So spake the hosts ; then Hector shook the lots, 
Majestic chief, turning his face aside. 
Forth sprang the lot of Paris. They in ranks 
Sat all, where stood the fiery steeds of each, 
And where his radiant arms lay on the field. 
Illustrious Alexander his bright arms 
Put on, fair Helen's paramour. He clasp 'd 
His polish 'd greaves with silver studs secured ; 
His brother's corslet to his breast he bound, 
Lycaon's, apt to his own shape and size, 
And slung athwart his shoulders, bright emboss'd, 
His brazen sword ; his massy buckler broad 
He took, and to his graceful head his casque 
Adjusted elegant, which, as he moved, 
Its bushy crest waved dreadful ; last he seized, 
Well fitted to his gripe, his ponderous spear. 


272 


THE ILIAD. 


Meantime the hero Menelaus made 
Like preparation, and his arms put on. 

When thus, from all the multitude apart, 
Both combatants had arm'd, with eyes that flash'd 
Defiance, to the middle space they strode, 
Trojans and Greeks between. Astonishment 
Seized all beholders. On the measured ground 
Full near they stood, each brandishing on high 
His massy spear, and each was fiery wroth. 

First, Alexander his long-shadow 'd spear 
Sent forth, and on his smooth shield's surface struck 
The son of Atreus, but the brazen guard 
Pierced not, for at the disk, with blunted point 
Reflex, his ineffectual weapon stay'd. 
Then Menelaus to the fight advanced 
Impetuous, after prayer offer'd to Jove. 

King over all ! now grant me to avenge 
My wrongs on Alexander ; now subdue 
The aggressor under me ; that men unborn 
May shudder at the thought of faith abused, 
And hospitality with rape repaid. 

He said, and brandishing his massy spear, 
Dismiss'd it. Through the burnish'd buckler broad 
Of Priam's son the stormy weapon flew, 
Transpierced his costly hauberk, and the vest 
Ripp'd on his flank ; but with a sideward bend 
He baffled it, and baulk'd the dreadful death. 

Then Menelaus drawing his bright blade, 
Swung it aloft, and on the hairy crest 
Smote him ; but shiver'd into fragments small 
The falchion at the stroke fell from his hand. 
Vexation fill'd him ; to the spacious heavens 
He look'd, and with a voice of woe exclaim' d — 

Jupiter ! of all powers by man adored 
To me most adverse ! Confident I hoped 
Revenge for Paris' treason, but my sword 
Is shiver'd, and I sped my spear in vain. 

So saying, he sprang on him, and his long crest 
Seized fast ; then turning, drew him by that hold 
Toward the Greecian host. The broider'd band 
That underbraced his helmet at the chin, 
Strain'd to his smooth neck with a ceaseless force, 
Choak'd him ; and now had Menelaus won 
Deathless renown, dragging him off the field, 
But Venus, foam-sprung goddess, feeling quick 
His peril imminent, snapp'd short the brace 
Though stubborn, by a slaughter'd l ox supplied, 
And the void helmet follow'd as he pull'd. 
That prize the hero, whirling it aloft, 
Threw to his Greeks, who caught it and secured, 
Then with vindictive strides he rush'd again 
On Paris, spear in hand ; but him involved 
In mist opaque Venus with ease divine 
Snatch 'd thence, and in his chamber placed him, 

fill'd 
With scents odorous, spirit-soothing sweets. 
Nor stay'd the Goddess, but at once in quest 
Of Helen went ; her on a lofty tower 
She found, where many a damsel stood of Troy, 
And twitch'd her fragrant robe. In form she seem'd 
An ancient matron, who, while Helen dwelt 
In Lacedsemon, her unsullied wool 
Dress'd for her, faithfullest of all her train. 
Like her disguised the goddess thus began. 

Haste — Paris calls thee — on his sculptured couch, 
(Sparkling alike his looks and his attire) 

1 Because the hide of a beast that dies in health is 
tougher and fitter for use than of another that dies dis- 
eased. 


He waits thy wish'd return. Thou would'st not 

dream 
That he had fought ; he rather seems prepared 
For dance, or after dance, for soft repose. 

So saying, she tumult raised in Erelen's mind. 
Yet soon as by her symmetry of neck, 
By her love-kindling breasts and luminous eyes 
She knew the goddess, her she thus bespake. 

Ah whence, deceitful deity ! thy wish 
Now to ensnare me % Wouldst thou lure me, say, 
To some fair city of Mseonian name 
Or Phrygian, more remote from Sparta still ? 
Hast thou some human favourite also there ? 
Is it because Atrides hath prevail'd 
To vanquish Paris, and would bear me home 
Unworthy as I am, that thou attempt'st 
Again to cheat me ? Go thyself — sit thou 
Beside him, — for his sake renounce the skies ; 
Watch him, weep for him ; till at length his wife 
He deign to make thee, or perchance his slave. 
I go not (now to go were shame indeed) 
To dress his couch ; nor will I be the jest 
Of all my sex in Ilium. Oh ! my griefs 
Are infinite, and more than I can bear, [censed. 

To whom, the foam-sprung goddess, thus in- 
Ah wretch ! provoke not me ; lest in my wrath 
Abandoning thee, I not hate thee less 
Than now I fondly love thee, and beget 
Such detestation of thee in all hearts, 
Greecian and Trojan, that thou die abhorr'd. 

The goddess ceased. Jove's daughter, Helen, 
fear'd, 
And, in her lucid veil close Avrapt around, 
Silent retired, of all those Trojan dames 
Unseen, and Venus led, herself, the way. 
Soon then as Alexander's fair abode 
They reach'd, her maidens quick their tasks re- 
sumed, 
And she to her own chamber lofty-roof 'd 
Ascended, loveliest of her sex. A seat 
For Helen, daughter of Jove segis-arm'd, 
To Paris opposite, the queen of smiles 
Herself disposed ; but with averted eyes 
She sat before him, and him keen reproach'd. 

Thou hast escaped. — Ah would that thou had'st 
By that heroic arm, mine husband's erst ! [died 
Thou once didst vaunt thee in address and strength 
Superior. Go then — challenge yet again 
The warlike Menelaus forth to fight. 
But hold. The hero of the amber locks 
Provoke no more so rashly, lest the point 
Of his victorious spear soon stretch thee dead. 

She ended, to whom Paris thus replied. 
Ah Helen, wound me not with taunt severe ! 
Me, Menelaus, by Minerva's aid, 
Hath vanquish'd now, who may hereafter, him. 
We also have our Gods. But let us love. 
For never since the day when thee I bore 
From pleasant Lacedsemon o'er the waves 
To Cranae's fair isle, and first enjoy 'd 
Thy beauty, loved I as I love thee now, 
Or felt such sweetness of intense desire. 

He spake, and sought his bed, whom follow'd soon 
Jove's daughter, reconciled to his embrace. 

But Menelaus like a lion ranged 
The multitude, enquiring far and near 
For Paris lost. Yet neither Trojan him 
Nor friend of Troy could show, whom, else, through 
None had conceal'd, for him as death itself [love 
All hated, but his going none had seen. 


THE ILIAD. 


273 


Amidst them all then spake the king of men. 
Trojans, and Dardans, and allies of Troy ! 
The warlike Menelaus hath prevail' d, 
As is most plain. Now therefore bring ye forth 
Helen with all her treasures ; also bring 
Such large amercement as is meet, a sum 
To be remember'd in all future times. 

So spake Atrides, and Achaia's host 
With loud applause confirm'd the monarch's claim. 


BOOK IY. 


ARGUMENT. 

In a council of the gods, a dispute arises between Jupiter 
and Juno, which is at last compromised, Jove consent- 
ing to dispatch Minerva with a charge to incite some 
Trojan to a violation of the truce. Minerva descends 
for that purpose, and in the form of Laodocus, a son of 
Priam, exhorts Pandarus to shoot at Menelaus, and 
succeeds. . Menelaus is wounded, and Agamemnon 
having consigned him to the care of Machaon, goes forth 
to perform the duties of commander in chief, in the 
encouragement of his host to battle. The battle begins. 


Now, on the golden floor of Jove's abode 
The gods all sat consulting ; Hebe them, 
Graceful, with nectar served ; they pledging each 
His next, alternate quaff 'd from cups of gold, 
And at their ease reclined, look'd down on Troy ; 
When, sudden, Jove essay'd by piercing speech 
Invidious, to enkindle Juno's ire. 

Two goddesses on Menelaus' part 
Confederate stand, Juno in Argos known, 
Pallas in Alalcomene 1 ; yet they 
Sequester'd sit, look on, and are amused. 
Not so smile-loving Venus ; she, beside 
Her champion station'd, saves him from his fate, 
And at this moment, by her aid, he lives. 
But now, since victory hath proved the lot 
Of warlike Menelaus, weigh ye well 
The matter ; shall we yet the ruinous strife 
Prolong between the nations, or consent 
To give them peace ? should peace your preference 
And prove alike acceptable to all, [win, 

Stand Ilium, and let Menelaus bear 
Helen of Argos back to Greece again. 

He ended ; Juno and Minerva heard, 
Low-murmuring deep disgust ; for side by side 
They forging sat calamity to Troy. 
Minerva through displeasure against Jove 
Nought utter'd, for with rage her bosom boil'd ; 
But Juno check'd not hers, who thus replied. 

What wordhathpass'd thy lips, Jove most severe! 
How ? wouldst thou render fruitless all my pains ? 
The sweat that I have pour'd % my steeds them- 
selves 
Have fainted while I gather'd Greece in arms 
For punishment of Priam and his sons. 
Do it. But small thy praise shall be in heaven. 

Thenherthe Thunderer answer'd sore displeased. 
Ah shameless ! how have Priam and his sons 
So much transgress'd against thee, that thouburn'st 
With ceaseless rage to ruin populous Troy ? 
Go, make thine entrance at her lofty gates, 
Priam and all his house, and all his host 


1 A town of that name in Bceotia, where Pallas was par- 
ticularly worshipped. 


Alive devour ; then, haply, thou wilt rest ; 

Do even as thou wilt, that this dispute 

Live not between us a consuming fire 

For ever. But attend ; mark well the word. 

When I shall also doom in future time 

Some city to destruction, dear to thee, 

Oppose me not, but give my fury way 

As I give way to thine, not pleased myself, 

Yet not unsatisfied, so thou be pleased. 

For of all cities of the sons of men, 

And which the sun and stars from heaven behold, 

Me sacred Troy most pleases, Priam me 

Most, and the people of the warrior king. 

Nor without cause. They feed mine altar well ; 

Libation there, and steam of savoury scent 

Fail not, the tribute which by lot is ours. 

Him answer'd, then, the goddess ample-eyed », 
Majestic Juno : Three fair cities me, 
Of all the earth, most interest and engage, 
Mycense for magnificence renown'd, 
Argos and Sparta. Them, when next thy wrath 
Shall be inflamed against them, lay thou waste ; 
I will not interpose on their behalf ; 
Thou shalt not hear me murmur ; what avail 
Complaint or force against thy matchless arm ? 
Yet were it most unmeet that even I 
Should toil in vain ; I also boast a birth 
Celestial ; Saturn deeply wise, thy sire, 
Is also mine ; our origin is one. 
Thee I acknowledge sovereign, yet account 
Myself entitled by a twofold claim 
To veneration both from gods and men, 
The daughter of Jove's sire, and spouse of Jove. 
Concession mutual therefore both thyself 
Befits and me, whom when the Gods perceive 
Disposed to peace, they also shall accord. 
Come then. — To yon dread field dispatch in haste 
Minerva, with command that she incite 
The Trojans first to violate their oath 
By some fresh insult on the exulting Greeks. 

So Juno ; nor the sire of all refused, 
But in wing'd accents thus to Pallas spake. 
Begone ; swift fly to yonder field ; incite 
The Trojans first to violate their oath 
By some fresh insult on the exulting Greeks. 

The Goddess heard, and what she wish'd, enjoin' d, 
Down-darted swift from the Olympian heights, 
In form a meteor, such as from his hand 
Not seldom Jove dismisses, beaming bright 
And breaking into stars, an omen sent 
To mariners, or to some numerous host. 
Such Pallas seem'd, and swift descending, dropp'd 
Full in the midst between them. They with awe 
That sign portentous and with wonder view'd, 
Achaians both and Trojans, and his next 
The soldier thus bespake. Now either war 
And dire hostility again shall flame, 
Or Jove now gives us peace. Both are from Jove. 

So spake the soldiery ; but she the form 
Taking of brave Laodocus, the son 
Of old Antenor, throughout all the ranks 
Sought godlike Pandarus. Ere long she found 
The valiant son illustrious of Lycaon, 
Standing encompass'd by his dauntless troops, 
Broad-shielded warriors, from iEsepus' stream 
His followers ; to his side the Goddess came, 
And in wing'd accents ardent him bespake. 

1 Bocoiris, constant description of Juno, but not suscep- 
tible of literal translation. 


274 


THE ILIAD. 


Brave offspring of Lycaon, is there hope 
That thou wilt hear my counsel 1 darest thou slip 
A shaft at Menelaus ? much renown 
Thou shalt and thanks from all the Trojans win, 
But most of all, from Paris, prince of Troy. 
From him illustrious gifts thou shalt receive 
Doubtless, when Menelaus he shall see 
The martial sou of Atreus by a shaft 
Subdued of thine, placed on his funeral pile. 
Come. Shoot at Menelaus, glorious Chief ! 
But vow to Lycian Phoebus bow-renown'd 
An hecatomb, all firstlings of the flock, 
To fair Zeleia's walls once safe restored. 

So Pallas spake, to whom infatuate he 
Listening, uncased at once his polish'd bow. 
That bow, the laden brows of a wild goat 
Salacious had supplied ; him on a day 
Forth-issuing from his cave, in ambush placed 
He wounded with an arrow to his breast 
Dispatch'd, and on the rock supine he fell. 
Each horn had from his head tall growth attain'd, 
Full sixteen palms ; them shaven smooth the smith 
Had aptly join'd, and tipt then* points with gold. 
That bow he strung, then, stooping, planted firm 
The nether horn, his comrades bold the while 
Screening him close with shields, lest ere the prince 
Were stricken, Menelaus, brave in arms, 
The Greeks with fierce assault should interpose. 
He raised his quiver's lid ; he chose a dart 
Unflown, full-fledged, and barb'd with pangs of 

death. 
He lodged in haste the arrow on the string, 
And vow'd to Lycian Phoebus bow-renown'd 
An hecatomb, all firstlings of the flock, 
To fair Zeleia's walls once safe restored. 
Compressing next nerve and notch'd arrow-head 
He drew back both together, to his pap 
Drew home the nerve, the barb home to his bow, 
And when the horn was curved to a wide arch, 
He twang'd it. Whizz'd the bowstring, and the reed 
Leap'd off, impatient for the distant throng. 

Thee, Menelaus, then the blessed Gods 
Forgat not ; Pallas huntress of the spoil, 
Thy guardian then, baffled the cruel dart. 
Far as a mother wafts the fly aside 
That haunts her slumbering babe, so far she drove 
Its course aslant, directing it herself 
Against the golden clasps that join'd his belt; 
For there the doubled hauberk interposed. 
The bitter arrow plunged into his belt. 
It pierced his broider'd belt, stood fixt within 
His twisted hauberk, nor the interior quilt, 
Though penetrable least to arrow-points 
And his best guard, withheld it, but it pass'd 
That also, and the Hero's skin inscribed. 
Quick flowed a sable current from the wound. 

As when a Carian or Moeonian maid 
Impurples ivory ordain'd to grace 
The cheek of martial steed ; safe stored it lies, 
By many a Chief desired, but proves at last 
The stately trapping of some prince, the pride 
Of his high pamper'd steed, nor less his own ; 
Such, Menelaus, seem'd thy shapely thighs, 
Thy legs, thy feet, stained with thy trickling blood. 

Shudder'd King Agamemnon when he saw 
The blood fast trickling from the wound, nor less 
Shudder'd himself the bleeding warrior bold. 
But neck and barb observing from the flesh 
Extant, he gather'd heart, and lived again. 
Then royal Agamemnon, sighing, grasp'd 


The hand of Menelaus, and while all 

Their followers sigh'd around them, thus began. 

I swore thy death, my brother, when I swore 
This truce, and set thee forth in sight of Greeks 
And Trojans, our sole champion ; for the foe 
Hath trodden under foot his sacred oath, 
And stain'd it with thy blood. But not in vain, 
The truce was ratified, the blood of lambs 
Pour'd forth, libation made, and right hands join'd 
In holy confidence. The wrath of Jove 
May sleep, but will not always ; they shall pay 
Dear penalty ; their own obnoxious heads 
Shall be the mulct, their children and their wives. 
For this I know, know surely ; that a day 
Shall come, when Ilium, when the warlike king 
Of Ilium and his host shall perish all. 
Saturnian Jove high-throned, dwelling in heaven, 
Resentful of this outrage, then shall shake 
His storm-clad segis over them. He will ; 
I speak no fable. Time shall prove me true. 
But, oh my Menelaus, dire distress 
Awaits me, if thy close of life be come, 
And thou must die. Then ignominy foul 
Shall hunt me back to Argos long-desired ; 
For then all here will recollect their home, 
And, hope abandoning, will Helen yield 
To be the boast of Priam, and of Troy. 
So shall our toils be vain, and while thy bones 
Shall waste these clods beneath, Troy's haughty 
The tomb of Menelaus glory-crown'd [sons 

Insulting barbarous, shall scoff at me. 
So may Atrides, shall they say, perform 
His anger still as he performed it here, 
Whither he led an unsuccessful host, 
Whence he hath sail'd again without the spoils, 
And where he left his brother's bones to rot. 
So shall the Trojan speak ; then open earth 
Her mouth, and hide me in her deepest gulfs ! 

But him, the hero of the golden locks 
Thus cheer'd. My brother, fear not, nor infect 
With fear the Greecians ; the sharp-pointed reed 
Hath touch'd no vital part. The broider'd zone, 
The hauberk, and the tough interior quilt, 
Work of the armourer, its force repress'd. 

Him answer'd Agamemnon, king of men. 
So be it, brother ! but the hand of one 
Skilful to heal shall visit and shall dress 
The wound with drugs of pain-assuaging power. 

He ended, and his noble herald, next, 
Bespake, Talthybius. Haste, call hither quick 
The son of iEsculapius, leech renown'd, 
The prince Machaon. Bid him fly to attend 
The warlike chieftain Menelaus ; him 
Some archer, either Lycian or of Troy, 
A dexterous one, hath stricken with a shaft 
To his own glory, and to our distress. 

He spake, nor him the herald disobey'd, 
But through the Greeks bright-arm'd his course 
The hero seeking earnest on all sides [began 

Machaon. Him, ere long, he station'd saw 
Amid the shielded ranks of his brave band 
From steed-famed Tricca drawn, and at his side 
With accents ardour-wing'd, him thus address'd. 

Haste, Asclepiades ! The king of men 
Calls thee. Delay not. Thou must visit quick 
Brave Menelaus, Atreus' son, for him 
Some archer, either Lycian or of Troy, 
A dexterous one, hath stricken with a shaft 
To his own glory, and to our distress. 

So saying, he roused Machaon, who his course 


THE ILIAD. 


275 


Through the wide host began. Arriving soon 

Where wounded Menelaus stood, while all 

The bravest of Achaia's host around 

The godlike hero press' d, he strove at once 

To draw the arrow from his cincture forth, 

But drawing, bent the barbs. He therefore loosed 

His broider'd belt, his hauberk and his quilt, 

Work of the armourer, and laying bare 

His body where the bitter shaft had plow'd 

His flesh, he suck'd the wound, then spread it o'er 

With drugs of balmy power, given on a time 

For friendship's sake by Chiron to his she. 

While Menelaus thus the cares engross'd 
Of all those chiefs, the shielded powers of Troy 
'Gan move toward them, and the Greeks again 
Put on their armour, mindful of the fight. 
Then hadst thou not great Agamemnon seen 
Slumbering, or trembling, or averse from war, 
But ardent to begin his glorious task. 
His steeds, and his bright chariot brass-inlaid 
He left ; the snorting steeds Eurymedon, 
Offspring of Ptolemy Piraides 
Detain'd apart; for him he strict enjoin'd 
Attendance near, lest weariness of limbs 
Should seize him marshaling his numerous host. 
So forth he went, and through the files on foot 
Proceeding, where the warrior Greeks he saw 
Alert, he roused them by his words the more. 

Argives ! abate no spark of all your fire. 
Jove will not prosper traitors. Them who first 
Transgress'd the truce the vultures shall devour, 
But we (their city taken) shall their wives 
Lead captive, and their children home to Greece. 

So cheer'd he them. But whom he saw supine 
Or in the rugged work of war remiss, 
In terms of anger them he stern rebuked. 

Oh Greeks ! The shame of Argos ! Arrow-doom'd! 
Blush ye not? Wherefore stand ye thus aghast, 
Like fawns which wearied after scouring wide 
The champaign, gaze and pant, and can no more ? 
Senseless like them ye stand, nor seek the fight . 
Is it your purpose patient here to wait 
Till Troy invade your vessels on the shore 
Of the grey deep, that ye may trial make 
Of Jove, if he will prove, himself, your shield ? 

Thus, in discharge of his high office, pass'd 
Atrides through the ranks, and now arrived 
Where, hardy chief ! Idomeneus in front 
Of his bold Cretans stood, stout as a boar. 
The van he occupied, while in the rear 
Meriones harangued the most remote. 
Them so prepared the king of men beheld 
With joyful heart, and thus in courteous terms 
Instant the brave Idomeneus address'd. 

Thee fighting, feasting, howsoe'er employed, 
I most respect, Idomeneus, of all 
The well-horsed Danai ; for when the chiefs 
Of Argos, banqueting, their beakers charge 
With rosy wine the honourable meed 
Of valour, thou alone of all the Greeks 
Drink'st not by measure. No — thy goblet stands 
Replenish'd still, and like myself thou know'st 
No rule or bound, save what thy choice prescribes. 
March. Seek the foe. Fight now as heretofore. 

To whom Idomeneus of Crete replied. 
Atrides ! all the friendship and the love 
Which I have promised will I well perform. 
Go ; animate the rest, chief after chief 
Of the Achaians, that the fight begin. 
For Troy hath scatter'd to the winds all faith, 


All conscience, and for such her treachery foul 
Shall have large recompence of death and woe. 

He said, whom Agamemnon at his heart 
Exulting, pass'd, and in his progress came 
Where stood each Ajax ; them he found prepared 
With all their cloud of infantry behind. 
As when the goat-herd on some rocky point 
Advanced, a cloud sees wafted o'er the deep 
By western gales, and rolling slow along, 
To him who stands remote, pitch-black it seems, 
And comes with tempest charged ; he at the sight 
Shuddering, his flock compels into a cave ; 
So moved the gloomy phalanx, rough with spears, 
And dense with shields of youthful warriors bold, 
Close-following either Ajax to the fight. 

Them also, pleased, the king of men beheld, 
And in wing'd accents hail'd them as he pass'd. 

Brave leaders of the mail-clad host of Greece ! 
I move not you to duty ; ye yourselves 
Move others, and no lesson need from me. 
Jove, Pallas, and Apollo ! were but all 
Courageous as yourselves, soon Priam's towers 
Should totter, and his Ilium storm'd and sack'd 
By our victorious bands, stoop to the dust. 

He ceased, and still proceeding, next arrived 
Where stood the Pylian orator, his band 
Marshaling under all their leaders bold 
Alastor, Chromius, Pelagon the vast, 
Hsemon the prince, and Bias, martial chief. 
Chariot and horse he station'd in the front ; 
His numerous infantry, a strong reserve 
Right valiant, in the rear ; the worst, and those 
In whom he trusted least, he drove between, 
That such through mere necessity might act. 
First to his charioteers he gave in charge 
Their duty ; bade them rein their horses hard, 
Shunning confusion. Let no warrior, vain 
And overweening of his strength or skill, 
Start from his rank to dare the fight alone, 
Or fall behind it, weakening whom he leaves. 
1 And if, dismounted from his own, he climb 
Another's chariot, let him not affect 
Perverse the reins, but let him stand, his spear 
Advancing firm, far better so employ'd. 
Such was the discipline, in ancient times, 
Of our forefathers ; by these rules they fought 
Successful, and laid many a city low. 

So counsel'd them the venerable chief 
Long time expert in arms ; him also saw 
King Agamemnon with delight, and said, 

Old chief ! ah how I wish that thy firm heart 
Were but supported by as firm a knee ! 
But time unhinges all. Oh that some youth 
Had thine old age, and thou wast young again ! 
To whom the valiant Nestor thus replied. 

Atrides, I could also ardent wish 
That I were now robust as when I struck 
Brave Ereuthalion 2 breathless to the ground ! 
But never all their gifts the gods confer 

i Diverse interpretations are given of this passage. I 
have adopted that which to me appeared most plausible. 
It seems to be a caution against the mischiefs that might 
ensue, should the horses be put under the management of 
a driver with whom they were unacquainted. — The scho- 
lium by Villoison much countenances this solution. 

2 Here Nestor only mentions the name of Ereuthalion, 
knowing the present to be an improper time for story- 
telling ; in the seventh book he relates his fight and vic- 
tory at length. This passage may serve to confute those 
who charge Nestor with indiscriminate loquacity. 
t2 


276 


THE ILIAD. 


On man at once ; if then I had the force 
Of youth, I suffer now the effects of age. 
Yet ancient as I am, I will he seen -, 

Still mingling with the charioteers, still prompt 
To give them counsel ; for to counsel youth 
Is the old warrior's province. Let the green 
In years, my juniors, unimpair'd by time 
Push with the'lance,for they have strength to boast. 

So he, whom Agamemnon joyful heard, 
And passing thence, the son of Peteos found 
Menestheus, foremost in equestrian fame, 
Among the brave Athenians ; near to him 
Ulysses held his station, and at hand 
The Cephallenians stood, hardy and bold ; 
For rumour none of the approaching fight ^ 
Them yet had reach'd, so recent had the stir 
Arisen in either host ; they, therefore, watch'd 
Till the example of some other band 
Marching, should prompt them to begin the fight. 
But Agamemnon, thus, the king of men 
Them seeing, sudden and severe reproved. 

Menestheus, son of Peteos prince renown'd, 
And thou, deviser of all evil wiles ! 
Adept in artifice ! why stand ye here 
Appall'd ? why wait ye on this distant spot 
Till others move ? I might expect from you 
More readiness to meet the burning war, 
Whom foremost I invite of all to share 
The banquet, when the princes feast with me. 
There ye are prompt ; ye find it pleasant there 
To eat your savoury food, and quaff your wine 
Delicious, till satiety ensue ; 
But here ye could be well content to stand 
Spectators only, while ten Greecian troops 
Should wage before you the wide-wasting war. 

To whom Ulysses, with resentful tone 
Dark-frowning thus replied. What words are these 
Which have escaped thy lips ; and for what cause, 
Atrides, hast thou call'd me slow to fight ? 
When we of Greece shall in sharp contest clash 
With yon steed-tamer Trojans, mark me then ; 
Then thou shalt see (if the concerns of war 
So nearly touch thee, and thou so incline) 
The father of Telemachus, engaged 
Among the foremost Trojans. But thy speech 
Was light as is the wind, and rashly made. 

When him thus moved he saw, the monarch 
Complacent, and in gentler terms replied, [smiled 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Short reprimand and exhortation short 
Suffice for thee, nor did I purpose more. 
For I have known thee long, that thou art one 
Of kindest nature, and so much my friend 
That we have both one heart. Go therefore thou, 
Lead on, and if a word have fallen amiss, 
We will hereafter mend it, and may heaven 
Obliterate in thine heart its whole effect ! 

He ceased, and ranging still along the line, 
The son of Tydeus, Diomede, perceived, 
Heroic Chief, by chariots all around 
Environ'd, and by steeds, at side of whom 
Stood Sthenelus, the son of Capaneus. 
Him also, Agamemnon, king of men, 
In accents of asperity reproved. 

Ah, son of Tydeus, chief of dauntless heart 
And of equestrian fame ! why standest thou 
Appall'd, and peering through the walks of war ? 
So did not Tydeus. In the foremost fight 
H is favourite station was, as they affirm 
Who witncss'd his exploits ; I never saw 


Or met him, but by popular report 

He was the bravest warrior of his day. 

Yet came he once, but not in hostile sort, 

To fair Mycenee, by the godlike prince 

Attended, Polynices, at what time 

The host was call'd together, and the siege 

Was purposed of the sacred city Thebes. 

Earnest they sued for an auxiliar band, 

Which we had gladly granted, but that Jove 

By unpropitious tokens interfered. 

So forth they went, and on the reedy banks 

Arriving of Asopus, there thy sire 

By designation of the Greeks was sent 

Ambassador, and enter'd Thebes. He found 

In Eteocles' palace numerous guests, 

The sons of Cadmus feasting, among whom, 

Although a solitary stranger, stood 

Thy father without fear, and challenged forth 

Their best to cope with him in manly games. 

Them Tydeus vanquished easily, such aid 

Pallas vouchsafed him. Then the spur-arm'd race 

Of Cadmus was incensed, and fifty youths 

In ambush close expected his return. 

Them, Lycophontes obstinate in fight, 

Son of Autophonus, and M&eon, son 

Of Hcemon, chief of godlike stature, led. 

Those also Tydeus slew ; Mseon except, 

(Whom, warn'd from heaven, he spared, and sent 

him home 
With tidings of the rest) he slew them all. 
Such was ^Etolian Tydeus ; who begat 
A son in speech his better, not in arms. 

He ended, and his sovereign's awful voice 
Tydides reverencing, nought replied ; 
But thus the son of glorious Capaneus. 

Atrides, conscious of the truth, speak truth. 
We with our sires compared, superior praise 
Claim justly. We, confiding in the aid 
Of Jove, and in propitious signs from heaven, 
Led to the city consecrate to Mars 
Our little host, inferior far to theirs, 
And took seven-gated Thebes, under whose walls 
Our fathers by their own imprudence fell. 
Their glory, then, match never more with ours. 

He spake, whom with a frowning brow the brave 
Tydides answer'd. Sthenelus, my friend ! 
I give thee counsel. Mark it. Hold thy peace. 
If Agamemnon, who hath charge of all, 
Excite his well-appointed host to war, 
He hath no blame from me. For should the Greeks 
(Her people vanquish'd) win imperial Troy, 
The glory shall be his ; or, if his host 
O'erpower'd in battle perish, his the shame. 
Come, therefore ; be it ours to rouse at once 
To action all the fury of our might. 

He said, and from his chariot to the plain 
Leap'd ardent ; rang the armour on the breast 
Of the advancing chief ; the boldest heart 
Had felt emotion, startled at the sound. 

As when the waves by Zephyrus up-heaved 
Crowd fast toward some sounding shore, at first, 
On the broad bosom of the deep their heads 
They curl on high, then breaking on the land 
Thunder, and o'er the rocks that breast the flood 
Borne turgid, scatter far the showery spray ; 
So moved the Greeks successive, rank by rank, 
And phalanx after phalanx, every chief 
His loud command proclaiming, while the rest 
As voice in all those thousands none had been, 
Heard mute ; and, in resplendent armour clad, 


THE ILIAD. 


277 


With martial order terrible advanced. 
Not so the Trojans came. As sheep, the flock 
Of some rich man, by thousands in his court 
Penn'd close at milking time, incessant bleat, 
Loud answering all their bleating lambs without, 
Such din from Ilium's wide-spread host arose. 
Nor was their shout, nor was their accent one, 
But mingled languages were heard of men 
From various climes. These Mars to battle roused 
Those Pallas azure-eyed ; nor Terror thence 
Nor Flight was absent, nor insatiate Strife, 
Sister and mate of homicidal Mars, 
Who small at first, but swift to grow, from earth 
Her towering crest lifts gradual to the skies. 
She, foe alike to both, the brands dispersed 
Of burning hate between them, and the woes 
Enhanced of battle wheresoe'er she pass'd. [shield, 
And now the battle join'd. Shield clash'd with 
And spear with spear, conflicting corslets rang, 
Boss'd bucklers met, and tumult wild arose. 
Then, many a yell was heard, and many a shout 
Loud intermix'd, the slayer o'er the maim'd 
Exulting, and the field was drench'd with blood. 
As when two winter torrents rolling down 
The mountains, shoot their floods through gulleys 
Into one gulf below, station'd remote [huge 

The shepherd in the uplands hears the roar ; 
Such was the thunder of the mingling hosts. 
And first, Antilochus a Trojan chief 
Slew Echepolus, from Thalysias sprung, 
Contending valiant in the van of Troy. 
Him smiting on his crested casque, he drove 
The brazen lance into his front, and pierced 
The bones within ; night overspread his eyes, 
And in fierce battle, like a tower, he fell. 
Him fallen by both feet Calchodon's son 
Seized,, royal Elephenor, leader brave 
Of the Abantes, and in haste to strip 
His armour, drew him from the fight aside. 
But short was that attempt. Him so ernploy'd 
Dauntless Agenor mark'd, and as he stoop'd, 
In his unshielded flank a pointed spear 
Implanted deep ; he languid sunk and died. 
So Elephenor fell, for whom arose 
Sharp conflict; Greeks and Trojans mutual flew 
Like wolves to battle, and man grappled man. 
Then Telamonian Ajax, in his prime 
Of youthful vigour Simoisius slew, 
Son of Anthemion. Him on Simois' banks 
His mother bore, when with her parents once 
She came from Ida down to view the flocks,. 
And thence they named him ; but his parents' love 
He lived not to requite, in early youth 
Slain by the spear of Ajax famed in arms. 
For him advancing Ajax at the pap [point 

Wounded ; right through his shoulder driven the 
Stood forth behind ; he fell, and press'd the dust. 
So in some spacious marsh the poplar falls 
Smooth-skinn'd, with boughs unladen save aloft ; 
Some chariot-builder with his axe the trunk 
Severs, that he may warp it to a wheel 
Of shapely form ; meantime exposed it lies 
To parching airs beside the running stream ; 
Such Simoisius seem'd, Anthemion's son, 
Whom noble Ajax slew. But soon at him 
Antiphus, son of Priam, bright in arms, 
Hurl'd through the multitude his pointed spear. 


He err'd from Ajax, but he pierced the groin 
Of Leucus, valiant warrior of the band 
Led by Ulysses. He the body dragg'd 
Apart, but fell beside it, and let fall, 
Breathless himself, the burthen from his hand. 
Then burn'd Ulysses' wrath for Leucus slain, 
And through the foremost combatants, array'd 
jln dazzling arms, he rush'd. Full near he stood, 
And, looking keen around him, hurl'd a lance. 
Back fell the Trojans from before the face 
Dispersed of great Ulysses. Not in vain 
His weapon flew, but on the field outstretch'd 
A spurious son of Priam, from the shores 
Call'd of Abydus famed for fleetest mares, 
Democoon ; him, for Leucus' sake enraged, 
Ulysses through both temples'with his spear 
Transpierced. The night of death hung on his eyes,. 
And sounding on his batter'd arms he fell. 
Then Hector and the van of Troy retired ; 
Loud shout the Greecians ; these draw off the dead, 
Those onward march amain,, and from the heights 
Of Pergamus Apollo looking down 
In anger, to the Trojans call'd aloud.. 

Turn, turn, ye Trojans ! face your Greecian foes» 
They, like yourselves, are vulnerable flesh,. 
Not adamant or steel. Your direst dread 
Achilles, son of Thetis radiant-hair'd, 
Fights not, but sullen in his fleet abides. 

Such from the citadel was heard the voice 
Of dread Apollo. But Minerva ranged 
Meantime, Tritonian progeny of Jove, 
The Greecians, rousing whom she saw remiss. 
Then Amarynceus' son, Diores, felt 
The force of fate, bruised by a rugged rock 
At his right heel, which Pirus, Thracian chief, 
The son of Imbrasus of vEnos, threw.. 
Bones and both tendons in its fall the mass 
Enormous crush'd. He, stretch'd in dust supine, 
With palms outspread toward his warrior friends 
Lay gasping life away. But he who gave 
The fatal blow, Pirus, advancing, urged 
Into his navel a keen lance, and shed 
His bowels forth ; then, darkness veil'd his eyes. 

Nor Pirus long survived ; him through the breast, 
Above the pap, iEtolian Thoas pierced, 
And in his lungs set fast the quivering spear. 
Then Thoas swift approach'd, pluck'd from the 

wound 
His stormy spear, and with his falchion bright 
Gashing his middle belly, stretch'd him dead. 
Yet stripp'd he not the slain, whom with long spears 
His Thracians hairy-scalp'd so round about 
Encompass'd, that though bold and large of limb 
Were Thoas, from before them him they thrust 
Staggering and reeling in his forced retreat. 

They therefore in the dust, the Epean Chief 
Diores, and the Thracian, Pirus lay 
Stretch'd side by side, with numerous slain around. 

Then had Minerva led through all that field 
Some warrior yet unhurt, him sheltering safe 
From all annoyance dread of dart or spear, 
No cause of blame in either had he found 
That day, so many Greeks and Trojans press'd, 
Extended side by side, the dusty plain.. 


1 'AKpoKOfxou They wore only a lock of hair on the 
crown of the head. 


278 


THE ILIAD. 


BOOK V. 


ARGUMENT. 

Diomede is extraordinarily distinguished. He kills Pan- 
darus, who had violated the truce, and wounds first 
Venus, and then Mars. 

Then Athenian Pallas on the son 

Of Tydeus, Diomede, new force conferred 

And daring courage, that the Argives all 

He might surpass, and deathless fame achieve. 

Fires on his helmet, and his shield around 

She kindled, bright and steady as the star 

Autumnal, which in ocean newly bathed 

Assumes fresh beauty ; with such glorious beams 

His head encircling and his shoulders broad, 

She urged him forth into the thickest fight. 

There lived a man in Troy, Dares his name, 
The priest of Vulcan ; rich he was and good, 
The father of two sons, Idseus this, 
That, Phegeus call'd ; accomplish'd warriors both. 
These, issuing from their phalanx, push'd direct 
Their steeds at Diomede, who fought on foot. 
When now small interval was left between, 
First Phegeus his long-shadow' d spear dismiss'd ; 
But over Diomede's left shoulder pass'd 
The point, innocuous. Then his splendid lance 
Tydides hurl'd ; nor ineffectual flew 
The weapon from his hand, but Phegeus pierced 
His paps between, and forced him to the ground. 
At once, his sumptuous chariot left, down leap'd 
Idseus wanting courage to defend 
His brother slain ; nor had he scaped himself 
His louring fate, but Vulcan, to preserve 
His ancient priest from unmixt sorrow, snatch' d 
The fugitive in darkness wrapt, away. 
Then brave Tydides, driving off the steeds, 
Consign'd them to his fellow-warriors' care, 
That they might lead them down into the fleet. 

The valiant Trojaus, when they saw the sons 
Of Dares, one beside his chariot slain, 
And one by flight preserved, through all their host 
Felt consternation. Then Minerva seized 
The hand of fiery Mars, and thus she spake. ■ 

Gore-tainted, homicide, town-battering Mars ! 
Leave we the Trojans and the Greeks to wage 
Fierce fight alone, Jove prospering whom he will, 
So shall we not provoke our father's ire. 

She said, and from the fight conducted forth 
The impetuous deity, whom on the side 
She seated of Scamander deep-embank' d 1 . 

And now the host of Troy to flight inclined 
Before the Greecians, and the chiefs of Greece 
Each slew a warrior. Agamemnon first 
Gigantic Odius from his chariot hurl'd, 
Chief of the Halizonians. He to flight 
Turn'd foremost, when the monarch in his spine 
Between the shoulder-bones his spear infixt, 
And urged it through his breast. Sounding he fell, 
And loud his batter d armour rang around. 

By brave Idomeneus a Lydian died, 
Phaistus, from fruitful Tame sent to Troy, 
Son of Maeonian Borus ; him his steeds 
Mounting, Idomeneus the spear-renown'd [night 
Through his right shoulder pierced ; unwelcome 
Involved him ; from his chariot down he fell, 
And the attendant Cretans stripp'd his arms. 


'HiVfe 


But Menelaus, son of Atreus, slew 
With his bright spear Scamandrius, Strophius' son 
A skilful hunter ; for Diana him, 
Herself, the slaughter of all savage kinds 
Had taught, on mountain or in forest bred. 
But she, shaft-aiming goddess, in that hour 
Avail'd him net, nor his own matchless skill ; 
For Menelaus, Atreus' son spear-famed, 
Him flying wounded in the spine between 
His shoulders, and the spear urged through his 
Prone on his loud-resounding arms he fell, [breast. 

Next, by Meriones Phereclus died, 
Son of Harmonides. All arts that ask 
A well-instructed hand his sire had learn'd, 
For Pallas dearly loved him. He the fleet, 
Prime source of harm to Troy and to himself, 
For Paris built, unskill'd to spell aright 
The oracles predictive of the woe. 
Phereclus fled ; Meriones his flight 
Outstripping, deep in his posterior flesh 
A spear infix'd ; sliding beneath the bone 
It grazed his bladder as it pass'd, and stood 
Protruded far before. Low on his knees 
Phereclus sank, and with a shriek expired. 

Pedseus, whom, although his spurious son, 
Antenor's wife, to gratify her lord, 
Had cherish'd as her own — him Meges slew. 
Warlike Phylides ' following close his flight, 
His keen lance drove into his poll, cut sheer 
His tongue within, and through his mouth enforced 
The glittering point. He, prostrate in the dust, 
The cold steel press'd between his teeth and died. 

Eurypylus, Evemon's son, the brave 
Hypsenor slew ; Dolopion was his sire, 
Priest of Scamander, reverenced as a god. 
In vain before Eurypylus he fled ; 
He, running, with his falchion lopp'd his arm 
Fast by the shoulder ; on the field his hand 
Fell blood-distain'd, and destiny severe 
With shades of death for ever veil'd his eyes. 

Thus strenuous they the toilsome battle waged. 
But where Tydides fought, whether in aid 
Of Ilium's host, or on the part of Greece, 
Might none discern. For as a winter-flood 
Impetuous, mounds and bridges sweeps away ; 
The buttress'd bridge checks not its sudden force, 
The firm inclosure of vine-planted fields 
Luxuriant, falls before it, finish'd works 
Of youthful hinds, once pleasant to the eye, 
Now level'd, after ceaseless rain from Jove ' } 
So drove Tydides into sudden flight 
The Trojans ; phalanx after phalanx fled 
Before the terror of his single arm. 

When him Lycaon's son illustrious saw 
Scouring the field, and from before his face 
The ranks dispersing wide, at once he bent 
Against Tydides his elastic bow. 
The arrow met him in his swift career 
Sure-aim' d ; it struck direct the hollow mail 
Of his right shoulder, with resistless force 
Transfix'd it, and his hauberk stain'd with blood. 
Loud shouted then Lycaon's son renown'd. 

Rush on, ye Trojans, spur your coursers hard. 
Our fiercest foe is wounded, and I deem 
His death not distant far, if me the king 2 
Jove's son, indeed, from Lycia sent to Troy. 

So boasted Pandarus. Yet him the dart 
Qnell'd not. Retreating, at his coursers' heads 


Meges, son of Phyleus. 


Apollo. 


THE ILIAD. 


279 


He stood, and to the son of Capaneiis 
His charioteer and faithful friend he said. 

Arise, sweet son of Capaneus, dismount, 
And from my shoulder draw this bitter shaft. 

He spake ; at once the son of Capaneus 
Descending, by its barb the bitter shaft 
Drew forth ; blood spouted through his twisted 
Incontinent, and thus the hero pray'd. [mail 

Unconquer'd daughter of Jove segis-arm'd ! 
If ever me, propitious, or my sire 
Thou hast in furious fight belp'd heretofore, 
Now aid me also. Bring within the reach 
Of my swift spear, Oh grant me to strike through 
The warrior who hathcheck'd my course, and boasts 
The sun's bright beams for ever quench'd to me ! 

He pray'd, and Pallas heard ; she braced his 
She wing'd him with alacrity divine, [limbs, 

And standing at his side, him thus bespake. 

Now Diomede, be bold ! Fight now with Troy. 
To thee, thy father's spirit I impart 
Fearless ; shield-shaking Tydeus felt the same. 
I also from thine eye the darkness purge 
Which dimm'd thy sight before, that thou may'st 

know 
Both gods and men ; should, therefore other god 
Approach to try thee, fight not with the powers 
Immortal ; but if foam-born Venus come, 
Her spare not. Wound her with thy glittering spear. 

So spake the blue-eyed deity, and went. 
Then with the champions in the van again 
Tydides mingled ; hot before, he fights 
With threefold fury now, nor less enraged 
Than some gaunt lion whom o'erleaping light 
The fold, a shepherd hath but gall'd, not kill'd, 
Him irritating more ; thenceforth the swain 
Lurks unresisting ; flies the abandon'd flock ; 
Heaps slain on heaps he leaves, and with a bound 
Surmounting all impediment, escapes ; 
Such seem'd the valiant Diomede incensed 
To fury, mingling with the host of Troy. 

Astynoiis and Hypenor first he slew ; 
One with his brazen lance above the pap 
He pierced, and one with his huge falchion smote 
Fast by the key-bone 1 , from the neck and spine 
His parted shoulder driving at a blow. 

Them leaving, Polyides next he sought 
And Abas, sons of a dream-dealing seer, 
Eurydamas ; their hoary father's dreams 
Or not interpreted, or kept conceal'd, 
Them saved not, for by Diomede they died.. 
Xanthus and Thoon he encounter'd next, 
Both sons of Phsenops, sons of his old age, 
Who other heir had none of all his wealth, 
Nor hoped another, worn with many years. 
Tydides slew them both ; nor aught remain'd 
To the old man but sorrow for his sons 
For ever lost, and strangers were his heirs. 
Two sons of Priam in one chariot borne 
Echemon next, and Chromius felt his hand 
Resistless. As a lion on the herd 
Leaping, while they the shrubs and bushes browze, 
Breaks short the neck of heifer or of steer, 
So them, though clinging fast and loth to fall, 
Tydides hurl'd together to the ground, 
Then stripp'd their splendid armour, and the 
Consign'd and chariot to his soldiers' care. 

iEneas him discern'd scattering the ranks, 
And through the battle and the clash of spears 

1 Or collar-bone. 


Went seeking godlike Pandarus ; ere long 

Finding LycaOn's martial son renown'd, 

He stood before him, and him thus address'd. 

Thy bow, thy feather'd shafts, and glorious name 
Where are they, Pandarus ? whom none of Troy 
Could equal, whom of Lycia, none excel. 
Come. Lift thine hands to Jove, and at yon chief 
Dispatch an arrow, who afflicts the host 
Of Ilium thus, conquering where'er he flies, 
And who hath slaughter'd numerous brave in arms. 
But him some deity I rather deem 
Avenging on us his neglected rites, 
And who can stand before an angry god ? 

Him answer'd then Lycaon's son renown'd. 
Brave leader of the Trojans brazen- mail'd, 
JEneas ! By his buckler which I know, 
And by his helmet's height, considering too 
His steeds, I deem him Diomede the bold ; 
Yet such pronounce him not, who seems a god. 
But if bold Diomede indeed he be 
Of whom I speak, not without aid from heaven 
His fury thus prevails, but at his side 
Some god, in clouds envelop'd, turns away 
From him the arrow to a devious course. 
Already, at his shoulder's hollow mail 
My shaft hath pierced him through, and him I 
Dismiss'd full sure to Pluto ere his time ; [deem'd 
But he survives ; whom therefore I at last 
Perforce conclude some angry deity. 
Steeds have I none or chariot to ascend, 
Who have eleven chariots in the stands 
Left of Lycaon, with fair hangings all 
O'ermantled, strong, new-finish'd, with their steeds 
In pairs beside them, eating winnow'd grain. 
Me much Lycaon my old valiant sire 
At my departure from his palace gates 
Persuaded, that my chariot and my steeds 
Ascending, I should so conduct my bands 
To battle ; counsel wise, and ill-refused ! 
But anxious, lest (the host in Troy so long 
Immew'd) my steeds, fed plenteously at home, 
Should here want food, I left them, and on foot 
To Ilium came, confiding in my bow 
Ordain'd at last to yield me little good. 
Twice have I shot, and twice I struck the mark, 
First Menelaus, and Tydides next ; 
From each I drew the blood, true, genuine blood 
Yet have but more incensed them. In an hour 
Unfortunate, I therefore took my bow 
Down from the wall that day, when for the sake 
Of noble Hector, to these pleasant plains 
I came, a leader on the part of Troy. 
But should I once return, and with these eyes 
Again behold my native land, my sire, 
My wife, my stately mansion, may the hand 
That moment, of some adversary there 
Shorten me by the head, if I not snap 
This bow with which I charged myself in vain, 
And burn the unprofitable tool to dust. 

To whom iEneas, Trojan chief, replied. 
Nay, speak not so. For ere that hour arrive 
We will, with chariot and with horse, in arms 
Encounter him, and put his strength to proof. 
Delay not, mount my chariot. Thou shalt see 
With what rapidity the steeds of Troy 
Pursuing or retreating, scour the field. 
If after all, Jove purpose still to exalt 
The son of Tydeus, these shall bear us safe 
Back to the city. Come then. Let us on. 
The lash take thou, and the resplendent reins, 


280 


THE ILIAD. 


While I alight for battle, or thyself 

Receive them, and the steeds shall be my care. 

Him answer'd then Lycaon's son renown'd. 
/Eneas ! manage thou the reins, and guide 
Thy proper steeds. If fly at last we must 
The son of Tydeus, they will readier draw 
Directed by their wonted charioteer. 
Else, terrified, and missing thy controul, 
They may refuse to bear us from the fight, 
And Tydeus' son assailing us, with ease 
Shall slay us both, and drive thy steeds away. 
Rule therefore thou the chariot, and myself 
With my sharp spear will his assault receive. 

So saying, they mounted both, and furious drove 
Against Tydides. Them the noble son 
Of Capaneus observed, and turning quick 
His speech to Diomede, him thus address'd. 

Tydides, Diomede, my heart's delight ! 
Two warriors of immeasurable force 
In battle, ardent to contend with thee, 
Come rattling on. Lycaon's offspring one, 
Bow-practised Pandarus ; with whom appears 
iEneas ; he who calls the mighty chief 
Anchises father, and whom Venus bore. 
Mount — drive me swift away, — lest borne so far 
Beyond the foremost battle, thou be slain. 

To whom, dark-frowning, Diomede replied. 
Speak not of flight to me, who am disposed 
To no such course. I am ashamed to fly 
Or tremble, and my strength is still entire ; 
I cannot mount. No. Rather thus, on foot, 
I will advance against them. Fear and dread 
Are not for me ; Pallas forbids the thought. 
One falls, be sure ; swift as they are, the steeds 
That whirl them on, shall never rescue both. 
But hear my bidding, and hold fast the word. 
Should all-wise Pallas grant me my desire 
To slay them both, drive not my coursers hence, 
But hook the reins, and seizing quick the pair 
That draw iEneas, urge them from the powers 
Of Troy away into the host of Greece. 
For they are sprung from those which Jove to Tros 
In compensation gave for Ganymede ; 
The sun himself sees not their like below. 
Anchises, long of men, clandestine them 
Obtain'd, his mares submitting to the steeds 
Of king Laomedon. Six brought him foals ; 
Four to himself reserving, in his stalls 
He fed them sleek, and two he gave his son : 
These, might we win them, were a noble prize. 

Thus mutual they conferr'd ; those chiefs, the 
while, 
With swiftest pace approaeh'd, and first his speech 
To Diomede Lycaon's son address'd. 

Heroic offspring of a noble sire, 
Brave son of Tydeus ! false to my intent 
My shaft hath liarm'd thee little. I will now 
Make trial with my spear, if that may speed. 

He said, and shaking his long-shadow'd spear, 
Dismiss'd it. Forceful on the shield it struck 
Of Diomede, transpierced it, and approaeh'd 
With threatening point the hauberk on his breast. 
Loud shouted Pandarus — Ah nobly thrown ! 
Home to thy bowels. Die, for die thou must, 
And all the glory of thy death is mine. 

Then answer thus brave Diomede return'd 
Undaunted. I am whole. Thy cast was short. 
But ye desist not, as I plain perceive, 
Till one at least extended on the plain 
Shall sate the god of battles with his blood. 


He said and threw. Pallas the spear herself 
Directed ; at his eye fast by the nose 
Deep-entering, through his ivory teeth it pass'd, 
At its extremity divided sheer 
His tongue, and started through his chin below. 
He headlong fell, and with his dazzling arms 
Smote full the plain. Back flew the fiery steeds 
With swift recoil, and where he fell he died. 
Then sprang iEneas forth with spear and shield, 
That none might drag the body ; lion-like 
He stahVd around it, oval sliield and spear 
Advancing firm, and with incessant cries 
Terrific, death denouncing on his foes. 
But Diomede with hollow grasp a stone 
Enormous seized, a weight to overtask 
Two strongest men of such as now are strong, 
Yet he, alone, wielded the rock with ease. 
Full on the hip he smote him, where the thigh 
Rolls in its cavity, the socket named. 
He crush'd the socket, lacerated wide 
Both tendons, and with that rough-angled mass 
Flay'd all his flesh. The hero on his knees 
Sank, on his ample palm his weight upbore 
Labouring, and darkness overspread his eyes. 

There had iEneas perish'd, king of men, 
Had not Jove's daughter Venus quick perceived 
His peril imminent, whom she had borne 
Herself to Anchises pasturing his herds. 
Her snowy arms her darling son around 
She threw maternal, and behind a fold 
Of her bright mantle screening close his breast 
From mortal harm by some brave Greecian's spear, 
Stole him with eager swiftness from the fight. 

Nor then forgot brave Sthenelus his charge 
Received from Diomede, but his own steeds 
Detaining distant from the boisterous war, 
Stretch'd tight the reins, and hook'd them fast be- 
The coursers of iEneas next he seized [hind. 

Ardent, and them into the host of Greece 
Driving remote, consign'd them to his care, 
Whom far above all others his compeers 
He loved, Deipylus, his bosom friend 
Congenial. Him he charged to drive them thence 
Into the fleet, then mounting swift his own, 
Lash'd after Diomede ; he, tierce in arms, 
Pursued the Cyprian goddess, conscious whom, 
Not Pallas, not Enyo, waster dread 
Of cities close-beleaguer'd, none of all 
Who o'er the battle's bloody course preside, 
But one of softer kind and prone to fear. 
When, therefore, her at length, after long chase 
Through all the warring multitude he reach'd, 
With his protruded spear her gentle hand 
He wounded, piercing through her thin attire 
Ambrosial, by themselves the Graces wrought, 
Her inside wrist, fast by the rosy palm. 
Blood follow'd, but immortal ; ichor pure, 
Such as the blest inhabitants of heaven 
May bleed, nectareous ; for the gods eat not 
Man's food, nor slake as he with sable wine 
Their thirst, thence bloodless and from death 

exempt. 
She, shrieking, from her arms cast down her son, 
And Phcebus, in impenetrable clouds 
Him hiding, lest the spear of some brave Greek 
Should pierce his bosom, caught him swift away. 
Then shouted brave Tydides after her — 

Depart, Jove's daughter ! fly the bloody field. 
Is't not enough that thou beguilest the hearts 
Of feeble women ? If thou dare intrude 


THE ILIAD. 


281 


Again into the war, war's very name 

Shall make thee shudder, wheresoever heard. 

He said, and Venus with excess of pain 
Bewilder'd went ; but Iris tempest-wing'd 
Forth led her through the multitude, oppress'd 
With anguish, her white wrist to livid changed. 
They came where Mars far on the left retired 
Of battle sat, his horses and his spear 
In darkness veil'd. Before her brother's knees 
She fell, and with entreaties urgent sought 
The succour of his coursers golden-rein'd. 

Save me, my brother ! Pity me ! Thy steeds 
Give me, that they may bear me to the heights 
Olympian, seat of the immortal gods ! 
Oh ! I am wounded deep ; a mortal man 
Hath done it, Diomede ; nor would he fear 
This day in fight the sire himself of all. 

Then Mars his coursers gold-caparison'd 
Resign'd to Venus ; she, with countenance sad, 
The chariot climb'd, and Iris at her side 
The bright reins seizing, lash'd the ready steeds. 
Soon as the Olympian heights, seat of the gods 
They reach'd, wing-footed Iris loosing quick 
The coursers, gave them large whereon to browse 
Ambrosial food; but Venus on the knees 
Sank of Dione, who with folded arms 
Maternal, to her bosom straining close 
Her daughter, stroked her cheek, and thus en- 
quired. 

My darling child ! who ? which of all the gods 
Hath rashly done such violence to thee 
As if convicted of some open wrong ? 

Her then the goddess of love-kindling smiles 
Venus thus answer'd ; Diomede the proud, 
Audacious Diomede ; he gave the wound, 
For that I stole yEneas from the fight 
My son, of all mankind my most beloved ; 
Nor is it now the war of Greece with Troy, 
But of the Greecians with the gods themselves. 

Then thus Dione, goddess all divine. 
My child ! how hard soe'er thy sufferings seem, 
Endure them patiently. Full many a wrong 
From human hands profane the gods endure, 
And many a painful stroke, mankind from ours. 
Mars once endured much wrong, when on a time 
Him Otus bound and Ephialtes fast, 
Sons of Alueus, and full thirteen moons 
In brazen thraldom held him. There, at length, 
The fierce blood-nourish'd Mars had pined away, 
But that Eeriboea, loveliest nymph, 
His step-mother, in happy hour disclosed 
To Mercury the story of his wrongs ; 
He stole the prisoner forth, but with his woes 
Already worn, languid and fetter-gall'd. 
Nor Juno less endured, when erst the bold 
Son of Amphytrion with tridental shaft 
Her bosom pierced ; she then the misery felt 
Of irremediable pain severe. 
Nor suffer'd Pluto less, of all the gods 
Gigantic most, by the same son of Jove 
Alcides, at the portals of the dead 
Transfix'd and fill'd with anguish ; he the house 
Of Jove and the Olympian summit sought 
Dejected, torture-stung, for sore the shaft 
Oppress'd him, into his huge shoulder driven. 
But Paeon him not liable to death 
With unction smooth of salutiferous balms 
Heal'd soon. Presumptuous, sacrilegious man ! 
Careless what dire enormities he wrought, 
Who bent his bow against the powers of heaven ! 


But blue-eyed Pallas instigated him 
By whom thou bleed'st. Infatuate ! he forgets 
That whoso turns against the gods his arms 
Lives never long ; he never, safe escaped 
From furious fight, the lisp'd caresses hears 
Of his own infants prattling at his knees. 
Let therefore Diomede beware, lest strong 
And valiant as he is, he chance to meet 
Some mightier foe than thou, and lest his wife, 
Daughter of king Adrastus, the discreet 
^Egialea, from portentous dreams 
Upstarting, call her family to wail 
Her first-espoused, Achaia's proudest boast, 
Diomede, whom she must behold no more. 

She said, and from her wrist with both hands 
The trickling ichor ; the effectual touch [wiped 
Divine chased all her pains, and she was heal'd. 
Them Juno mark'd and Pallas, and with speech 
Sarcastic pointed at Saturnian Jove 
To vex him, blue-eyed Pallas thus began. 

Eternal father ! may I speak my thought, 
And not incense thee, Jove ? I can but judge 
That Venus, while she coax'd some Greecian fair 
To accompany the Trojans whom she loves 
With such extravagance, hath heedless stroked 
Her golden clasps, and scratch'd her lily hand. 

So she ; then smiled the sire of gods and men, 
And calling golden Venus, her bespake. 

War and the tented field, my beauteous child, 
Are not for thee. Thou rather shouldst be found 
In scenes of matrimonial bliss. The toils 
Of war to Pallas and to Mars belong. 

Thus they in heaven. But Diomede the while 
Sprang on /Eneas, conscious of the god 
Whose hand o'ershadow'd him, yet even him 
Regarding lightly ; for he burn'd to slay 
/Eneas, and to seize his glorious arms. 
Thrice then he sprang impetuous to the deed, 
And thrice Apollo with his radiant shield 
Repulsed him. But when ardent as a god 
The fourth time he advanced, with thundering voice 
Him thus the archer of the skies rebuked. 

Think, and retire, Tydides ! nor affect 
Equality with gods ; for not the same 
Our nature is and theirs who tread the ground. 

He spake, and Diomede a step retired, 
Not more ; the anger of the archer-god 
Declining slow, and with a sullen awe. 
Then Phoebus, far from all the warrior throng 
To his own shrine the sacred dome beneath 
Of Pergamus, ./Eneas bore ; there him 
Latona and shaft-arm'd Diana heal'd 
And glorified within their spacious fane. 
Meantime the archer of the silver bow 
A visionary form prepared ; it seem'd 
Himself /Eneas, and was arm'd as he. 
At once, in contest for that airy form, 
Greecians and Trojans on each other's breasts 
The bull-hide buckler batter'd and light targe. 

Then thus Apollo to the warrior god. 
Gore -tainted, homicide, town-batterer Mars ! 
Wilt thou not meet and from the fight withdraw 
This man Tydides, now so fiery grown 
That he would even cope with Jove himself ? 
First Venus' hand he wounded, and assail'd 
Impetuous as a God, next, even me. 

He ceased, and on the topmost turret sat 
Of Pergamus. Then all-destroyer Mars 
Ranging the Trojan host, rank after rank 
Exhorted loud, and in the form assumed 


282 


THE ILIAD. 


Of Acamas the Thracian leader bold, 

The god-like sons of Priam thus harangued. 

Ye sons of Priam, monarch Jove-beloved ! 
How long permit ye your Achaian foes 
To slay the people ?— till the battle rage 
(Puslr'd home to Ilium) at her solid gates ? 
Behold — a chief disabled lies, than whom 
We reverence not even Hector more, 
iEneas ; fly, save from the roaring storm 
The noble Anchisiades your friend. 

He said ; then every heart for battle glow'd ; 
And thus Sarpedon with rebuke severe 
Upbraiding generous Hector, stern began. 

Where is thy courage, Hector ? for thou once 
Hadst courage. Is it fled ? In other days 
Thy boast hath been that without native troops 
Or foreign aids, thy kindred and thyself 
Alone, were guard sufficient for the town. 
But none of all thy kindred now appears ; 
I can discover none ; they stand aloof 
Quaking, as dogs that hear the lion's roar. 
We bear the stress, who are but Troy's allies ; 
Myself am such, and from afar I came ; 
For Lycia lies far distant on the banks 
Of the deep-eddied Xanthus. There a wife 
I left and infant son, both dear to me, 
With plenteous wealth, the wish of all who want. 
Yet urge I still my Lycians, and am prompt 
Myself to fight, although possessing here 
Nought that the Greeks can carry or drive hence. 
But there stand'st thou, neither employ'd thyself, 
Nor moving others to an active part 
For all their dearest pledges. Oh beware ! 
Lest, as with meshes of an ample net, 
At one huge draught the Greecians sweep you all, 
And desolate at once your populous Troy ! 
By day, by night, thoughts such as these should still 
Thy conduct influence, and from chief to chief 
Of the allies should send thee praying each 
To make firm stand, all bickerings put away. 

So spake Sarpedon, and his reprimand 
Stung Hector ; instant to the ground he leap'd 
All arm'd, and shaking his bright spears his host 
Ranged in all quarters animating loud 
His legions, and rekindling horrid war* 
Then rolling back, the powers of Troy opposed 
Once more the Greecians, whom the Greecians 
Expected, unretreating, void of fear. [dense 

As flies the chaff wide scatter'd by the wind 
O'er all the consecrated floor, what time 
Ripe Ceres with brisk airs her golden grain 
Ventilates, whitening with its husk the ground ; 
So grew the Achaians white, a dusty cloud 
Descending on their arms, which steeds with steeds 
Again to battle mingling, with their hoofs 
Up-stamp'd into the brazen vault of heaven ; 
For now the charioteers turn'd all to fight. 
Host toward host with full collected force !j 
They moved direct. Then Mars through all the 
Took wide his range, and overhung the war [field 
With night, in aid of Troy, at the command 
Of Phoebus of the golden sword ; for he 
Perceiving Pallas from the field withdrawn, 
Patroness of the Greeks, had Mars enjoin'd 
To rouse the spirit of the Trojan host. 
Meantime Apollo from his unctuous shrine 
Sent forth restored and with new force inspired 
./Eneas. He amidst his warriors stood, 
Who him with joy beheld still living, heal'd, 
And all his strength possessing unimpair'd. 


Yet no man ask'd him aught. No leisure now 
For question was ; far other thoughts had they ; 
Such toils the archer of the silver bow, 
Wide-slaughtering Mars, and Discord as at first 
Raging implacable, for them prepared. 

Ulysses, either Ajax, Diomede, — 
These roused the Greeks to battle, who themselves 
The force fear'd nothing, or the shouts of Troy, 
But steadfast stood, like clouds by Jove amass'd 
On lofty mountains, while the fury sleeps 
Of Boreas, and of all the stormy winds [blow. 
Shrill-voiced, that chase the vapours when they 
So stood the Greeks, expecting firm the approach 
Of Ilium's powers, and neither fled nor fear'd. 

Then Agamemnon the embattled host 
On all sides ranging, cheer'd them. Now, he cried, 
Be steadfast, fellow warriors, now be men ! 
Hold fast a sense of honour. More escape 
Of men who fear disgrace, than fall in fight, 
While dastards forfeit life and glory both. 

He said, and hurl'd his spear. He pierced a 
Of brave JEneas, warring in the van, [friend 

Deicoon son of Pergasus, in Troy 
Not less esteem'd than Priam's sons themselves, 
Such was his fame in foremost fight acquired. 
Him Agamemnon on his buckler smote, 
Nor stay'd the weapon there, but through his belt 
His bowels enter'd, and with hideous clang 
And outcry 1 of his batter'd arms he fell. 

./Eneas next two mightiest warriors slew, 
Sons of Diocles, of a wealthy sire, 
Whose house magnificent in Phserse stood, 
Orsilochus and Crethon. Their descent 
From broad-stream'd Alpheus, Pylian flood, they 
Alpheus begat Orsilochus, a prince [drew. 

Of numerous powers. Orsilochus begat 
Warlike Diocles. From Diocles sprang 
Twins, Crethon and Orsilochus, alike 
Valiant, and skilful in all forms of war. 
Their boyish prime scarce past, they,with the Greeks 
Embarking, in their sable ships had sail'd 
To steed-famed Ilium ; just revenge they sought 
For Atreus' sons, but perish'd first themselves. 

As two young lions, in the deep recess 
Of some dark forest on the mountain's brow 
Late nourish'd by their dam, forth-issuing, seize 
The fatted flocks and kine, both folds and stalls 
Wasting rapacious, till, at length, themselves 
Deep-wounded perish by the hand of man, 
So they, both vanquish'd by yEneas, fell, 
And like two lofty pines uprooted, lay. 
Them fallen in battle Menelaus saw 
With pity moved ; radiant in arms he shook 
His brazen spear, and strode into the van. 
Mars urged him furious on, conceiving hope 
Of his death also by ^Eneas' hand. 

But him the son of generous Nestor mark'd 
Antilochus, and to the foremost fight 
Flew also, fearing lest some dire mischance 
The prince befalling, at one fatal stroke 
Should frustrate all the labours of the Greeks. 
They, hand to hand, and spear to spear opposed, 
Stood threatening dreadful onset, when beside 
The Spartan chief Antilochus appear'd. 
yEneas, at the sight of two combined, 
Stood not, although intrepid. They the dead 
Thence drawing far into the Greecian host 

> Vide Samson to Harapha in the Agonistes. There the 
word is used in the same sense. 


THE ILIAD. 


283 


To their associates gave the hapless pair, 
Then, both returning, fought in front again. 

Next, fierce as Mars, Pylsemenes they slew, 
Prince of the shielded band magnanimous 
Of Paphlagonia. Him Atrides kill'd 
Spear-practised Menelaus, with a lance 
His throat transpiercing while erect he rode. 
Then, while his charioteer, Mydon the brave, 
Son of Atymnias, turn'd his steeds to flight, 
Full on his elbow-point Antilochus, 
The son of Nestor, dash'd him with a stone. 
The slack reins, white as ivory 1 , forsook 
His torpid hand and trail'd the dust. At once 
Forth sprang Antilochus, and with his sword 
Hew'd deep his temples. On his head he pitch'd 
Panting, and on his shoulders in the sand 
(For in deep sand he fell) stood long erect, 
Till his own coursers spread him in the dust ; 
The son of Nestor seized, and with his scourge 
Drove them afar into the host of Greece. 

Them Hector through the ranks espying, flew 
With clamour loud to meet them ; after whom 
Advanced in phalanx firm the powers of Troy. 
Mars led them, with Enyo terror-clad ; 
She by the maddening tumult of the fight 
Attended, he, with his enormous spear 
In both hands brandished, stalking now in front 
Of Hector, and now following his steps. 

Him Diomede the bold discerning, felt 
Himself no small dismay ; and as a man 
Wandering he knows not whither, far from home, 
If chance a rapid torrent to the sea [flood 

Borne headlong thwart his course, the foaming 
Obstreperous views awhile, then quick retires, 
So he, and his attendants thus bespake. 

How oft, my countrymen ! have we admired 
The noble Hector, skilful at the spear 
And unappall'd in fight ? but still hath he 
Some god his guard, and even now I view 
In human form Mars moving at his side. 
Ye, then, with faces to the Trojans turn'd, 
Ceaseless retire, and war not with the gods. 

He ended ; and the Trojans now approach'd. 
Then two bold warriors in one chariot borne, 
By valiant Hector died, Menesthes, one, 
And one, Anchialus. Them fallen in fight 
Ajax the vast, touch'd with compassion saw ; 
Within small space he stood, his glittering spear 
Dismiss'd, and pierc'd Amphius. — Son was he 
Of Selagus, and Peesus was his home, 
Where opulent he dwelt, but by his fate 
Was led to fight for Priam and his sons. 
Him Telamonian Ajax through his belt 
Wounded, and in his nether bowels deep 
Fix'd his long-shadow'd spear. Sounding he fell. 
Illustrious Ajax running to the slain 
Prepared to strip his arms, but him a shower 
Of glittering weapons keen from Trojan hands 
Assail'd, and numerous his broad shield received. 
He, on the body planting firm his heel, 
Forth drew the polish'd spear, but his bright arms 
Took not, by darts thick-flying sore annoy'd. 
Nor fear'd he little lest his haughty foes, 
Spear-arm'd and bold, should compass him around ; 
Him, therefore, valiant though he were and huge, 
They push'd before them. Staggering he retired. 

i This is a construction of Aeu/c' i\e<pai>Ti, given by 
some of the best commentators, and that seems the most 
probable. 


Thus toil'd both hosts in that laborious field. 
And now his ruthless destiny impell'd 
Tlepolemus, Alcides' son, a chief 
Dauntless and huge, against a godlike foe 
Sarpedon. They approaching, face to face 
Stood, son and grandson of high-thundering Jove, 
And, haughty, thus Tlepolemus began. 

Sarpedon, leader of the Lycian host, 
Thou trembler ! thee what cause could hither urge 
A man unskill'd in arms ? They falsely speak 
Who call thee son of segis-bearing Jove, 
So far below their might thou fall'st who sprang 
From Jove in days of old. What says report 
Of Hercules, (for him I boast my sire) 
All-daring hero with a lion's heart ? 
With six ships only, and with followers few, 
He for the horses of Laomedon 
Laid Troy in dust, and widow'd all her streets. 
But thou art base, and thy diminish'd powers 
Perish around thee ; think not that thou earnest 
For Ilium's good, but rather, whatsoe'er 
Thy force in fight, to find, subdued by me, 
A sure dismission to the gates of hell. 

To whom the leader of the Lycian band. 
Tlepolemus ! he ransack'd sacred Troy, 
As thou hast said, but for her monarch's fault 
Laomedon, who him with language harsh 
Requited ill for benefits received, 
Nor would the steeds surrender, seeking which 
He voyaged from afar. But thou shalt take 
Thy bloody doom from this victorious arm, 
And, vanquish'd by my spear, shalt yield thy fame 
To me, thy soul to Pluto steed-renown'd. 

So spake Sarpedon, and his ashen beam 
Tlepolemus upraised. Both hurl'd at once 
Their quivering spears. Sarpedon's through the 

neck 
Pass'd of Tlepolemus, and show'd beyond 
Its ruthless point ; thick darkness veil'd his eyes. 
Tlepolemus with his long lance the thigh 
Pierced of Sarpedon ; sheer into his bone 
He pierced him, but Sarpedon's father, Jove, 
Him rescued even on the verge of fate. 

His noble friends conducted from the field 
The godlike Lycian, trailing as he went 
The pendent spear, none thinking to extract 
For his relief the weapon from his thigh, 
Through eagerness of haste to bear him thence. 
On the other side, the Greecians brazen-mail'd 
Bore off Tlepolemus. Ulysses fill'd 
With earnest thoughts tumultuous them observed, 
Danger-defying chief ! Doubtful he stood 
Or to pursue at once the Thunderer's son 
Sarpedon, or to take more Lycian lives. 
But not for brave Ulysses had his fate 
That praise reserved, that he should slay the son 
Renown'd of Jove ; therefore his wavering mind 
Minerva bent against the Lycian band. 
Then Cceranus, Alastor, Chromius fell, 
Alcander, Halius, Prytanis, and brave 
Noemon ; nor had these sufficed the chief 
Of Ithaca, but Lycians more had fallen, 
Had not crest-tossing Hector huge perceived 
The havoc ; radiant to the van he flew, 
Filling with dread the Greecians ; his approach 
Sarpedon, son of Jove, joyful beheld, 
And piteous thus address'd him as he came. 

Ah, leave not me, Priamides ! a prey 
To Greecian hands, but in your city, at least, 
Grant me to die : since hither, doom'd, I came 


284 


THE ILIAD. 


Never to gratify with my return 
To Lycia, my loved spouse, or infant child. 
He spake ; hut Hector unreplying pass'd 
Impetuous, ardent to repulse the Greeks 
That moment, and to drench his sword in hlood. 
Then, under shelter of a spreading heech 
Sacred to Jove, his noble followers placed 
The godlike chief Sarpedon, where his friend 
Illustrious Pelagon, the ashen spear 
Extracted. Sightless, of all thought bereft, 
He sank, but soon revived, by breathing airs 
Refresh'd, that fann'd him gently from the north. 

Meanthne the Argives, although press'd alike 
By Mars himself and Hector brazen-arm'd, 
Neither to flight inclined, nor yet advanced 
To battle, but inform'd that Mars the fight 
Waged on the side of Ilium, slow retired. 

Whom first, whom last slew then the mighty son 
Of Priam, Hector, and the brazen Mars ! 
First godlike Teuthras, an equestrian chief, 
Orestes, Trechus of ^Etolian race, 
QEnomaus, Helenus from GEnops sprung, 
And brisk ' in fight Oresbius ; rich was he, 
And covetous of more in Hyla dwelt 
Fast by the lake Cephissus, where abode 
Boeotian princes numerous, rich themselves 
And rulers of a people wealth-renown'd. 
But Juno, such dread slaughter of the Greeks 
Noting, thus, ardent, to Minerva spake. 

Daughter of Jove invincible ! Our word 
That Troy shall perish, hath been given in vain 
To Menelaus, if we suffer Mars 
To ravage longer uncontroul'd. The time 
Urges, and need appears that we ourselves 
Now call to mind the fury of our might. 

She spake ; nor blue-eyed Pallas not complied. 
Then Juno, goddess dread, from Saturn sprung, 
Her coursers gold-caparison'd prepared 
Impatient. Hebe to the chariot roll'd 
The brazen wheels, and join'd them to the smooth 
Steel axle ; twice four spokes divided each 
Shot from the centre to the verge. The verge 
Was gold by fellies of eternal brass 
Guarded, a dazzling show ! The shining naves 
Were silver ; silver cords and cords of gold 
The seat upbore ; two crescents 2 blazed in front. 
The pole was argent all, to which she bound 
The golden yoke, and in their place disposed 
The breast-bands incorruptible of gold ; 
But Juno to the yoke, herself, the steeds 
Led forth, on fire to reach the dreadful field. 

Meantime, Minerva, progeny of Jove, 
On the adamantine floor of his abode 
Let fall profuse her variegated robe, 
Labour of her own hands. She first put on 
The corslet of the cloud-assembler God, 
Then arm'd her for the field of woe complete. 
She charged her shoulder with the dreadful shield 
The shaggy segis, border'd thick around 
With terror ; there was Discord, Prowess there, 
There hot Pursuit, and there the feature grim 
Of Gorgon, dire Deformity, a sign 
Oft borne portentous on the arm of Jove. 
Her golden helm, whose concave had sufficed 

1 This, according to Porphyrius as quoted by Clarke, is 
the true meaning of alo\o/xirpT}s. 

2 These which I have called crescents were a kind of 
hook of a semicircular form, to which the reins were 
occasionally fastened. 


The legions of an hundred cities, rough 

With warlike ornament superb, she fix'd 

On her immortal head. Thus arm'd, she rose 

Into the flaming chariot, and her spear 

Seized ponderous, huge, with which the goddess 

sprung 
From an almighty father, levels ranks 
Of heroes, against whom her anger burns. 
Juno with lifted lash urged quick the steeds ; 
At her approach, spontaneous roar'd the wide- 
Unfolding gates of heaven ; the heavenly gates 
Kept by the watchful Hours, to whom the charge 
Of the Olympian summit appertains, 
And of the boundless ether, back to roll, 
And to replace the cloudy barrier dense. 
Spurr'd through the portal flew the rapid steeds ; 
Apart from all, and seated on the point 
Superior of the cloven mount, they found 
The Thunderer. Juno the white-arm'd her steeds 
There stay'd, and thus the goddess, ere she pass'd, 
Question'd the son of Saturn, Jove supreme. 

Jove, Father, seest thou and art not incensed, 
These ravages of Mars ? Oh what a field, 
Drench' d with what Greecian blood ! All rashly 
And in despite of me. Venus, the while, [spilt, 
Sits, and the archer of the silver bow 
Delighted, and have urged, themselves, to this 
The frantic Mars within no bounds confined 
Of law or order. But, eternal sire ! 
Shall I offend thee chasing far away 
Mars deeply smitten from the field of war ? 
To whom the cloud-assembler god replied. 
Go ! but exhort thou rather to the task 
Spoil-huntress Athensean Pallas, him 
Accustom'd to chastise with pain severe. 

He spake, nor white-arm'd Juno not obey'd. 
She lash'd her steeds ; they readily their flight 
Began, the earth and starry vault between. 
Far as from his high tower the watchman kens 
O'er gloomy ocean, so far at one bound 
Advance the shrill- voiced coursers of the gods. 
But when at Troy and at the confluent streams 
Of Simoi's and Scamander they arrived, 
There Juno, white-arm'd goddess, from the yoke 
Her steeds releasing, them in gather'd shades 
Conceal'd opaque, while Simo'is caused to spring 
Ambrosia from his bank, whereon they browsed. 

Swift as her pinions waft the dove away 
They sought the Greecians, ardent to begin : 
Arriving where the mightiest and the most 
Compass'd equestrian Diomede around, 
In aspect lion-like, or like wild boars 
Of matchless force, there white-arm'd Juno stood, 
And in the form of Stentor for his voice 
Of brass renown'd, audible as the roar 
Of fifty throats, the Greecians thus harangued. 

Oh shame, shame, shame! Argives in form alone, 
Beautiful but dishonourable race ! 
While yet divine Achilles ranged the field, 
No Trojan stepp'd from yon Dardanian gates 
Abroad ; all trembled at his stormy spear ; 
But now they venture forth, now at your ships 
Defy you, from their city far remote. 

She ceased, and all caught courage from the 
But Athensean Pallas eager sought [sound. 

The son of Tydeus ; at his chariot side 
She found the chief cooling his fiery wound 
Received from Pandarus ; for him the sweat 
Beneath the broad band of his oval shield 
Exhausted, and his arm fail'd him fatigued ; 


THE ILIAD. 


285 


I 


He therefore raised the band and wiped the blood 

Coagulate ; when o'er his chariot yoke 

Her arm the goddess threw, and thus began. 

Tydeus, in truth, begat a son himself 
Not much resembling. Tydeus was of size 
Diminutive, but had a warrior's heart. 
When him I once commanded to abstain 
From furious fight (what time he enter'd Thebes 
Ambassador, and the Cadmeans found 
Feasting, himself the sole Achaian there) 
And bade him quietly partake the feast, 
He, fired with wonted ardour, challenged forth 
To proof of manhood the Cadmean youth, 
Whom easily, through my effectual aid, 
In contests of each kind he overcame. 
But thou, whom I encircle with my power, 
Guard vigilant, and even bid thee forth 
To combat with the Trojans, thou, thy limbs 
Feel'st wearied with the toils of war, or worse, 
Indulgest womanish and heartless feai\ 
Henceforth thou art not worthy to be deem'd 
Son of Oenides, Tydeus famed in arms. 

To whom thus valiant Diomede replied. 
I know thee well, oh goddess sprung from Jove ! 
And therefore willing shall, and plain, reply. 
Me neither weariness nor heartless fear 
Restrains, but thine injunctions which impress 
My memory, still, that I should fear to oppose 
The blessed gods in fight, Venus except, 
Whom in the battle found thou badest me pierce 
With unrelenting spear ; therefore myself 
Retiring hither, I have hither call'd 
The other Argives also, for I know 
That Mars, himself in arms, controuls the war. 

Him answer'd then the goddess azure-eyed. 
Tydides ! Diomede, my heart's delight ! 
Fear not this Mars l , nor fear thou other power 
Immortal, but be confident in me. 
Arise. Drive forth. Seek Mars ; him only seek ; 
Him hand to hand engage ; this fiery Mars 
Respect not aught, base implement of wrong 
And mischief, shifting still from side to side. 
He promised Juno lately and myself 
That he would fight for Greece, yet now forgets 
His promise, and gives all his aid to Troy. 

So saying, she backward by his hand withdrew 
The son of Capaneus, who to the ground 
Leap'd instant ; she, impatient to his place 
Ascending, sat beside brave Diomede. 
Loud groan'd the beechen axle, under weight 
Unwonted, for it bore into the fight 
An awful goddess, and the chief of men. 
Quick-seizing lash and reins Minerva drove 
Direct at Mars. That moment he had slain 
Periphas, bravest of iEtolia's sons, 
And huge of bulk ; Ochesius was his sire. 
Him Mars the slaughterer had of life bereft 
Newly, and Pallas to elude his sight 
The helmet fix'd of Ades on her head. 
Soon as gore-tainted Mars the approach perceived 
Of Diomede, he left the giant length 
Of Periphas extended where he died, 
And flew to cope with Tydeus' valiant son. 
Full nigh they came, when Mars on fire to slay 
The hero, foremost with his brazen lance 
Assail'd him, hurling o'er his horses' heads. 
But Athensean Pallas in her hand 
The flying weapon caught and turn'd it wide, 

1 "hpea T&/8e. 


Baffling his aim. Then Diomede on him 
Rush'd furious in his turn, and Pallas plunged 
The bright spear deep into his cinctured waist. 
Dire was the wound, and plucking back the spear 
She tore him. Bellow'd brazen-throated Mars 
Loud as nine thousand warriors, or as ten 
Join'd in close combat. Greecians, Trojans shook 
Appall'd alike at the tremendous voice 
Of Mars insatiable with deeds of blood. 
Such as the dimness is when summer winds 
Breathe hot, and sultry mist obscures the sky, 
Such brazen Mars to Diomede appear'd 
By clouds accompanied in his ascent 
Into the boundless ether. Reaching soon 
The Olympian heights, seat of the gods, he sat 
Beside Saturnian Jove ; woe fill'd his heart ; 
He show'd fast-streaming from the wound his blood 
Immortal, and impatient thus complain'd. 

Jove, Father ! Seest thou these outrageous acts 
Unmoved with anger ? Such are day by day 
The dreadful mischiefs by the gods contrived 
Against each other, for the sake of man. 
Thou art thyself the cause. Thou hast produced 
A foolish daughter petulant, addict 
To evil only and injurious deeds ; 
There is not in Olympus, save herself, 
Who feels not thy control ; but she her will 
Gratifies ever, and reproof from thee 
Finds none, because, pernicious as she is, 
She is thy daughter. She hath now the mind 
Of haughty Diomede with madness fill'd 
Against the immortal gods ; first Venus bled ; 
Her hand he pierced impetuous, then assail'd, 
As if himself immortal, even me. 
But me my feet stole thence, or overwhelm'd 
Beneath yon heaps of carcases impure, 
What had I not sustain'd ? And if at last 
I lived, had halted crippled by the sword. 

To whom with dark displeasure Jove replied. 
Base and side-shifting traitor ! vex not me 
Here sitting querulous ; of all who dwell 
On the Olympian heights, thee most I hate 
Contentious, whose delight is war alone. 
Thou hast thy mother's moods, the very spleen 
Of Juno, uncontroulable as she, 
Whom even I, reprove her as I may, 
Scarce rule by mere commands ; I therefore judge 
Thy sufferings a contrivance all her own. 
But soft. Thou art my son whom I begat, 
And Juno bare thee. I cannot endure 
That thou shouldst suffer long. Hadst thou been 

born 
Of other parents thus detestable, 
What deity soe'er had brought thee forth, 
Thou shouldst have found long since an humbler 
sphere. 

He ceased, and to the care his son consign'd 
Of Pseon ; he with drugs of lenient powers, 
Soon heal'd whom immortality secured 
From dissolution. As the juice from figs 
Express'd what fluid was in milk before 
Coagulates, stirr'd rapidly around, 
So soon was Mars by Pseon's skill restored. 
Him Hebe bathed, and with divine attire 
Graceful adorn'd ; when at the side of Jove 
Again his glorious seat sublime he took. 

Meantime to the abode of Jove supreme 
Ascended Juno throughout Argos known 
And mighty Pallas ; Mars the plague of man, 
By their successful force from slaughter driven. 


286 


THE ILIAD. 


BOOK VI. 


ARGUMENT. 

The battle is continued. The Trojans being closely pur- 
sued, Hector by the advice of Helenus enters Troy, and 
recommends it to Hecuba to go in solemn procession to 
the temple of Minerva; she with the matrons goes 
accordingly. Hector takes the opportunity to find out 
Paris, and exhorts him to return to the field of battle. 
An interview succeeds between Hector and Andromache, 
and Paris, having armed himself in the meantime, comes 
up with Hector at the close of it, when they sally from 
the gate together. 

Thus was the field forsaken by the gods. 
And now success proved various ; here the Greeks 
With their extended spears, the Trojans there 
Prevail'd alternate, on the champain spread 
The Xanthus and the Simois between. 

First Telarnonian Ajax, bulwark firm 
Of the Achaians, broke the Trojan ranks, 
And kindled for the Greeks a gleam of hope, 
Slaying the bravest of the Thracian band, 
Huge Acamas, Eusorus' son ; him first 
Full on the shaggy crest he smote, and urged 
The spear into his forehead ; through his skull 
The bright point pass'd, and darkness veil'd his 
But Diomede, heroic chief, the son [eyes. 

Of Teuthras slew, Axylus. Rich was he, 
And in Arisba, (where he dwelt beside 
The public road, and at his open door 
Made welcome all) respected and beloved. 
But of his numerous guests none interposed 
To avert his woeful doom ; nor him alone 
He slew, but with him also to the shades 
Calesius sent, his friend and charioteer. 

Opheltius fell and Dresus, by the hand 
Slain of Euryalus, who, next, his arms 
On Pedasus and on iEsepus turn'd 
Brethren and twins. Them Abarbarea bore, 
A Naiad, to Bucolion, son renown'd 
Of king Laomedon, his eldest born, 
But by his mother, at his birth, conceal'd. 
Bucolion pasturing his flocks, embraced 
The lovely nymph ; she twins produced, both whom, 
Brave as they were and beautiful, thy son l 
Mecisteus ! slew, and from their shoulders tore 
Their armour. Dauntless Polypsetes slew 
Astyalus. Ulysses with his spear 
Transfix'd Pydites, a Percosian chief, 
And Teucer Aretaon ; Nestor's pride 
Antilochus, with his bright lance, of life 
Bereft Ablerus, and the royal arm 
Of Agamemnon, Elatus ; he dwelt 
Among the hills of lofty Pedasus, 
On Satnio's banks, smooth-sliding river pure. 
Phylacus fled, whom Le'itus as swift 
Soon smote. Melanthius at the feet expired 
Of the renowned Eurypylus, and, flush'd 
With martial ardour, Menelaus seized 
And took alive Adrastus. As it chanced 
A thicket his affrighted steeds detain'd 
Their feet entangling ; they with restive force 
At its extremity snapp'd short the pole, 
And to the city, whither others fled, 
Fled also. From his chariot headlong hurl'd, 
Adrastus press'd the plain fast by his wheel. 

1 Euryalus. 


Flew Menelaus, and his quivering spear 
Shook over him ; he, life imploring, clasp'd 
Importunate his knees, and thus exclaim'd. 

Oh, son of Atreus, let me live ! accept 
Illustrious ransom ! In my father's house 
Is wealth abundant, gold, and brass, and steel 
Of truest temper, which he will impart 
Till he have gratified thine utmost wish, 
Inform'd that I am captive in your fleet. 

He said, and Menelaus by his words 
Vanquish'd, him soon had to the fleet dismiss'd 
Given to his train in charge, but swift and stern 
Approaching, Agamemnon interposed. — 

Now, brother, whence this milkiness of mind, 
These scruples about blood ? Thy Trojan friends 
Have doubtless much obliged thee. Die the race ! 
May none escape us ! Neither he who flies, 
Nor even the infant in his mother's womb 
Unconscious. Perish universal Troy 
Unpitied, till her place be found no more ! 

So saying, his brother's mind the hero turn'd, 
Advising him aright ; he with his hand 
Thrust back Adrastus, and himself, the king, 
His bowels pierced, Supine Adrastus fell, 
And Agamemnon with his foot the corse 
Impressing firm, pluck'd forth his ashen spear. 
Then Nestor, raising high his voice, exclaim'd. 

Friends, heroes, Greecians, ministers of Mars ! 
Let none, desirous of the spoil, his time 
Devote to plunder now ; now slay your foes, 
And strip them when the field shall be your own. 
He said, and all took courage at his word. 

Then had the Trojans enter'd Troy again 
By the heroic Greecians foul repulsed, 
So was their spirit daunted, but the son 
Of Priam, Helenus, an augur far 
Excelling all, at Hector's side his speech 
To him and to iEneas thus address'd. 

Hector, and thou iEneas, since on you 
The Lycians chiefly and ourselves depend, 
For that in difficult emprize ye show 
Most courage ; give best counsel ; stand yourselves, 
And, visiting all quarters, cause to stand 
Before the city -gates our scatter' d troops, 
Ere yet the fugitives within the arms 
Be slaughter'd of their wives, the scorn of Greece. 
When thus ye shall have rallied every band 
And roused their courage, weary though we be, 
Yet since necessity commands, even here 
Will we give battle to the host of Greece. 
But, Hector ! to the city thou depart ; 
There charge our mother, that she go direct, 
With the assembled matrons, to the fane 
Of Pallas in the citadel of Troy. 
Opening her chambers' saci-ed doors, of all 
Her treasured mantles there, let her select 
The widest, most magnificently wrought, 
And which she values most ; that let her spread 
On Athenian Pallas' lap divine. 
Twelve heifers of the year yet never touch'd 
With puncture of the goad, let her alike 
Devote to her, if she will pity Troy, 
Our wives and little ones, and will avert 
The son of Tydeus from these sacred towers, 
That dreadful chief, terror of all our host, 
Bravest, in my account, of all the Greeks. 
For never yet Achilles hath himself 
So taught our people fear, although esteem'd 
Son of a goddess. But this warrior's rage 
Is boundless, and his strength past all compare. 


THE ILIAD. 


287 


So Helenus ; nor Hector not complied. 
Down from his chariot instant to the ground 
All arm'd he leap'd, and, shaking his sharp spears, 
Through every phalanx pass'd, rousing again 
Their courage, and rekindling horrid war. 
They, turning, faced the Greeks ; the Greeks re- 
pulsed, 
Ceased from all carnage, nor supposed they less 
Than that some deity, the starry skies 
Forsaken, help'd their foes, so firm they stood. 
But Hector to the Trojans call'd aloud. 

Ye dauntless Trojans and confederate powers 
Call'd from afar ! now be ye men, my friends, 
Now summon all the fury of your might ! 
I go to charge our senators and wives 
That they address the gods with prayers and vows 
For our success, and hecatombs devote. 

So saying the hero went, and as he strode 
The sable hide that lined his bossy shield 
Smote on his neck and on his ancle-boue. 

And now into the middle space between 
Both hosts, the son of Tydeus and the son 
Moved of Hippolochus, intent alike 
On furious combat ; face to face they stood, 
And thus heroic Diomede began. 

Most noble champion ! who of human kind 
Art thou, whom in the man-ennobling fight 
I now encounter first ? Past all thy peers 
I must esteem thee valiant, who hast dared 
To meet my coming, and my spear defy. 
Ah ! they are sons of miserable sires 
Who dare my might ; but if a god from heaven 
Thou come, behold ! I fight not with the gods. 
That war Lycurgus son of Dryas waged, 
And saw not many years. The nurses he 
Of brain-disturbing Bacchus down the steep 
Pursued of sacred Nyssa ; they their wands 
Vine-wreathed cast all away, with an ox-goad 
Chastised by fell Lycurgus. Bacchus plunged 
Meantime dismay'd into the deep, where him 
Trembling, and at the hero's haughty threats 
Confounded, Thetis in her bosom hid. 
Thus by Lycurgus were the blessed powers 
Of heaven offended, and Saturnian Jove 
Of sight bereaved him, who not long that loss 
Survived, for he was curst by all above. 
I, therefore, wage no contest with the gods ! 
But if thou be of men, and feed on bread 
Of earthly growth, draw nigh, that with a stroke 
Well-aim'd, I may at once cut short thy days. 

To whom the illustrious Lycian chief replied. 
Why asks brave Diomede of my descent ? 
For, as the leaves, such is the race of man. 
The wind shakes down the leaves, the budding 

grove 
Soon teems with others, and in spring they grow. 
So pass mankind. One generation meets 
Its destined period, and a new succeeds. 
But since thou seem'st desirous to be taught 
My pedigree, whereof no few have heard, 
Know that in Argos, in the very lap 
Of Argos, for her steed-grazed meadows famed, 
Stands Ephyra ; there Sisyphus abode, 
Shrewdest of human kind ; Sisyphus, named 
iEolides. Himself a son begat, 
Glaucus, and he Bellerophon, to whom * 
The gods both manly force and beauty gave. 
Him Proetus (for in Argos at that time 
Proetus was sovereign, to whose sceptre Jove 
Had subjected the land) plotting his death, 


Contrived to banish from his native home. 
For fair Anteia, wife of Proetus, mad 
Through love of young Bellerophon, him oft 
In secret to illicit joys enticed; 
But she prevail'd not o'er the virtuous mind 
Discreet of whom she wooed ; therefore a he 
Framing, she royal Proetus thus bespake. 

Die thou, or slay Bellerophon, who sought 
Of late to force me to his lewd embrace. 

So saying, the anger of the king she roused. 
Slay him himself he would not, for his heart 
Forbade the deed ; him therefore he dismiss'd 
To Lycia, charged with tales of dire import 
Written hi tablets, which he bade him show, 
That he might perish, to Anteia's sire. 
To Lycia then, conducted by the Gods, 
He went, and on the shores of Xanthus found 
Free entertainment noble at the hands 
Of Lycia's potent king. Nine days complete 
He feasted him, and slew each day an ox. 
But when the tenth day's ruddy morn appear'd, 
He ask'd him then his errand, and to see 
Those written tablets from his son-in-law. 
The letters seen, he bade him, first, destroy 
Chimsera, deem'd invincible, divine 
In nature, alien from the race of man, 
Lion in front, but dragon all behind, 
And in the midst a she-goat breathing forth 
Profuse the violence of flaming fire. 
Her, confident in signs from heaven, he slew. 
Next, with the men of Solymse he fought, 
Brave warriors far-renown'd, with whom he waged, 
In his account, the fiercest of his wars. 
And lastly, when in battle he had slain 
The man-resisting Amazons, the king 
Another stratagem at his return 
Devised against him, placing close-conceal'd 
An ambush for him from the bravest chosen 
In Lycia ; but they saw their homes no more ; 
Bellerophon the valiant slew them all. 
The monarch hence collecting, at the last, 
His heavenly origin, him there detain'd, 
And gave him his own daughter, with the half 
Of all his royal dignity and power. 
The Lycians also, for his proper use, 
Large lot assign'd him of their richest soil, 
Commodious for the vine, or for the plough. 
And now his consort fair three children bore 
To bold Bellerophon ; Isandrus one, 
And one, Hippolochus ; his youngest born 
Laodamia was for beauty such 
That she became a concubine of Jove. 
She bore Sarpedon of heroic note. 
But when Bellerophon, at last, himself 
Had anger'd all the Gods, feeding on grief 
He roam'd alone the Aleian field, exiled 
By choice, from every cheerful haunt of man. 
Mars, thirsty still for blood, his son destroy 'd 
Isandrus, warring with the host renown'd 
Of Solymse ; and in her wrath divine 
Diana from her chariot golden-rein'd 
Laodamia slew. Myself I boast 
Sprung from Hippolochus ; he sent me forth 
To fight for Troy, charging me much and oft 
That I should outstrip always all mankind 
In worth and valour, nor the house disgrace 
Of my forefathers, heroes without peer 
In Ephyra, and in Lycia's wide domain. 
Such is my lineage ; such the blood I boast. 

He ceased. Then valiant Diomede rejoiced. 


288 


THE ILIAD. 


He pitch'd his spear, and to the Lycian prince 
In terms of peace and amity replied. 

Thou art my own hereditary friend, 
Whose noble grandsire was the guest of mine. 
For Oeneus, on a time, full twenty days, 
Regaled Bellerophon, and pledges fair 
Of hospitality they interchanged. 
Oeneus a belt radiant with purple gave 
To brave Bellerophon, who in return 
Gave him a golden goblet. Coming forth 
I left the kind memorial safe at home. 
A child was I when Tydeus went to Thebes, 
Where the Achaians perish'd, and of him 
Hold no remembrance ; but henceforth, my friend, 
Thine host am I in Argos, and thou mine 
In Lycia, should I chance to sojourn there. 
We will not clash. Trojans or aids of Troy 
No few the gods shall furnish to my spear, 
Whom I may slaughter ; and no want of Greeks 
On whom to prove thy prowess, thou shalt find. 
But it were well that an exchange ensued 
Between us ; take mine armour, give me thine, 
That all who notice us may understand 
Our patrimonial 1 amity and love. 

So they, and each alighting, hand in hand 
Stood lock'd, faith promising and firm accord. 
Then Jove of sober judgment so bereft 
Infatuate Glaucus that with Tydeus' son 
He barter'd gold for brass, an hundred beeves 
In value, for the value small of nine. 

But Hector at the Scaean gate and beech 
Meantime arrived, to whose approach the wives 
And daughters flock'd of Troy, inquiring each 
The fate of husband, brother, son, or friend. 
He bade them all with solemn prayer the gods 
Seek fervent, for that woe was on the wing. 

But when he enter'd Priam's palace, built 
With splendid porticoes, and which within 
Had fifty chambers lined with polish'd stone, 
Contiguous all, where Priam's sons reposed 
And his sons' wives, and where, on the other side, 
In twelve magnificent chambers also lined 
With polish'd marble and contiguous all, 
The sons-in-law of Priam lay beside 
His spotless daughters, there the mother queen 
Seeking the chamber of Laodice, 
Loveliest of all lier children, as she went 
Met Hector. On his hand she hung and said : 

Why leavest thou, my son ! the dangerous 
field? 
I fear that the Achaians (hateful name !) 
Compass the walls so closely, that thou seek'st 
Urged by distress the citadel, to lift 
Thine hands in prayer to Jove % But pause awhile 
Till I shall bring thee wine, that having pour'd 
Libation rich to Jove and to the powers 
Immortal, thou may'st drink and be refresh'd. 
For wine is mighty to renew the strength 
Of weary man, and weary thou must be 
Thyself, thus long defending us and ours. 
To whom her son majestic thus replied. 

My mother, whom I reverence ! cheering wine 
Bring none to me, lest I forget my might. 
I fear, beside, with unwash'd hands to pour 
Libation forth of sable wine to Jove, 
And dare on none account, thus blood-defiled, 
Approach the tempest-stirring god in prayer. 
Thou, therefore, gathering all our matrons, seek 

1 EeiVtll TTOLTpwioi. 


The fane of Pallas, huntress of the spoil, 
Bearing sweet incense ; but from the attire 
Treasured within thy chamber, first select 
The amplest robe, most exquisitely wrought, 
And which thou prizest most, — then spread the gift 
On Athenaean Pallas' lap divine. 
Twelve heifers also of the year untouch'd 
With puncture of the goad, promise to slay 
In sacrifice, if she will pity Troy, 
Our wives and little ones, and will avert 
The son of Tydeus from these sacred towers, 
That dreadful chief, terror of all our host. 
Go then, my mother, seek the hallowed fane 
Of the spoil-huntress deity. I, the while, 
Seek Paris, and if Paris yet can hear, 
Shall call him forth. But oh that earth would yawn 
And swallow him, whom Jove hath made a curse 
To Troy, to Priam, and to all his house ; 
Methinks, to see him plunged into the shades 
For ever, were a cure for all my woes. 

He ceased; the queen her palace entering, 
charged 
Her maidens ; they, incontinent, throughout 
All Troy convened the matrons, as she bade. 
Meantime into her wardrobe incense-fumed, 
Herself descended ; there her treasures lay, 
Works of Sidonian women, whom her son 
The godlike Paris, when he cross'd the seas 
With Jove-begotten Helen, brought to Troy. 
The most magnificent, and varied most 
With colours radiant, from the rest she chose 
For Pallas ; vivid as a star it shone, 
And lowest lay of all. Then forth she went, 
The Trojan matrons all folloAving her steps. 

But when the long procession reach'd the fane 
Of Pallas in the heights of Troy, to them 
The fair Theano oped the portals wide, 
Daughter of Cisseus, brave Antenor's spouse, 
And by appointment public, at that time, 
Priestess of Pallas. All with lifted hands 
In presence of Minerva wept aloud. 
Beauteous Theano on the goddess' lap 
Then spread the robe, and to the daughter fair 
Of Jove omnipotent her suit address'd. 

Goddess l of goddesses, our city's shield, 
Adored Minerva, hear ! oh ! break the lance 
Of Diomede, and give himself to fall 
Prone in the dust before the Scaean gate. 
So will we offer to thee at thy shrine, 
This day twelve heifers of the year, untouch'd 
By yoke or goad, if thou wilt pity show 
To Troy, and save our children and our wives. 

Such prayer the'priestessoffer'd,and such pi'ayer 
All present ; whom Minerva heard averse. 
But Hector to the palace sped meantime 
Of Alexander, which himself had built, 
Aided by every architect of name 
Illustrious then in Troy. Chamber it had, 
Wide hall, proud dome, and on the heights of Troy 
Near-neighbouring Hector's house and Priam's 

stood. 
There enter'd Hector, Jove-beloved, a spear 
Its length eleven cubits in his hand, 
Its glittering head bound with a ring of gold. 
He found within his chamber whom he sought, 
Polishing with exactest care his arms 
Resplendent, shield and hauberk fingering o'er 
With curious touch, and tampering with his bow. 

1 $?a Oeduv. 


THE ILIAD. 


289 


Helen of Argos with her female train 
Sat occupied, the while, to each in turn 
Some splendid task assigning. Hector fix'd 
His eyes on Paris, and him stern rebuked. 

Thy sullen humours, Paris, are ill-timed. 
The people perish at our lofty walls ; 
The flames of war have compass'd Troy around 
And thou hast kindled them ; who yet thyself, 
That slackness show'st which in another seen 
Thou would'st resent to death. Haste, seek the field 
This moment, lest, the next, all Ilium blaze. 

To whom thus Paris graceful as a god. 
Since, Hector, thou hast charged me with a fault 
And not unjustly, I will answer make, 
And give thou special heed. That here I sit, 
The cause is sorrow, which I wish'd to soothe 
In secret, not displeasure or revenge. 
I tell thee also, that even now my wife 
Was urgent with me in most soothing terms 
That I would forth to battle ; and myself, 
Aware that victory oft changes sides, 
That course prefer. Wait, therefore, thou awhile, 
Till I shall dress me for the fight, or go 
Thou first, and I will overtake thee soon. 

He ceased, to whom brave Hector answer none 
Return'd, when Helen him with lenient speech 
Accosted mild. My brother ! who in me 
Hast found a sister worthy of thy hate, 
Authoress of all calamity to Troy, 
Oh that the winds, the day when I was born, 
Had swept me out of sight, whirl'd me aloft 
To some inhospitable mountain-top, 
Or plunged me in the deep ; there I had sunk 
O'erwhelm'd, and all these ills had never been. 
But since the gods would bring these ills to pass 
I should, at least, some worthier mate have chosen, 
One not insensible to public shame. 
But this, oh this, nor hath nor will acquire 
Hereafter, aught which like discretion shows 
Or reason, and shall find his just reward. 
But enter ; take this seat ; for who as thou 
Labours, or who hath cause like thee to rue 
The crime, my brother, for which heaven hath 
Both Paris and my most detested self [doom'd 
To be the burthens of an endless song ? 

To whom the warlike Hector huge ' replied. 
Me bid not, Helen, to a seat, howe'er 
Thou wish my stay, for thou must not prevail. 
The Trojans miss me, and myself no less 
Am anxious to return. But urge in haste 
This loiterer forth ; yea, let him urge himself 
To overtake me ere I quit the town. 
For I must home in haste, that I may see 
My loved Andromache, my infant boy, 
And my domestics, ignorant if e'er 
I shall behold them more, or if my fate 
Ordain me now to fall by Greecian hands. 

So spake the dauntless hero, and withdrew. 
But reaching soon his own well-built abode 
He found not fair Andromache ; she stood 
Lamenting Hector, with the nurse who bore 
Her infant, on a turret's top sublime. 
He then, not finding his chaste spouse within, 
Thus from the portal, of her train inquired. 

Tell me, ye maidens, whither went from home 


i The bulk of his heroes is a circumstance of which 
Homer frequently reminds us by the use of the word 
(li'yas— and which ought, therefore, by no means to be 
suppressed. 


Andromache the fair ? Went she to see 
Her female kindred of my father's house, 
Or to Minerva's temple, where convened 
The bright-hair'd matrons of the city seek 
To soothe the awful goddess % Tell me true. 

To whom his household's governess discreet. 
Since, Hector, truth is thy demand, receive 
True answer. Neither went she forth to see 
Her female kindred of thy father's house, 
Nor to Minerva's temple, where convened 
The bright-hair'd matrons of the city seek 
To soothe the awful goddess ; but she went 
Hence to the tower of Troy : for she had heard 
That the Achaians had prevail'd, and driven 
The Trojans to the walls ; she, therefore, wild 
With grief, flew thither, and the nurse her steps 
Attended, with thy infant hi her arms. 

So spake the prudent governess ; whose words 
When Hector heard, issuing from his door 
He backward trod with hasty steps the streets 
Of lofty Troy, and having traversed all 
The spacious city, when he now approach'd 
The Sceean gate, whence he must seek the field, 
There, hasting home again his noble wife 
Met him, Andromache the rich-endow'd 
Fair daughter of Eetion famed in arms. 
Eetion, who in Hypoplacian Thebes 
Umbrageous dwelt, Cilicia's mighty lord, — 
His daughter valiant Hector had espoused. 
There she encounter'd him, and with herself 
The nurse came also, bearing in her arms 
Hectorides, his infant darling boy, 
Beautiful as a star. Him Hector call'd 
Seaman drios, but Astyanax' 2 all else 
In Ilium named him, for that Hector's arm 
Alone was the defence and strength of Troy. 
The father, silent, eyed his babe, and smiled. 
Andromache, meantime, before him stood, 
With streaming cheeks, hung on his hand, and said. 

Thy own great courage will cut short thy days, 
My noble Hector ! neither pitiest thou 
Thy helpless infant, or my hapless self, 
Whose widowhood is near ; for thou wilt fall 
Ere long, assail'd by the whole host of Greece. 
Then let me to the tomb, my best retreat 
When thou art slain. For comfort none or joy 
Can I expect, thy day of life extinct, 
But thenceforth, sorrow. Father I have none ; 
No mother. When Cilicia's city, Thebes 
The populous, was by Achilles sack'd, 
He slew my father ; yet his gorgeous arms 
Stripp'd not through reverence of him, but con- 
Arm'd as it was, his body on the pile, [sumed, 
And heap'd his tomb, which the Oreades 3 , 
Jove's daughters, had with elms inclosed around. 
My seven brothers, glory of our house, 
All in one day descended to the shades ; 
For brave" Achilles, while they fed their herds 
And snowy flocks together, slew them all. 
My mother, queen of the well-wooded realm 
Of Hypoplacian Thebes, her hither brought 
Among his other spoils, he loosed again 
At an inestimable ransom-price, 
But by Diana 4 pierced, she died at home. 
Yet Hector— oh my husband ! I in thee 
Find parents, brothers, all that I have lost. 


2 The name signifies, the Chief of the city. 

3 Mountain nymphs. 

4 Sudden deaths were ascribed either to Diana or Apollo. 


290 


THE ILIAD. 


Come ! have compassion on us. Go not hence, 

But guard this turret, lest of me thou make 

A widow, and an orphan of thy hoy. 

The city walls are easiest of ascent 

At yonder fig-tree ; station there thy powers ; 

For whether hy a prophet warn'd, or taught 

By search and observation, in that part 

Each Ajax with Idomeneus of Crete, 

The sons of Atreus, and the valiant son 

Of Tydeus, have now thrice assail'd the town. 

To whom the leader of the host of Troy. 
These cares, Andromache, which thee engage, 
All touch me also ; but I dread to incur 
The scorn of male and female tongues in Troy, 
If, dastard-like, I should decline the fight. 
Nor feel I such a wish. No. I have learn'd 
To be courageous ever, in the van 
Among the flower of Ilium to assert 
My glorious father's honour, and my own. 
For that the day shall come when sacred Troy, 
When Priam, and the people of the old 
Spear-practised king shall perish, well I know. 
But for no Trojan sorrows yet to come 
So much I mourn, not even for Hecuba, 
Nor yet for Priam, nor for all the brave 
Of my own brothers who shall kiss the dust, 
As for thyself, when some Achaian chief 
Shall have convey'd thee weeping hence, thy sun 
Of peace and liberty for ever set. 
Then shalt thou toil in Argos at the loom 
For a task-mistress, and constrain'd shalt draw 
From Hypere'fa's fount, or from the fount 
MesseVs, water at her proud command. 
Some Greecian then, seeing thy tears, shall say — 
" This was the wife of Hector, who excell'd 
All Troy in fight when Ilium was besieged." 
Such he shall speak thee, and thy heart, the while, 
Shall bleed afresh through want of such a friend 
To stand between captivity and thee. 
But may I rest beneath my hill of earth 
Or ere that day airive ! I would not live 
To hear thy cries, and see thee torn away. 

So saying, illustrious Hector stretch' d his arms 
Forth to his son, but with a scream, the child 
Fell back into the bosom of his nurse, 
His father's aspect dreading, whose bright arms 
He had attentive mark'd and shaggy crest 
Playing tremendous o'er his helmet's height. 
His father and his gentle mother laugh'd ', 
And noble Hector lifting from his head 
His dazzling helmet, placed it on the ground, 
Then kiss'd his boy and dandled him, and thus 
In earnest prayer the heavenly powers implored. 

Hear, all ye gods ! as ye have given to me, 
So also on my son excelling might 
Bestow, with chief authority in Troy. 
And be his record this, in time to come, 
When he returns from battle. Lo ! how far 
The son excels the sire ! May every foe 
Fall under him, and he come laden home 
With spoils blood-stain'd to his dear mother's joy. 

He said, and gave his infant to the arms 
Of his Andromache, who him received 
Into her fragrant bosom, bitter tears 
With sweet smiles mingling ; he with pity moved 
That sight observed, soft touch'd her cheek, and 
said, 

1 The Scholiast in Villoisson calls it (pvcnttdv riva koX 
fJ.4Tpi.oi/ 7eAwTa, a natural and moderate laughter. 


Mourn not, my loved Andromache, for me 
Too much ; no man shall send me to the shades 
Of Tartarus, ere mine allotted hour, 
Nor lives he who can overpass the date 
By heaven assign'd him, be he base or brave. 
Go then, and occupy content at home 
The woman's province ; ply the distaff, spin 
And weave, and task thy maidens. War belongs 
To man ; to all men ; and of all who first 
Drew vital breath in Ilium, most to me. 

He ceased, and from the ground his helmet 
Hair-crested ; his Andromache, at once [raised 
Obedient, to her home repair' d, but oft 
Turn'd as she went, and, turning, wept afresh. 
No sooner at the palace she arrived 
Of havoc-spreading Hector, than among 
Her numerous maidens found within, she raised 
A general lamentation ; with one voice, 
In his own house, his whole domestic train 
Mourn'd Hector, yet alive ; for none the hope 
Conceived of his escape from Greecian hands, 
Or to behold their living master more. 

Nor Paris in his stately mansion long 
Delay'd, but, arm'd resplendent, traversed swift 
The city, all alacrity and joy. 
As some stall'd horse high-fed, his stable-cord 
Snapt short, beats under foot the sounding plain, 
Accustom'd in smooth-sliding streams to lave 
Exulting ; high he bears his head, his mane 
Undulates o'er his shoulders, pleased he eyes 
His glossy sides, and borne on pliant knees 
Shoots to the meadow where his fellows graze ; 
So Paris, son of Priam, from the heights 
Of Pergamus into the streets of Troy, 
All dazzling as the sun, descended, flush'd 
With martial pride, and bounding in his course. 
At once he came where noble Hector stood 
Now turning, after conference with his spouse, 
When godlike Alexander thus began. 

My hero brother, thou hast surely found 
My long delay most irksome. More dispatch 
Had pleased thee more, for such was thy command. 

To whom the warlike Hector thus replied. 
No man, judicious, and in feats of arms 
Intelligent, would pour contempt on thee, 
(For thou art valiant) wert thou not remiss 
And wilful negligent ; and when I hear 
The very men who labour in thy cause 
Reviling thee, I make thy shame my own. 
But let us on. All such complaints shall cease 
Hereafter, and thy faults be touch'd no more, 
Let Jove but once afford us riddance clear 
Of these Achaians, and to quaff the cup 
Of liberty, before the living gods. 


BOOK VII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Ajax and Hector engage in single combat. The Greecians 
fortify their camp. 


So saying, illustrious Hector through the gates 
To battle rush'd, with Paris at his side, 
And both were bent on deeds of high renown. 
As when the Gods vouchsafe propitious gales 
To longing mariners, who with smooth oars 


THE ILIAD. 


291 


Threshing the waves have all their strength con- 
sumed, 
So them the longing Trojans glad received. 

At once each slew a Greecian. Paris slew 
Menesthius, who in Arna dwelt, the son 
Of Areithoiis, club-bearing chief, 
And of Philomedusa, radiant-eyed. 
But Hector wounded with his glittering spear 
Eioneus ; he pierced his neck beneath 
His brazen morion's verge, and dead he fell. 
Then Glaucus, leader of the Lycian host, 
Son of Hippolochus, in furious fight 
Iphinoiis son of Dexias assail'd, 
Mounting his rapid mares, and with his lance 
His shoulder pierced ; unhorsed he fell and died. 

Such slaughter of the Greecians in fierce fight 
Minerva noting, from the Olympian hills 
Flew down to sacred Ilium ; whose approach 
Marking from Pergamus Apollo flew 
To meet her, ardent on the part of Troy. 
Beneath the beech they join'd, when first the king, 
The son of Jove, Apollo, thus began. 

Daughter of Jove supreme ! why hast thou left 
Olympus, and with such impetuous speed ? 
Comest thou to give the Dana'i success 
Decisive ? For I know that pity none 
Thou feel'st for Trojans, perish as they may. 
But if advice of mine can influence thee 
To that which shall be best, let us compose 
This day the furious fight, which shall again 
Hereafter rage, till Ilium be destroy'd. 
Since such is Juno's pleasure and thy own. 

Him answer'd then Pallas ceerulean-eyed. 
Celestial archer ! be it so. I came 
Myself so purposing into the field 
From the Olympian heights. But by what means 
Wilt thou induce the warriors to a pause ? 

To whom the king, the son of Jove, replied. 
The courage of equestrian Hector bold 
Let us excite, that he may challenge forth 
To single combat terrible some chief 
Achaian. The Achaians brazen-mail'd 
Indignant, will supply a champion soon 
To combat with the noble chief of Troy. 

So spake Apollo, and his counsel pleased 
Minerva ; which when Helenus the seer, 
Priam's own son, in his prophetic soul 
Perceived, approaching Hector, thus he spake. 

Jove's peer in wisdom, Hector, Priam's son ! 
I am thy brother. Wilt thou list to me ? 
Bid cease the battle. Bid both armies sit. 
Call first, thyself, the mightiest' of the Greeks 
To single conflict. I have heard the voice 
Of the eternal gods, and well assured 
Foretel thee that thy death not now impends. 

He spake, whom Hector heard with joy elate. 
Before his van striding into the space 
Both hosts between, he with his spear transverse 
Press'd back the Trojans, and they sat. Down sat 
The well-greaved Greecians also at command 
Of Agamemnon ; and in shape assumed 
Of vultures, Pallas and Apollo perch 'd 
High on the lofty beech sacred to Jove 
The father segis-arm'd ; delighted thence 
They view'd the peopled plain horrent around 
With shields and helms and glittering spears erect. 
As when fresh-blowing Zephyrus the flood 
Sweeps first, the ocean blackens at the blast, 
Such seem'd the plain whereon the Achaians sat 
And Trojans, whom between thus Hector spake. 


Ye Trojans, and Achaians brazen-greaved, 
Attend while I shall speak ! Jove high-enthroned 
Hath not fulfill' d the truce, but evil plans 
Against both hosts, till either ye shall take 
Troy's lofty towers, or shall yourselves in flight 
Fall vanquish'd at your billow-cleaving barks. 
With you is all the flower of Greece. Let him 
Whose heart shall move him to encounter sole 
Illustrious Hector, from among you all 
Stand forth, and Jove be witness to us both. 
If he, with his long-pointed lance, of life 
Shall me bereave, my armour is his prize, 
Which he shall hence into your fleet convey ; 
Not so my body ; that he shall resign 
For burial to the men and wives of Troy. 
But if Apollo make the glory mine, 
And he fall vanquish'd, him will I despoil, 
And hence conveying into sacred Troy 
His arms, will in the temple hang them high 
Of the bow-bender god, but I will send 
His body to the fleet, that him the Greeks 
May grace with rites funereal. On the banks 
Of wide-spread Hellespont ye shall upraise 
His tomb, and as they cleave with oary barks 
The sable deep, posterity shall say — 
" It is a warrior's tomb ; in ancient days 
The hero died ; him warlike Hector slew." 
So men shall speak hereafter, and my fame 
Who slew him, and my praise, shall never die. 

He ceased, and all sat mute. His challenge bold 
None dared accept, which yet they blush'd to shun, 
Till Menelaus, at the last, arose 
Groaning profound, and thus reproach'd the Greeks. 

Ah boasters ! henceforth women — men no 
Eternal shame, shame infinite is ours, [more — 
If none of all the Greecians dares contend 
With Hector. Dastards — deaf to glory's call — 
Rot where ye sit ! I will myself take arms 
Against him, for the gods alone dispose, 
At their own pleasure, the events of war. 

He ended, and put on his radiant arms. 
Then, Menelaus, manifest appear'd 
Thy death, approaching by the dreadful hands 
Of Hector, mightier far in arms than thou, 
But that the chiefs of the Achaians all 
Upstarting stay'd thee, and himself the king, 
The son of Atreus, on thy better hand 
Seizing affectionate, thee thus address'd. 

Thou ravest, my royal brother ! and art seized 
With needless frenzy. But, however chafed, 
Restrain thy wrath, nor covet to contend 
With Priameian Hector, whom in fight 
All dread, a warrior thy superior far. 
Not even Achilles, in the glorious field, 
(Though stronger far than thou,) this hero meets 
Undaunted. Go then, and thy seat resume 
In thy own band ; the Achaians shall for him, 
Doubtless, some fitter champion furnish forth. 
Brave though he be, and with the toils of war 
Insatiable, he shall be willing yet, 
Seated oh his bent knees, to breathe a while, 
Should he escape the arduous brunt severe. 

So saying, the hero by his counsel wise 
His brother's purpose alter'd ; he complied, 
And his glad servants eased him of his arms. 
Then Nestor thus the Argive host bespake. 

Great woe, ye gods ! hath on Achaia fallen. 
Now may the warlike Peleus, hoary chief, 
Who both with eloquence and wisdom rules 
The Myrmidons, our foul disgrace deplore, 
u 2 


292 


THE ILIAD. 


With him discoursing, erst, of ancient times, 
When all your pedigrees T traced, I made 
His heart bound in him at the proud report. 
But now, when he shall learn how here we sat 
Cowering at foot of Hector, he shall oft 
His hands uplift to the immortal gods, 
Praying a swift release into the shades. 
Jove ! Pallas ! Phoebus ! Oh that I were young 
As when the Pylians in fierce fight engaged 
The Arcadians spear-expert, beside the stream 
Of rapid Celadon ! Beneath the walls 
We fought of Pheia, where the Jardan rolls. 
There Ereuthalion, chief of godlike form, 
Stood forth before his van, and with loud voice 
Defied the Pylians. Arm'd he was in steel 
By royal Are'i'thous whilom worn ; 
Brave Are'i'thous, Corynetes 1 named 
By every tongue ; for that in bow and spear 
Nought trusted he, but with an iron mace 
The close-embattled phalanx shatter'd wide. 
Him by address, not by superior force, 
Lycurgus vanquish'd, in a narrow pass, 
Where him his iron whirl-bat^ nought avail'd. 
Lycurgus stealing on him, with his lance 
Transpierced and fix'd him to the soil supine. 
Him of his arms, bright gift of brazen Mars, 
He stripp'd, which after, in the embattled field 
Lycurgus wore himself, but, growing old, 
Surrender'd them to Ereuthalion's use 
His armour-bearer, high in his esteem, 
And Ereuthalion wore them on the day 
When he defied our best. All hung their heads 
And trembled ; none dared meet him ; till at last 
With in-born courage warm'd, and nought dismay 'd, 
Though youngest of them all, I undertook 
That contest, and by Pallas' aid, prevail'd. 
I slew the man in height and bulk all men 
Surpassing, and much soil he cover'd slain. 
Oh for the vigour of those better days ! 
Then should not Hector want a champion long, 
Whose call to combat, ye, although the prime 
And pride of all our land, seem slow to hear. 

He spake reproachful, when at once arose 
Nine heroes. Agamemnon, king of men, 
Foremost arose ; then Tydeus' mighty son, 
With either Ajax in fierce prowess clad ; 
The Cretan next, Idomeneus, with whom 
Uprose Meriones his friend approved, 
Terrible as the man-destroyer Mars. 
Evsemon's noble offspring next appear'd 
Eurypylus ; Andrsemon's son the next 
Thoas ; and last, Ulysses, glorious chief. 
All these stood ready to engage in arms 
With warlike Hector, when the ancient king, 
Gerenian Nestor, thus his speech resumed. 

Now cast the lot for all. Who wins the chance 
j Shall yield Achaia service, and himself 
Serve also, if successful he escape 
This brunt of hostile hardiment severe. 

So Nestor. They, inscribing each his lot, 
Into the helmet cast it of the son 
Of Atreus, Agamemnon. Then the host " 
Pray'd all, their hands uplifting, and with eyes 
To the wide heavens directed, many said — 

Eternal sire ! chuse Ajax, or the son 
Of Tydeus, or the king himself 3 who sways 
The sceptre in Mycenie wealth-renown'd ! 


1 The club-bearer. 


2 It is a woid used by Dryden. 
3 Agamemnon. 


Such prayer the people made ; then Nestor shook 
The helmet, and forth leap'd, whose most they 

wish'd, 
The lot of Ajax. Throughout all the host 
To every chief and potentate of Greece, 
From right to left the herald bore the lot 
By all disown'd ! but when at length he reach'd 
The inscriber of the lot, who cast it in, 
Illustrious Ajax, in his open palm 
The herald placed it, standing at his side. 
He, conscious, with heroic joy the lot 
Cast at his foot, and thus exclaim'd aloud. 

My friends ! the lot is mine, and my own heart 
Rejoices also; for I nothing doubt 
That noble Hector shall be foil'd by me. 
But while I put mine armour on, pray all 
In silence to the king Saturnian Jove, 
Lest, while ye pray, the Trojans overhear. 
Or pray aloud, for whom have we to dread ? 
No man shall my firm standing by his strength 
Unsettle, or for ignorance of mine 
Me vanquish, who, I hope, brought forth andtrain'd 
In Salamis, have, now, not much to learn. 

He ended. They with heaven-directed eyes 
The king in prayer address'd, Saturnian Jove. 
Jove ! glorious father ! who from Ida's height 
Controllest all below, let Ajax prove 
Victorious, make the honour all his own ! 
Or, if not less than Ajax, Hector share 
Thy love and thy regard, divide the prize 
Of glory, and let each achieve renown ! 

Then Ajax put his radiant armour on, 
And, arm'd complete, rush'd forward. As huge 
To battle moves the sons of men between [Mars 
Whom Jove with heart-devouring thirst inspires 
Of war, so moved huge Ajax to the fight, 
Tower of the Greeks, dilating with a smile 
His martial features terrible ; on feet, 
Firm-planted, to the combat he advanced 
Stride after stride, and shook his quivering spear. 
Him viewing, Argos' universal host 
Exulted, while a panic loosed the knees 
Of every Trojan ; even Hector's heart 
Beat double, but escape for him remain'd 
None now, or to retreat into his ranks 
Again, from whom himself had challenged forth. 
Ajax advancing like a tower his shield 
Sevenfold, approach'd. It was the labour'd work 
Of Tychius, armourer of matchless skill, 
Who dwelt in Hyla ; coated with the hides 
Of seven high-pamper'd bulls that shield he framed 
For Ajax, and the disk plated with brass. 
Advancing it before his breast, the son 
Of Telamon approach'd the Trojan chief, 
And face to face, him threatening, thus began. 

Now, Hector, prove, by me alone opposed, 
What chiefs the Dana'i can furnish forth 
In absence of the lion-hearted prince 
Achilles, breaker of the ranks of war. 
He, in his billow-cleaving barks incensed 
Against our leader Agamemnon, lies ; 
But warriors of my measure, who may serve 
To cope with thee, we want not ; numerous such 
Are found amongst us. But begin the fight. 

To whom majestic Hector fierce in arms. 
Ajax ! heroic leader of the Greeks ! 
Offspring of Telamon ! essay not me 
With words to terrify, as I were boy 
Or girl unskill'd in war ; I am a man 
Well exercised in battle, who have shed 


THE ILIAD. 


293 


The blood of many a Avarrior, and have learn'd, 

From hand to hand shifting my shield, to fight 

Unwearied ; I can make a sport of war, 

In standing fight adjusting all my steps 

To martial measures sweet, or vaulting light 

Into my chariot, thence can urge the foe. 

Yet in contention with a chief like thee 

I will employ no stratagem, or seek 

To smite thee privily, but with a stroke 

(If I may reach thee) visible to all. 

So saying, he shook, then hurl'd his massy spear 
At Ajax, and his broad shield sevenfold 
On its eighth surface of resplendent brass 
Smote full ; six hides the unblunted weapon pierced, 
But in the seventh stood rooted. Ajax, next, 
Heroic chief, hurl'd his long-shadow'd spear 
And struck the oval shield of Priam's son. 
Through his bright disk the weapon tempest-driven 
Glided, and in his hauberk-rings infix'd 
At his soft flank, ripp'd wide his vest within. 
Inclined oblique he 'scaped the dreadful doom. 
Then each from other's shield his massy spear 
Recovering quick, like lions hunger-pinch'd 
Or wild boars irresistible in force, 
They fell to close encounter. Priam's son 
The shield of Ajax at its centre smote, 
But fail'd to pierce it, for he bent his point- 
Sprang Ajax then, and meeting full the targe 
Of Hector, shock' d him ; through it and beyond 
He urged the weapon with its sliding edge 
Athwart his neck, and blood was seen to start. 
But still, for no such cause, from battle ceased 
Crest-tossing Hector, but retiring, seized 
A huge stone angled sharp and black with age 
That on the champain lay. The bull-hide guard 
Sevenfold of Ajax with that stone he smote 
Full on its centre ; sang the circling brass. 
Then Ajax far a heavier stone upheaved ; 
He whirled it, and with might immeasurable 
Dismiss'd the mass, which with a mill-stone weight 
Sank through the shield of Hector, and his knees 
Disabled ; with his shield supine he fell, 
But by Apollo raised, stood soon again. 
And now, with swords they had each other hewn, 
Had not the messengers of gods and men 
The heralds wise, Idseus on the part 
Of Ilium, and Talthybius for the Greeks, 
Advancing interposed. His sceptre each 
Between them held, and thus Idseus spake. 

My children, cease ! prolong not still the fight. 
Ye both are dear to cloud-assembler Jove, 
Both valiant, and all know it. But the night 
Hath fallen, and night's command must be obey'd. 

To him the son of Telamon replied. 
Idseus ! bid thy master speak as thou. 
He is the challenger. If such his choice, 
Mine differs not ; I wait but to comply. 

Him answer'd then heroic Hector huge. 
Since, Ajax, the immortal powers on thee 
Have bulk pre-eminent and strength bestow'd, 
With such address in battle, that the host 
Of Greece hath not thine equal at the spear, 
Now let the combat cease. We shall not want 
More fair occasion ; on some future day 
We will not part till all-disposing heaven 
Shall give thee victory, or shall make her mine. 
But night hath fallen, and night must be obey'd, 
That thou may'st gratify with thy return 
The Achaians, and especially thy friends 
And thy own countrymen. I go, no less 


To exhilarate in Priam's royal town 

Men and robed matrons, who shall seek the gods 

For me, with pious ceremonial due. 

But come. We will exchange, or ere we part, 

Some princely gift, that Greece and Troy may say 

Hereafter, with soul-wasting rage they fought, 

But parted with the gentleness of friends. 

So saying, he with its sheath and belt a sword 
Presented bright-emboss'd, and a bright belt 
Purpureal 1 took from Ajax in return. 
Thus separated,' one the Greecians sought, 
And one the Trojans ; they when him they saw 
From the unconquer'd hands return'd alive 
Of Ajax, with delight their chief received, 
And to the city led him, double joy 
Conceiving all at his unhoped escape. 
On the other side, the Greecians brazen-mail'd 
To noble Agamemnon introduced 
Exulting Ajax, and the king of men 
In honour of the conqueror slew an ox 
Of the fifth year to Jove omnipotent. 
Him flaying first, they carved him next and spread 
The whole abroad, then, scoring deep the flesh, 
They pierced it with the spits, and from the spits 
(Once roasted well) withdrew it all again. 
Their labour thus accomplish'd, and the board 
Furnish'd with plenteous cheer, they feasted all 
Till all were satisfied ; nor Ajax miss'd 
The conqueror's meed, to whom the hero-king 
Wide-ruling Agamemnon, gave the chine 
Perpetual 2 , his distinguish'd portion due. 
The calls of hunger and of thirst at length 
Both well sufficed, thus, foremost of them all 
The ancient Nestor, whose advice had oft 
Proved salutary, prudent thus began. 

Chiefs of Achaia, and thou, chief of all, 
Great Agamemnon ! Many of our host 
Lie slain, whose blood sprinkles, in battle shed, 
The banks of smooth Scamander, and their souls 
Have journey 'd down into the realms of death. 
To-morrow, therefore, let the battle pause 
As need requires, and at the peep of day 
With mules and oxen, wheel ye from all parts 
The dead, that we may burn them near the fleet. 
So, home to Greece returning, will we give 
The fathers' ashes to the children's care. 
Accumulating next, the pile around, 
One common tomb for all, with brisk dispatch 
We will upbuild for more secure defence 
Of us and of our fleet, strong towers and tall 
Adjoining to the tomb, and every tower 
Shall have its ponderous gate, commodious pass 
Affording to the mounted charioteer. 
And last, without those towers and at their foot, 
Dig we a trench, which compassing around 
Our camp, both steeds and warriors shall exclude. 
And all fierce inroad of the haughty foe. 

So counsel'd he, whom every chief approved. 
In Troy meantime, at Priam's gate beside 
The lofty citadel, debate began 
The assembled senators between, confused, 

1 This word I have taken leave to coin. The Latins have 
hoth substantive and adjective. Purpura — Purpureus. 
We make purple serve both uses ; but it seems a poverty 
to which we have no need to submit, at least in poetry. 

2 The word is here used in the Latin sense of it, Virgil, 
describing the entertainment given by Evander to the 
Trojans, says that he regaled them 

Perpetui tergo bovis et lustralibus extis. jEn. viii. 
It means, the whole. 


294 


THE ILIAD. 


Clamorous, and with furious heat pursued, 
When them Antenor, prudent, thus bespake. 

Ye Trojans, Dardans, and allies of»Troy, 
My counsel hear ! Delay not. Instant yield 
To the Atrida?, hence to be convey'd, 
Helen of Greece with all that is her own. 
For charged with violated oaths we fight, 
And hope I none conceive that aught by us 
Design'd shall prosper, unless so be done. 

He spake and sat ; when from his seat arose 
Paris, fair Helen's noble paramour, 
Who thus with speech impassion'd quick replied. 

Antenor ! me thy counsel hath not pleased ; 
Thou could'st have framed far better ; but if this 
Be thy deliberate judgment, then the gods 
Make thy deliberate judgment nothing worth. 
But I will speak myself. Ye chiefs of Troy, 
I tell you plain. I will not yield my spouse. 
But all her treasures to our house convey'd 
From Argos, those will I resign, and add 
Still other compensation from my own. 

Thus Paris said and sat ; when like the gods 
Themselves in wisdom, from his seat uprose 
Dardanian Priam, who them thus address'd. 

Trojans, Dardanians, and allies of Troy ! 
I shall declare my sentence ; hear ye me. 
Now let the legions, as at other times, 
Take due refreshment ; let the watch be set, 
And keep ye vigilant guard. At early dawn 
We will despatch Ideeus to the fleet, 
Who shall inform the Atridse of this last 
Resolve of Paris, author of the war. 
Discreet Idseus also shall propose 
A respite (if the Atridse so incline) 
From war's dread clamour while we burn the dead. 
Then will we clash again, till heaven at length 
Shall part us, and the doubtful strife decide. 

He ceased, whose voice the assembly pleased, 
obey'd. 
Then, troop by troop, the army took repast, 
And at the dawn Ideeus sought the fleet ; 
He found the DanaV, servants of Mars, 
Beside the stern of Agamemnon's ship 
Consulting ; and amid the assembled chiefs 
Arrived, with utterance clear them thus address'd, 

Ye sons of Atreus, and ye chiefs, the flower 
Of all Achaia ! Priam and the chiefs 
Of Ilium, bade me to your ear impart 
(If cliance such embassy might please your ear) 
The mind of Paris, author of the war. 
The treasures which on board his ships he bi'ought 
From Argos home, (oh, had he perish'd first !) 
He yields them with addition from his own. 
Not so the consort of the glorious prince 
Brave Menelaus ; her (although in Troy 
All counsel otherwise) he still detains. 
Thus too I have in charge. Are ye inclined 
That the dread-sounding clamours of the field 
Be caused to cease, till we shall burn the dead ? 
Then will we clash again, till heaven at length 
Shall part us, and the doubtful strife decide. 

So spake Idanis, and all silent sat ; 
Till at the last brave Diomede replied. 

No. We will none of Paris' treasures now, 
Nor even Helen's self. A child may see 
Destruction winging swift her course to Troy. 

Hesaid. The admiring Greeks with loud applause 
All praised the speech of warlike Diomede, 
And answer thus the king of men return'd. 

[daeus ! thou hast witnessed the resolve 


Of the Achaian chiefs, whose choice is mine. 

But for the slain, I shall not envy them 

A funeral pile ; the spirit fled, delay 

Suits not. Last rites cannot too soon be paid. 

Burn them. And let high -thundering Jove attest 

Himself mine oath, that war shall cease the while. 

So saying, he to all the gods upraised 
His sceptre, and Idseus homeward sped 
To sacred Ilium, The Dardanians there 
And Trojans, all assembled, his return 
Expected anxious. He amid them told 
Distinct his errand, when, at once dissolved, 
The whole assembly rose, these to collect 
The scatter'd bodies, those to gather wood ; 
While on the other side the Greeks arose 
As sudden, and all issuing from the fleet 
Sought fuel, some, and, some, the scatter'd dead. 

Now from the gently-swelling flood profound 
The sun arising, with his earliest rays 
In his ascent to heaven smote on the fields, 
When Greeks and Trojans met. Scarce could the 

slain 
Be clear distinguish'd, but they cleansed from each 
His clotted gore with water, and warm tears 
Distilling copious, heaved them to the wains. 
But wailing none was heard, for such command 
Had Priam issued ; therefore heaping high 
The bodies, silent and with sorrowing hearts 
They burn'd them, and to sacred Troy return'd. 
The Greecians also, on the funeral pile 
The bodies heaping sad, burn'd them with fire 
Together, and return'd into the fleet. 
Then, ere the peep of dawn, and while the veil 
Of night, though thinner, still o'erhung the earth, 
Achaians, chosen from the rest, the pile 
Encompass'd. With a tomb (one tomb for all) 
They crown'd the spot adust, and to the tomb 
(For safety of their fleet and of themselves) 
Strong fortress added of high wall and tower, 
With solid gates affording egress thence 
Commodious to the mounted charioteer ; 
Deep foss and broad they also dug without, 
And planted it with piles. So toil'd the Greeks. 

The gods, that mighty labour, from beside 
The Thunderer's throne with admiration view'd, 
When Neptune, shaker of the shores, began. 

Eternal father ! is there on the face 
Of all the boundless earth one mortal man 
Who will, in times to come, consult with heaven ? 
See'st thou yon height of wall, and yon deep trench 
With which the Greecians have their fleet inclosed, 
And, careless of our blessing, hecatomb 
Or invocation have presented none ? 
Far as the day-spring shoots herself abroad, 
So far the glory of this work shall spread, 
While Phoebus and myself, who, toiling hard, 
Built walls for king Laomedon, shall see 
Forgotten all the labour of our hands. 

To whom, indignant, thus high-thundering Jove. 
Oh thou, who shakest the solid earth at will, 
What hast thou spoken 1 An inferior power, 
A god of less sufficiency than thou, 
Might be allow'd some fear from such a cause. 
Fear not. Where'erthe morning shoots her beams, 
Thy glory shall be known ; and when the Greeks 
Shall seek their country through the waves again, 
Then break this bulwark down, submerge it whole, 
And spreading deep with sand the spacious shore 
As at the first, leave not a trace behind. 

Such conference held the gods j and now the sun 


THE ILIAD. 


295 


Went down, and, that great work perform'd, the 

Greeks 
From tent to tent slaughter'd the fatted ox 
And ate their evening cheer. Meantime arrived 
Large fleet with Lemnian wine ; Euneus, son 
Of Jason and Hypsipile, that fleet 
From Lemnos freighted, and had stow'd on board 
A thousand measures from the rest apart 
For the Atridse ; but the host at large 
By traffic were supplied ; some barter'd brass, 
Others bright steel ; some purchased wine with 

hides, 
These with their cattle, with their captives those, 
And the whole host prepared a glad regale. 
All night the Greecians feasted, and the host 
Of Ilium, and all night deep-planning Jove 
Portended dire calamities to both, 
Thundering tremendous ! — Pale was every cheek; 
Each pour'd his goblet on the ground, nor dared 
The hardiest drink, till he had first perform'd 
Libation meet to the Saturnian king 
Omnipotent ; then, all retiring, sought 
Their couches, and partook the gift of sleep.-.. 


BOOK VIII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Jove calls a council, in which he forbids all interference 
of the gods between the Greeks and Trojans. He repairs 
to Ida, where having consulted the scales of destiny, he 
directs his lightning against the Greecians. Nestor is 
endangered by the death of one of his horses. Diomede 
delivers him. In the chariot of Diomede they both 
hasten to engage Hector, whose charioteer is slain by 
Diomede. Jupiter again interposes by his thunders, and 
the whole Greecian host, discomfited, is obliged to seek 
refuge within the rampart. Diomede, with others, at 
sight of a favourable omen sent from Jove in answer to 
Agamemnon's prayer, sallies, Teucer performs great 
exploits, but is disabled by Hector. Juno and Pallas 
set forth from Olympus in aid of the Greecians, but are 
stopped by Jupiter, who reascends from Ida, and in 
heaven foretels the distresses which await the Gree- 
cians. 

Hector takes measures for the security of Troy during the 
night, and prepares his host for an assault to be made 
on the Greecian camp in the morning. 

The saffron-mantled morning now was spread 
O'er all the nations, when the thunderer Jove, 
On the deep-fork'd Olympian's topmost height 
Convened the gods in council, amid whom 
He spake himself; they all attentive heard. 

Gods ! Goddesses ! Inhabitants of heaven ! 
Attend ! I make my secret purpose known. 
Let neither god nor goddess interpose 
My counsel to rescind, but with one heart 
Approve it, that it reach, at once, its end. 
Whom I shall mark soever from the rest 
Withdrawn, that he may Greeks or Trojans aid, 
Disgrace shall find him ; shamefully chastised: 
He shall return to the Olympian heights, 
Or I will hurl him deep into the gulfs 
Of gloomy Tartarus, where hell shuts fast 
Her iron gates, and spreads her brazen floor, 
As far below the shades, as earth from heaven. 
There shall he learn how far I pass in might 
All others ; which if ye incline to doubt, 
Now prove me. Let ye down the golden chain 


From heaven, and at its nether links pull all 
Both goddesses and gods. But me your king, 
Supreme in wisdom, ye shall never draw 
To earth from heaven, toil adverse as ye may. 
Yet I, when once I shall be pleased to pull, 
The earth itself, itself the sea, and you 
Will lift with ease together, and will wind 
The chain around the spiry summit sharp 
Of the Olympian, that all things upheaved 
Shall hang in the mid heaven. So far do I 
Compared with all who live, transcend them all. 

He ended, and the gods long time amazed 
Sat silent, for with awful tone he spake ; 
But at the last Pallas blue-eyed began. 

Father ! Saturnian Jove ! of kings supreme ! 
We know thy force resistless ; but our hearts 
Feel not the less, when we behold the Greeks 
Exhausting all the sorrows of their lot. 
If thou command, we, doubtless, will abstain 
From battle, yet such counsel to the Greeks 
Suggesting still, as may in part effect 
Their safety, lest thy wrath consume them all. 

To whom with smiles answer'd cloud-gatherer 
Jove. 
Fear not, my child ! stern as mine accent was, 
I forced a frown — no more. For in mine heart 
Nought feel I but benevolence to thee. 

He said, and to his chariot join'd his steed3 
Swift, brazen-hoof 'd, and maned with wavy gold ; 
He put on golden raiment, his bright scourge 
Of gold receiving rose into his seat, 
And lash'd his steeds ; they not unwilling flew 
Midway the earth between and starry heaven. 
To spring-fed Ida, mother of wild beasts, 
He came, where stands in Gargarus his shrine 
Breathing fresh incense ! there the sire of all 
Arriving, loosed his coursers, and around 
Involving them in gather'd clouds opaque, 
Sat on the mountain's head, in his own might 
Exulting, with the towers of Ilium all 
Beneath his eye, and the whole fleet of Greece. 

In all their tents, meantime, Achaia's sons 
Took short refreshment, and for fight prepared. 
On the other side, though fewer, yet constrain'd 
By strong necessity, throughout all Troy, 
In the defence of children and of wives 
Ardent, the Trojans panted for the field. 
Wide flew the city gates : forth rush'd to war 
Horsemen and foot, and tumult wild arose. 
They met, they clash'd ; loud was the din of spears 
And bucklers, on their bosoms brazen mail'd 
Encountering, shields in opposition firm 
Met bossy shields, and tumult wild arose 1 . 

There many a shout and many a dying groan 
Were heard, the slayer and the maim'd aloud 
Clamouring, and the earth was drench'd with blood. 
Till sacred morn had brighten'd into noon, 
The volley'd weapons on both sides their task 
Perform'd effectual, and the people fell. 
But when the sun had climb 'd the middle skies, 
The sire of all then took his golden scales ; 
Doom against doom he weigh'd, the eternal fates 
In counterpoise, of Trojans and of Greeks. 
He raised the beam ; low sank the heavier lot 
Of the Achaians ; the Achaian doom 
Subsided, and the Trojan struck the skies. 

Then roar'd his thunders from the summit hurl'd 

i In the repetition of this expression, the translator 
follows the original. m 


296 


THE ILIAD. 


Of Ida, and his vivid lightnings flew 

Into Achaia's host. They at the sight 

Astonish'd stood ; fear whiten'd every cheek. 

Idomeneus dared not himself abide 

That shock, nor Agamemnon stood, nor stood 

The heroes Ajax, ministers of Mars. 

Gerenian Nestor, guardian of the Greeks, 

Alone fled not, nor he by choice remairi'd, 

But by his steed retarded, which the mate 

Of beauteous Helen, Paris, with a shaft 

Had stricken where the forelock grows, a part 

Of all most mortal. Tortured by the wound 

Erect he rose, the arrow in his brain, 

And writhing furious, scared his fellow steeds. 

Meantime, while, strenuous, with his falchion's edge 

The hoary warrior stood slashing the reins, 

Through multitudes of fierce pursuers borne 

On rapid wheels, the dauntless charioteer, 

Approach'd him, Hector. Then,past hope,had died 

The ancient king, but Diomede discern'd 

His peril imminent, and with a voice 

Like thunder, call'd Ulysses to his aid. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Art thou too fugitive, and turn'st thy back 
Like the base multitude ? Ah ! fear a lance 
Implanted ignominious in thy spine. 
Stop — Nestor dies. Fell Hector is at hand. 

So shouted Diomede, whose summons loud 
Ulysses yet heard not, but, passing, flew 
With headlong haste to the Achaian fleet. 
Then, Diomede, unaided as he was, 
Rush'd ardent to the vaw-ward, and before 
The steeds of the Neleian sovereign old 
Standing, in accents wing'd, him thus address'd. 

Old chief ! these youthful warriors are too brisk 
For thee, press'd also by encroaching age. 
Thy servant too is feeble, and thy steeds 
Are tardy. Mount my chariot. Thou shalt see 
With what rapidity the steeds of Troy, 
Pursuing or retreating, scour the field. 
I took them from that terror of his foes, 
iEneas. Thine to our attendants leave, 
While these against the warlike powers of Troy 
We push direct ; that Hector's self may know 
If my spear rage not furious as his own. 

He said, nor the Gerenian chief refused. 
Thenceforth their servants, Sthenelus and good 
Eurymedon, took charge of Nestor's steeds, 
And they the chariot of Tydides both 
Ascended ; Nestor seized the reins, plied well 
The scourge, and soon they met. Tydides hurl'd 
At Hector first, while rapid he advanced ; 
But missing Hector, wounded in the breast 
Eniopeus his charioteer, the son 
Of brave Thebteus, managing the steeds. 
He fell ; his fiery coursers, at the sound 
Startled, recoil'd, and where he fell he died. 
Deep sorrow for his charioteer o'erwhelm'd 
The mind of Hector ; yet, although he moum'd 
He left him, and another sought as brave. 
Nor wanted long his steeds a charioteer, 
For finding soon the son of Iphitus, 
Bold Archeptolemus, he bade him mount 
His chariot, and the reins gave to his hand. 
Then deeds of bloodiest note should have ensued, 
Penn'd had the Trojans been, as lambs, in Troy, 
But for quick succour of the sire of all. 
Thundering, he downward hurl'd his candent bolt 
To the horse-feet of Diomede ; dire fumed 
The flaming sulphur, and both horses drove 


Under the axle, belly to the ground. 

Forth flew the splendid reins from Nestor's hand, 

And thus to Diomede, appall'd, he spake. 

Back to the fleet, Tydides ! Can'st not see 
That Jove ordains not, now, the victory thine ? 
The son of Saturn glorifies to-day 
This Trojan, and, if such his will, can make 
The morrow ours ; but vaiu it is to thwart 
The mind of Jove, for he is lord of all. 

To him the valiant Diomede replied. 
Thou hast well said, old warrior ! but the pang 
That wrings my soul, is this. The public ear 
In Ilium shall from Hector's lips be told — 
I drove Tydides — fearing me he fled. 
So shall he vaunt, and may the earth her jaws 
That moment opening swallow me alive ! 

Him answer'd the Gerenian warrior old. 
What saith the son of Tydeus, glorious chief? 
Should Hector so traduce thee as to call 
Thee base and timid, neither Trojan him 
Nor Dardan would believe, nor yet the wives 
Of numerous shielded warriors brave of Troy, 
Widow'd by thy unconquerable arm. 

So saying, he through the fugitives his steeds 
Turn'd swift to flight. Then Hector and his host 
With clamour infinite their darts woe-wing'd 
Shower'd after them, and Hector, mighty chief 
Majestic, from afar, thus call'd aloud. 

Tydides ! thee the DanaV swift-horsed 
Were wont to grace with a superior seat, 
The mess of honour, and the brimming cup, 
But now will mock thee. Thou art woman now. 
Go, timorous girl ! Thou never shalt behold 
Me flying, climb our battlements, or lead 
Our women captive. I will slay thee first. 

He ceased. Then Diomede in dread suspense 
Thrice purposed, turning, to withstand the foe, 
And thrice in thunder from the mountain-top 
Jove gave the signal of success to Troy, 
When Hector thus the Trojans hail'd aloud. 

Trojans and Lycians, and close-warring sons 
Of Dardanus, oh summon all your might, 
Now, now be men ! I know that from his heart 
Saturnian Jove glory and bright success 
For me prepares, but havoc for the Greeks. 
Fools ! they shall find this wall which they have 

raised 
Too weak to check my course, a feeble guard 
Contemptible ; such also is the trench ; 
My steeds shall slight it with an easy leap. 
But when ye see me in their fleet arrived, 
Remember fire. Then bring me flaming brands 
That I may burn their galleys, and themselves 
Slaughter beside them, struggling in the smoke. 

He spake, and thus encouraged next his steeds. 
Xanthus ! Podargus ! and ye generous pair 
JEiihon and glossy Lampus ! now requite 
Mine, and the bounty of Andromache, 
Far-famed Eetion's daughter ; she your bowl 
With corn fresh-flavour' d and with wine full oft 
Hath mingled, your refreshment seeking first 
Ere mine, who have a youthful husband's claim. 
Now follow ! now be swift ; that we may seize 
The shield of Nestor, bruited to the skies 
As golden all, trappings and disk alike. 
Now from the shoulders of the equestrian chief 
Tydides tear we off his splendid mail, 
The work of Vulcan. May we take but these, 
I have good hope that, ere this night be spent, 
The Greeks shall climb their galleys and away. 


THE ILIAD. 


297 


So vaunted he, but Juno with disdain [throne, 
His proud boast heard, and shuddering in her 
Rock'd the Olympian; turning then toward 
The ocean's mighty sovereign, thus she spake. 

Alas ! earth-shaking sovereign of the waves, 
Feel'st thou no pity of the perishing Greeks ? 
Yet Greece, in Helice, with gifts nor few 
Nor sordid, and in iEgee, honours thee, 
Whom therefore thou shouldst prosper. Would we 
Who favour Greece associate to repulse [all 

The Trojans, and to check loud-thundering Jove, 
On Ida seated he might lour alone. 

To whom the sovereign, shaker of the shores, 
Indignant. Juno ! rash in speech ! what word 
Hath 'scaped thy lips % never, with my consent, 
Shall we, the powers subordinate, in arms 
With Jove contend. He far excels us all. 

So they. Meantime, the trench and wall between 1 
The narrow interval with steeds was fill'd 
Close throng'd and shielded warriors. There im- 
By Priameian Hector, fierce as Mars, [mew'd 
They stood, for Hector had the help of Jove. 
And now with blazing fire their gallant barks 
He had consumed, but Juno moved the mind 
Of Agamemnon, vigilant himself, 
To exhortation of Achaia's host. 
Through camp and fleet the monarch took his way, 
And, his wide robe imperial hi his hand, 
High on Ulysses' huge black galley stood, 
The central ship conspicuous ; thence his voice 
Might reach the most remote of all the line 
At each extreme, where Ajax had his tent 
Pitch'd, and Achilles, fearless of surprise, [hail'd. 
Thence, with loud voice, the Greecians thus he 

Oh shame to Greece ! Warriors in show alone ! 
Where is your boasted prowess ? Ye profess'd 
Vain-glorious erst in Lemnos, while ye fed 
Plenteously on the flesh of beeves full-grown, 
And crown'd your beakers high, that ye would 
Each man a hundred Trojans in the field — [face 
Ay, twice a hundred, — yet are all too few 
To face one Hector now ; nor doubt I aught 
But he shall soon fire the whole fleet of Greece. 
Jove ! Father ! what great sovereign ever felt 
Thy frowns as I ? Whom hast thou shamed as me? 
Yet I neglected not, through all the course 
Of our disastrous voyage (in the hope 
That we should vanquish Troy) thy sacred rites, 
But where I found thine altar, piled it high 
With fat and flesh of bulls, on every shore. 
But oh, vouchsafe to us, that we at least 
Ourselves, deliver'd, may escape the sword, 
Nor let their foes thus tread the Greecians down ! 

He said. The eternal father pitying saw 
His tears, and for the monarch's sake preserved 
The people. Instant, surest of all signs, 
He sent his eagle ; in his pounces strong 
A fawn he bore, fruit of the nimble hind, 
Which fast beside the beauteous altar raised 
To Panomphsean 2 Jove sudden he dropp'd. 

They, conscious, soon, that sent from Jove he 
came, 
More ardent sprang to fight. Then none of all 

i None daring to keep the field, and all striving to enter 
the gates together, they obstructed their own passage, and 
were, of course, compelled into the narrow interval be- 
tween the foss and rampart. 

But there are different opinions about the space intended. 
See Villoisson. 

2 To Jove, the source of all oracular information. 


Those numerous chiefs could boast that he out- 

Tydides, urging forth beyond the foss [stripp'd 

His rapid steeds, and rushing to the war. 

He, foremost far, a Trojan slew, the son 

Of Phradmon, Ageliius ; as he turn'd 

His steeds to flight, him turning with his spear 

Through back and bosom Diomede transpierced, 

And with loud clangor of his arms he fell. 

Then, royal Agamemnon pass'd the trench 

And Menelaus ; either Ajax, then, 

Clad with fresh prowess both; them follow'd, next, 

Idomeneus, with his heroic friend 

In battle dread as homicidal Mars, 

Meriones ; Evsemon's son renown'd 

Succeeded, bold Eurypylus ; and ninth 

Teucer, wide-straining his impatient bow. 

He under covert fought of the broad shield 

Of Telamonian Ajax ; Ajax high 

Upraised his shield ; the hero from beneath 

Took aim, and whom his arrow struck, he fell ; 

Then close as to his mother's side a child 

For safety creeps, Teucer to Ajax' side 

Retired, and Ajax shielded him again. 

Whom then slew Teucer first, illustrious chief ? 

Orsilochus, and Ophelestes, first, 

And Ormenus he slew, then Dsetor died, 

Chromius and Lycophontes brave in fight 

With Amopaon, Polysemon's son, 

And Melanippus. These, together heap'd, 

All fell by Teucer on the plain of Troy. 

The Trojan ranks thinn'd by his mighty bow 

The king of armies Agamemnon saw 

Well-pleased, and him approaching, thus began. 

Brave Telamonian Teucer, oh, my friend, 
Thus shoot, that light may visit once again 
The Danai, and Telamon rejoice ! 
Thee Telamon within his own abode 
Rear'd although spurious ; mount him, in return, 
Although remote, on glory's heights again. 
I tell thee, and the effect shall follow sure, 
Let but the Thunderer and Minerva grant 
The pillage of fair Ilium to the Greeks, 
And I will give to thy victorious hand, 
After my own, the noblest recompense, 
A tripod or a chariot with its steeds, 
Or some fair captive to partake thy bed. 

To whom the generous Teucer thus replied. 
Atrides ! glorious monarch ! wherefore me 
Exhortest thou to battle ? who myself 
Glow with sufficient ardour, and such strength 
As heaven affords me spare not to employ. 
Since first we drove them back, with watchful eye 
Their warriors I have mark'd ; eight shafts my 

bow 
Hath sent long-barb'd, and every shaft, well-aim'd, 
The body of some Trojan youth robust 
Hath pierced, but still yon ravening wolf escapes. 

He said, and from the nerve another shaft 
Impatient sent at Hector ; but it flew 
Devious, and brave Gorgythion struck instead. 
Him beautiful Castianira, brought 
By Priam from iEsyma, nymph of form 
Celestial, to the king of Ilium bore. 
As in the garden, with the weight surcharged 
Of its own fruit, and drench'd by vernal rains 
The poppy falls oblique, so he his head 
Hung languid, by his helmet's weight depress'd. 
Then Teucer yet an arrow from the nerve 
Dispatch'd at Hector, with impatience fired 
To pierce him ; but again his weapon err'd 


298 


THE ILIAD. 


Turn'd by Apollo, and the bosom struck 
Of Archeptolemus, his rapid steeds 
To battle urging, Hector's charioteer. 
He fell, his fiery coursers at the sound 
Recoil'd, and lifeless where he fell he lay. 
Deep sorrow for his charioteer the mind 
O'erwhehn'd of Hector, yet he left the slain, 
And seeing his own brother nigh at hand, 
Cebriones, him summon'd to the reins, 
Who with alacrity that charge received. 
Then Hector, leaping with a dreadful shout 
From his resplendent chariot, grasp'd a stone, 
And rush'd on Teucer, vengeance in his heart. 
Teucer had newly fitted to the nerve 
An arrow keen selected from the rest, 
And warlike Hector, while he stood the cord 
Retracting, smote him with that rugged rock 
Just where the key-bone interposed divides 
The neck and bosom, a most mortal part. 
It snapp'd the bow-string, and with numbing force 
Struck dead his hand ; low on his knees he dropp'd, 
And from his opening grasp let fall the bow. 
Then not unmindful of a brother fallen 
Was Ajax, but, advancing rapid, stalk'd 
Around him, and his broad shield interposed, 
Till brave Alastor and Mecisteus, son 
Of Echius, friends of Teucer, from the earth 
Upraised and bore him groaning to the fleet. 
And now again fresh force Olympian Jove 
Gave to the Trojans ; right toward the foss 
They drove the Greeks, while Hector in the van 
Advanced, death menacing in every look. 

As some fleet hound close-threatening flank or 
Of boar or lion, oft as he his head [haunch 

Turns flying, marks him with a steadfast eye, 
So Hector chased the Greecians, slaying still 
The hindmost of the scatter'd multitude. 
But when, at length, both piles and hollow foss 
They had surmounted, and no few had fallen 
By Trojan hands, within their fleet they stood 
Imprison'd, calling each to each, and prayer 
With lifted hands, loud offering to the gods. 
With Gorgon looks, meantime, and eyes of Mars, 
Hector impetuous his mane-tossing steeds 
From side to side before the rampart drove, 
When white-arm'd Juno pitying the Greeks, 
In accents wing'd, her speech to Pallas turn'd. 

Alas, Jove's daughter ! shall not we at least 
In this extremity of their distress 
Care for the Greecians by the fatal force 
Of this one chief destroy' d % I can endure 
The rage of Priamei'an Hector now 
No longer ; such dire mischiefs he hath wrought. 

Whom answer'd thus Pallas, cserulean-eyed. 
— And Hector had himself long since his life 
Resign'd and rage together, by the Greeks 
Slain under Ilium's walls, but Jove, my sire, 
Mad counsels executing and perverse, 
Me counterworks in all that I attempt, 
Nor aught remembers how I saved ofttimes 
His son enjoin'd full many a task severe 
By King Eurystheus; to the gods he wept, 
And me Jove sent in haste to his relief. 
But had I then foreseen what now I know, 
When through the adamantine gates he pass'd 
To bind the dog of hell, by the deep floods 
Hemm'd in of Styx, he had return'd no more. 
But Thetis wins him now ; her will prevails, 
And mine he hates ; for she hath kiss'd his knees 
And grasp'd his beard, and him in prayer implored 


That he would honour her heroic son 
Achilles, city-waster prince renown'd. 
'Tis well, — the day shall come when Jove again 
Shall call me darling, and his blue-eyed maid 
As heretofore ; — but thou thy steeds prepare, 
While I, my father's mansion entering, arm 
For battle. I would learn by trial sure, 
If Hector, Priam's offspring famed in fight, 
(Ourselves appearing in the walks of war) 
Will greet us gladly. Doubtless at the fleet 
Some Trojan also shall to dogs resign 
His flesh for food, and to the fowls of heaven. 

So counsel'd Pallas, nor the daughter dread 
Of mighty Saturn, Juno, disapproved, 
But busily and with dispatch prepared 
The trappings of her coursers golden-rein'd. 
Meantime Minerva, progeny of Jove, 
On the adamantine floor of his abode 
Let fall profuse her variegated robe, 
Labour of her own hands. She first put on 
The corslet of the cloud-assembler god, 
Then arm'd her for the field of woe, complete. 
Mounting the fiery chariot, next she seized 
Her ponderous spear, huge, irresistible, 
With which Jove's awful daughter levels ranks 
Of heroes against whom her anger burns. 
Juno with lifted lash urged on the steeds. 
At their approach, spontaneous roar'd the wide- 
Unfolding gates of heaven ; the heavenly gates 
Kept by the watchful Hours, to whom the charge 
Of the Olympian summit appertains, 
And of the boundless ether, back to roll, 
And to replace the cloudy barrier dense. 
Spurr'd through the portal flew the rapid steeds. 
Which when the eternal father from the heights 
Of Ida saw, kindling with instant ire 
To golden-pinion'd Iris thus he spake. 

Haste, Iris, turn them thither whence they came, 
Me let them not encounter ; honour small 
To them, to me, should from that strife accrue. 
Tell them, and the effect shall sure ensue, 
That I will smite their steeds, and they shall halt 
Disabled, break their chariot, dash themselves 
Headlong, and ten whole years shall not efface 
The wounds by my avenging bolts impress'd. 
So shall my blue-eyed daughter learn to dread 
A father's anger ; but for the offence 
Of Juno, I resent it less ; for she 
Clashes » with all my counsels from of old. 

He ended ; Iris with a tempest's speed 
From the Idrean summit soar'd at once 
To the Olympian ; at the open gates 
Exterior of the mountain many-valed 
She stay'd them, and her coming thus declared. 

Whither, and for what cause % What rage is this ? 
Ye may not aid the Greecians ; Jove forbids ; 
The son of Saturn threatens, if ye force 
His wrath by perseverance into act, 
That he will smite your steeds, and they shall halt 
Disabled, break your chariot, dash yourselves 
Headlong, and ten whole years shall not efface 
The wounds by his avenging bolts impress'd. 
So shall his blue-eyed daughter learn to dread 
A father's anger ; but for the offence 
Of Juno, he resents it less ; for she 
Clashes with all his counsels from of old. 
But thou, Minerva, if thou dare indeed 

1 'EviKAqv. — The word is here metaphorical, and ex- 
presses, in its primary use, the breaking of a spear against 
a shield. 


THE ILIAD. 


299 


Lift thy vast spear against the breast of Jove, 
Incorrigible art and dead to shame. 

So saying, the rapid Iris disappear' d, 
And thus her speech to Pallas Juno turn'd. 

Ah, Pallas, progeny of Jove ! henceforth 
No longer, in the cause of mortal men, 
Contend we against Jove. Perish or live 
Greecians or Trojans as he wills ; let him 
Dispose the order of his own concerns, 
And judge between them, as of right he may. 

So saying, she turn'd the coursers; them the 
Hours 
Released, and to ambrosial mangers bound, 
Then thrust their chariot to the luminous wall. 
They, mingling with the gods, on golden thrones 
Dejected sat, and Jove from Ida borne 
Reach'd the Olympian heights, seat of the gods. 
His steeds the glorious king of ocean loosed, 
And thrust the chariot, with its veil o'erspread, 
Into its station at the altar's side. 
Then sat the Thunderer on his throne of gold 
Himself, and the huge mountain shook. Meantime 
Juno and Pallas, seated both apart, 
Spake not or question'd him. Their mute reserve 
He noticed, conscious of the cause, and said. 

Juno and Pallas, wherefore sit ye sad ? 
Not through fatigue by glorious fight incurr'd 
And slaughter of the Trojans whom ye hate. 
Mark now the difference. Not the gods combined 
Should have constrain'd me back, till all my force, 
Superior as it is, had fail'd, and all 
My fortitude. But ye, ere ye beheld 
The wonders of the field, trembling retired. 
And ye did well — Hear what had else befallen. 
My bolts had found you both, and ye had reach'd, 
In your own chariot borne, the Olympian height, 
Seat of the blest immortals, never more. 

He ended ; Juno and Minerva heard 
Low murmuring deep disgust, and side by side 
Devising sat calamity to Troy. 
Minerva, through displeasure against Jove, 
Nought utter 'd, for her bosom boil'd with rage ; 
But Juno check'd not hers, who thus replied. 

What word hath pass'd thy lips, Jove most 
severe ! 
We know thy force resistless ; yet our hearts 
Feel not the less when we behold the Greeks 
Exhausting all the sorrows of their lot. 
If thou command, we doubtless will abstain 
From battle, yet such counsel to the Greeks 
Suggesting still, as may in part effect 
Their safety, lest thy wrath consume them all. 

Then answer, thus, cloud-gatherer Jove return'd. 
Look foi'th, imperial Juno, if thou wilt, 
To-morrow at the blush of earliest dawn, 
And thou shalt see Saturn's almighty son 
The Argive host destroying far and wide. 
For Hector's fury shall admit no pause 
Till he have roused Achilles, in that day 
When at the ships, in perilous streights, the hosts 
Shall wage fierce battle for Patroclus slain. 
Such is the voice of fate. But as for thee — 
Withdraw thou to the confines of the abyss 
Where Saturn and Iapetus retired, 
Exclusion sad endure from balmy airs 
And from the light of morn, hell-girt around, 
I will not call thee thence. No. Should thy rage 
Transport thee thither, there thou may'st abide, 
There sullen nurse thy disregarded spleen 
Obstinate as thou art, and void of shame. 


He ended ; to whom Juno nought replied. 
And now the radiant sun in ocean sank, 
Drawing night after him o'er all the earth ; 
Night, undesired by Troy, but to the Greeks 
Thrice welcome for its interposing gloom. 

Then Hector on the river's brink fast by 
The Greecian fleet, where space he found unstrew'd 
With carcases, convened the chiefs of Troy. 
They, there dismounting, listen'd to the words 
Of Hector Jove-beloved ; he grasp'd a spear 
In length eleven cubits, bright its head 
Of brass, and collar'd with a ring of gold. 
He lean'd on it, and ardent thus began. 

Trojans, Dardanians, and allies of Troy ! 
I hoped, this evening, (every ship consumed, 
And all the Greecians slain) to have return'd 
To wind-swept Ilium. But the shades of night 
Have intervened, and to the night they owe, 
In chief, their whole fleet's safety and their own. 
Now, therefore, as the night enjoins, all take 
Needful refreshment. Your high-mettled steeds 
Release, lay food before them, and in haste 
Drive hither from the city fatted sheep 
And oxen ; bring ye from your houses bread, 
Make speedy purchase of heart-cheering wine, 
And gather fuel plenteous ; that all night, 
Even till Aurora, daughter of the morn, 
Shall look abroad, we may with many fires 
Illume the skies ; lest even in the night, 
Launching, they mount the billows and escape. 
Beware that they depart not unannoy'd, 
But, as he leaps on board, give each a wound 
With shaft or spear, which he shall nurse at home, 
So shall the nations fear us, and shall vex 
With ruthless war Troy's gallant sons no more. 
Next, let the heralds, ministers of Jove, 
Loud notice issue, that the boys well-grown, 
And ancients silver-hair' d on the high towers 
Built by the gods, keep watch ; on every hearth 
In Troy, let those of the inferior sex 
Make sprightly blaze, and place ye there a guard 
Sufficient, lest in absence of the troops 
An ambush enter, and surprise the town. 
Act thus, ye dauntless Trojans ; the advice 
Is wholesome, and shall serve the present need, 
And so much for the night ; ye shall be told 
The business of the morn when morn appears. 
It is my prayer to Jove and to all heaven 
(Not without hope) that I may hence expel 
These dogs, whom Ilium's unpropitious fates 
Have wafted hither in their sable barks. 
But we will also watch this night, ourselves, 
And, arming with the dawn, will at their ships 
Give them brisk onset. Then shall it appear 
If Diomede the brave shall me compel 
Back to our walls, or I, his arms blood-stain'd, 
Torn from his breathless body, bear away. 
To-morrow, if he dare but to abide 
My lance, he shall not want occasion meet 
For show of valour. But much more I judge 
That the next rising sun shall see him slain 
With no few friends around him. Would to heaven ! 
I were as sure to 'scape the blight of age, 
And share their honours with the gods above, 
As comes the morrow fraught with woe to Greece. 

So Hector, whom his host with loud acclaim 
All praised. Then each his sAveating steeds released, 
And rein'd them safely at his chariot-side. 
And now from Troy provision large they brought, 
Oxen, and sheep, with store of wine and bread, 


300 


THE ILIAD. 


And fuel much was gather'd. ' Next, the gods 
With sacrifice they sought, and from the plain 
Upwafted by the winds the smoke aspired 
Savoury, but unacceptable to those 
Above ; such hatred in their hearts they bore 
To Priam, to the people of the brave 
Spear-practised Priam, and to sacred Troy. 

Big with great purposes and proud, they sat, 
Not disarray'd, but in fair form disposed 
Of even ranks, and watch'd their numerous fires. 
As when around the clear bright moon, the stars 
Shine in full splendour, and the winds are hush'd, 
The groves, the mountain-tops, the headland- 
Stand all apparent, not a vapour streaks 

heights 
The boundless blue, but ether open'd wide 
All glitters, and the shepherd's heart is cheer'd ; 
So numerous seem'd those fires the bank between 
Of Xanthus, blazing, and the fleet of Greece, 
In prospect all of Troy ; a thousand fires, 
Each watch'd by fifty warriors seated near. 
The steeds beside the chariots stood, their corn 
Chewing, and waiting till the golden-throned 
Aurora should restore the light of day. 


BOOK IX. 


ARGUMENT. 

By advice of Nestor, Agamemnon sends Ulysses, Phoenix, 
and Ajax to the tent of Achilles with proposals of 
reconciliation. They execute their commission, but 
without effect. Phoenix remains with Achilles ; Ulysses 
and Ajax return. 

So watch'd the Trojan host ; but thoughts of flight, 

Companions of chill fear, from heaven infused, 

Possess'd the Greecians ; every leader's heart 

Bled, pierced with anguish insupportable. 

As when two adverse winds blowing from Thrace, 

Boreas and Zephyrus, the fishy deep 

Vex sudden, all around, the sable flood 

High curl'd, flings forth the salt weed on the shore, 

Such tempest rent the mind of every Greek. 

Forth stalk'd Atrides with heart-riving woe 
Transfix'd ; he bade his heralds call by name 
Each chief to council, but without the sound 
Of proclamation ; and that task himself 
Among the foremost sedulous perform'd. 
The sad assembly sat ; when weeping fast 
As some deep 2 fountain pours its rapid stream 
Down from the summit of a lofty rock, 
King Agamemnon in the midst arose, 
And, groaning, the Achaians thus address'd. 

Friends, counsellors and leaders of the Greeks ! 
In dire perplexity Saturnian Jove 
Involves me, cruel ; he assured me erst, 
And solemnly, that I should not return 
Till I had wasted wall-encircled Troy ; 

1 The following lines, to the end of this paragraph, are 
a translation of some which Barnes has here inserted from 
the second Alcibiades of Plato. 

2 In the original the word is /xeXduvfipos, dark-watered, 
— and it is rendered deep by the best interpreters, be- 
cause deep waters have a blackish appearance. Avo<pepbv 
vdoop is properly water that runs with rapidity ; water — 
^ero 8oi>r)(T€C0s (pepdfitvov. — See Villoisson. 


But now (ah fraudulent and foul reverse !) 
Commands me back inglorious to the shores 
Of distant Argos, with diminish'd troops. 
So stands the purpose of almighty Jove, 
Who many a citadel hath laid in dust, 
And shall hereafter, matchless in his power. 
Haste therefore. My advice is, that we all 
Fly with our fleet into our native land, 
For wide-built Ilium shall not yet be ours. 

He ceased, and all sat silent ; long the sons 
Of Greece, o'erwhelm'd with sorrow, silent sat, 
When thus, at last, bold Diomede began. 

Atrides ! foremost of the chiefs I rise 
To contravert thy purpose ill-conceived, 
And with such freedom as the laws, O king ! 
Of consultation and debate allow. 
Hear patient. Thou hast been thyself the first 
Who e'er reproach'd me in the public ear 
As one effeminate and slow to fight ; 
How truly, let both young and old decide. 
The son of wily Saturn hath to thee 
Given, and refused ; he placed thee high in power, 
Gave thee to sway the sceptre o'er us all, 
But courage gave thee not, his noblest gift. 
Art thou in truth persuaded that the Greeks 
Are pusillanimous, as thou hast said ? 
If thy own fears impel thee to depart, 
Go thou, the way is open ; numerous ships, 
Thy followers from Mycense, line the shore. 
But we, the rest, depart not, till the spoil 
Of Troy reward us. Or if all incline 
To seek again their native home, fly all ; 
Myself and Sthenelus will persevere 
Till Ilium fall, for with the gods we came. 

He ended ; all the admiring sons of Greece 
With shouts the warlike Diomede extoll'd, 
When thus equestrian Nestor next began. 

Tydides, thou art eminently brave 
In fight, and all the princes of thy years 
Excell'st in council. None of all the Greeks 
Shall find occasion just to blame thy speech 
Or to gainsay ; yet thou hast fallen short. 
What wonder \ Thou art young ; and were myself 
Thy father, thou should'st be my latest-born. 
Yet when thy speech is to the kings of Greece, 
It is well framed and prudent. Now attend ! 
Myself will speak, who have more years to boast 
Than thou hast seen, and will so closely scan 
The matter, that Atrides, our supreme, 
Himself shall have no cause to censure me. 
He is a wretch, insensible and dead 
To all the charities of social life, 
Whose pleasure is in civil broils alone 3 . 
But night is urgent, and with night's demands 
Let all comply. Prepare we now repast, 
And let the guard be station'd at the trench 
Without the wall ; the youngest shall supply 
That service, next, Atrides, thou begin 
(For thou art here supreme) thy proper task. 
Banquet the elders ; it shall not disgrace 
Thy sovereignty, but shall become thee well. 
Thy tents are fill'd with wine which day by day 
Ships bring from Thrace ; accommodation large 
Hast thou, and numerous is thy menial train. 
Thy many guests assembled, thou shalt hear 

3 The observation seems made with a view to prevent 
such a reply from Agamemnon to Diomede as might give 
birth to new dissensions, while it reminds him indirectly 
of the mischiefs that had already attended his quarrel 
with Achilles. 


THE ILIAD. 


301 


Our counsel, and shalt chuse the best ; great need 
Have all Achaia's sons, now, of advice 
Most prudent ; for the foe, fast by the fleet 
Hath kindled numerous fires, which who can see 
Unmoved ? This night shall save us or destroy. 

He spake, whom all with full consent approved. 
Forth rush'd the guard well-arm'd ; first went the 
Of Nestor, Thrasymedes, valiant chief ; [son 

Then, sons of Mars, Ascalaphus advanced, 
And brave Ialmenus ; whom follow'd next 
Deipyrus, Aphareus, Meriones, 
And Lycomedes, Creon's son renown'd. 
Seven were the leaders of the guard, and each 
A hundred spearmen headed, young and bold. 
Between the wall and trench their seat they chose, 
There kindled fires, and each his food prepared. 

Atrides, then, to his pavilion led 
The thronging chiefs of Greece, and at his board 
Regaled them ; they with readiness and keen 
Dispatch of hunger shared the savoury feast, 
And when nor thirst remain'd nor hunger more 
Unsated, Nestor then, arising first, 
Whose counsels had been ever wisest deem'd, 
Warm for the public interest, thus began. 

Atrides ! glorious sovereign ! king of men ! 
Thou art my first and last, proem and close, 
For thou art mighty, and to thee are given 
From Jove the sceptre and the laws in charge, 
For the advancement of the general good. 
Hence in peculiar, both to speak and hear 
Become thy duty, and the best advice, 
By whomsoever offer'd, to adopt 
And to perform, for thou art judge alone. 
I will promulge the counsel which to me 
Seems wisest ; such, that other Greecian none 
Shall give thee better ; neither is it new, 
But I have ever held it since the day 
When, most illustrious ! thou wast pleased to take 
By force the maid Brise'fs from the tent 
Of the enraged Achilles ; not in truth, 
By my advice, who did dissuade thee much ; 
But thou complying with thy princely wrath, 
Hast shamed a hero whom themselves the gods 
Delight to honour, and his prize detain'st. 
Yet even now contrive we, although late, 
By lenient gifts liberal, and by speech 
Conciliatory, to assuage his ire. 

Then answer'd Agamemnon, king of men. 
Old chief ! there is no falsehood in thy charge ; 
I have offended, and confess the wrong. 
The warrior is alone a host, whom Jove 
Loves as he loves Achilles, for whose sake 
He hath Achaia's thousands thus subdued. 
But if the impulse of a wayward mind 
Obeying, I have err'd, behold me, now, 
Prepared to soothe him with atonement large 
Of gifts inestimable, which by name 
I will propound in presence of you all. 
Seven tripods, never sullied yet with fire ; 
Of gold ten talents ; twenty cauldrons bright ; 
Twelve coursers, strong, victorious in the race ; 
No man possessing prizes such as mine 
Which they have won for me, shall feel the want 
Of acquisitions splendid, or of gold. 
Seven virtuous female captives will I give 
Expert in arts domestic, Lesbians all, 
Whom, when himself took Lesbos, I received 
My chosen portion, passing womankind 
In perfect loveliness of face and form. 
These will I give, and will with these resign 


Her whom I took, Briseis, with an oath 

Most solemn, that unconscious as she was 

Of my embraces, such I yield her his. 

All these I give him now ; and if at length 

The gods vouchsafe to us to overturn 

Priam's great city, let him heap his ships 

With gold and brass, entering and chusing first 

When we shall share the spoil. Let him beside 

Chuse twenty from among the maids of Troy, 

Helen except, loveliest of all their sex. 

And if once more, the rich milk-flowing land 

We reach of Argos, he shall there become 

My son-in-law, and shall enjoy like state 

With him whom I in all abundance rear, 

My only son Orestes. At my home 

I have three daughters ; let him thence conduct 

To Phthia, her whom he shall most approve, 

Chrysothemis shall be his bride, or else 

Laodice ; or if she please him more, 

Iphianassa ; and from him I ask 

No dower, myself will such a dower bestow 

As never father on his child before. 

Seven fair well-peopled cities I will give ; 

Cardamyle and Enope, and rich 

In herbage, Hira ; Pherae stately-built, 

And for her depth of pasturage renown'd 

Antheia ; proud yEpeia's lofty towers, 

And Pedasus impurpled dark with vines. 

All these are maritime, and on the shore 

They stand of Pylus, by a race possess'd 

Most rich in flocks and herds, who tributes large 

And gifts presenting to his sceptred hand, 

Shall hold him high in honour as a god. 

These will I give him if from wrath he cease. 

Let him be overcome. Pluto alone 

Is found implacable and deaf to prayer, 

Whom therefore of all gods men hate the most. 

My power is greater, and my years than his 

More numerous, therefore let him yield to me. 

To him Gerenian Nestor thus replied. 
Atrides ! glorious sovereign ! king of men ! 
No sordid gifts, or to be view'd with scorn, 
Givest thou the prince Achilles. But away ! 
Send chosen messengers, who shall the son 
Of Peleus, instant, in his tent address. 
Myself will chuse them, be it theirs to obey. 
Let Phoenix lead, Jove loves him. Be the next 
Huge Ajax ; and the wise Ulysses third. 
Of heralds, Odius and Eurybates 
Shall them attend. Bring water for our hands ; 
Give charge that evexy tongue abstain from speech 
Portentous, and propitiate Jove by prayer. 

He spake, and all were pleased. The heralds 
pour'd 
Pure water on their hands ; attendant youths 
The beakers crown'd, and wine from right to left 
Distributed to all. Libation made, 
Ail drank, and in such measure as they chose, 
Then hasted forth from Agamemnon's tent. 
Gerenian Nestor at their side them oft 
Instructed, each admonishing by looks 
Significant, and motion of his eyes, 
But most Ulysses, to omit no means 
By which Achilles likeliest might be won. 
Along the margin of the sounding deep 
They pass'd, to Neptune, compasser of earth, 
Preferring vows ardent with numerous prayers, 
That they might sway with ease the mighty mind 
Of fierce /Eacides. And now they reach'd 
The station where his Myrmidons abode. 


302 


THE ILIAD. 


Him solacing they found his heart with notes 

Struck from his silver-framed harmonious lyre ; 

Among the spoils he found it when he sack'd 

Eetion's city ; with that lyre his cares 

He soothed, and glorious heroes were his theme. 

Patroclus silent sat, and he alone, 

Before him, on iEacides intent, 

Expecting still when he should cease to sing. 

The messengers advanced (Ulysses first) 

Into his presence ; at the sight, his harp 

Still in his hand, Achilles from his seat 

Started astonish'd ; nor with less amaze 

Patroclus also, seeing them arose. 

Achilles seized their hands, and thus he spake. 

Hail, friends ! ye are all welcome. Urgent cause 
Hath doubtless brought you, whom I dearest hold, 
(Though angry still) of all Achaia's host. 

So saying, he introduced them, and on seats 
Placed them with purple arras overspread, 
Then thus bespake Patroclus standing nigh. 

Son of Mensetius ! bring a beaker more 
Capacious, and replenish it with wine 
Diluted 1 less ; then give to each his cup ; 
For dearer friends than these who now arrive 
My roof beneath, or worthier, have I none. 

He ended, and Patroclus quick obey'd 
Whom much he loved. Achilles, then, himself 
Advancing near the fire an ample 2 tray, 
Spread goats' flesh on it, with the flesh of sheep 
And of a fatted brawn ; of each a chine. 
Automedon attending held them fast, 
While with sharp steel Achilles from the bone 
Sliced thin the meat, then pierced it with the spits. 
Meantime the godlike Menaetiades 
Kindled fierce fire, and when the flame declined, 
Raked wide the embers, laid the meat to roast, 
And takmg sacred salt from the hearth-side 
Where it was treasured, shower 'd it o'er the feast. 
When all was finish'd, and the board set forth, 
Patroclus furnish'd it around with bread 
In baskets, and Achilles served the guests. 
Beside the tent-wall, opposite he sat 
To the divine Ulysses ; first he bade 
Patroclus make oblation ; he consign'd 
The consecrated morsel to the fire, 
And each, at once, his savoury mess assail'd. 
When neither edge of hunger now they felt 
Nor thirsted longer, Ajax with a nod 
Made sign to Phoenix, which Ulysses mark'd, 
And charging high his cup, drank to his host. 

Health to Achilles ! hospitable cheer 
And well prepared, we want not at the board 
Of royal Agamemnon, or at thine, 
For both are nobly spread ; but dainties now, 
Or plenteous boards, are little our concern. 
Oh godlike chief ! tremendous ills we sit 
Contemplating with fear, doubtful if life 
Or death, with the destruction of our fleet, 
Attend us, unless thou put on thy might. 

1 1 have given this sense to the word ^wpdrepov, on 
the authority of the Venetian Scholium, though some con- 
tend that it should he translated quickly. Achilles, who 
had reproached Agamemnon with intemperate drinking, 
was, himself, more addicted to music than to wine. 

2 It is not without authority that I have thus rendered 
Kpe7ou fj.4ya. Homer's banquets are never stewed or 
boiled ; it cannot therefore signify a kettle. It was pro- 
bably a kitchen-table, dresser, or tray, on which the meat 
was prepared for the spit. Accordingly we find that this 
very meat was spitted afterward. — See Schaufelbergerus. 


For lo ! the haughty Trojans, with their friends 

Call'd from afar, at the fleet-side encamp, 

Fast by the wall, where they have kindled fires 

Numerous, and threaten that no force of ours 

Shall check their purposed inroad on the ships. 

Jove grants them favourable signs from heaven, 

Bright lightnings ; Hector glares revenge, with rage 

Infuriate, and by Jove assisted, heeds 

Nor god nor man, but prays the morn to rise 

That he may hew away our vessel-heads, 

Burn all our fleet with fire, and at their sides 

Slay the Achaians struggling in the smoke. 

Horrible are my fears lest these his threats 

The gods accomplish, and it be our doom 

To perish here, from Argos far remote. 

Up, therefore ! if thou canst, and now at last 

The weary sons of all Achaia save 

From Trojan violence. Regret, but vain, 

Shall else be thine hereafter, when no cure 

Of such great ill, once suffer'd, can be found. 

Thou therefore, seasonably kind, devise 

Means to preserve from such disastrous fate 

The Greecians. Ah, my friend ! when Peleus thee 

From Phthia sent to Agamemnon's aid, 

On that same day he gave thee thus in charge. 

" Juno, my son, and Pallas, if they please, 

Can make thee valiant ; but thy own big heart 

Thyself restrain. Sweet manners win respect. 

Cease from pernicious strife, and young and old 

Throughout the host shall honour thee the more." 

Such was thy father's charge, which thou, it seems, 

Remember'st not. Yet even now thy wrath 

Renounce ; be reconciled ; for princely gifts 

Atrides gives thee if thy wrath subside. 

Hear, if thou wilt, and I will tell thee all, 

How vast the gifts which Agamemnon made 

By promise thine, this night within his tent. 

Seven tripods never sullied yet with fire ; 

Of gold ten talents ; twenty cauldrons bright ; 

Twelve steeds strong-limb'd, victorious in the race; 

No man possessing prizes such as those 

Which they have won for him, shall feel the want 

Of acquisitions splendid, or of gold. 

Seven virtuous female captives he will give, 

Expert in arts domestic, Lesbians all, 

Whom when thou conquer'dst Lesbos, he received 

His chosen portion, passing woman-kind 

In perfect loveliness of face and form. 

These will he give, and will with these resign 

Her whom he took, Brise'is, with an oath 

Most solemn, that unconscious as she was 

Of his embraces, such he yields her back. 

All these he gives thee now ! and if at length 

The gods vouchsafe to us to overturn 

Priam's great city, thou shalt heap thy ships 

With gold and brass, entering and chusing first, 

When we shall share the spoil ; and shalt beside 

Chuse twenty from among the maids of Troy, 

Helen except, loveliest of all their sex. 

And if once more the rich milk-flowing land 

We reach of Argos, thou shalt there become 

His son-in-law, and shalt enjoy like state 

With him, whom he in all abundance rears, 

His only son Orestes. In his house 

He hath three daughters ; thou may'sthome conduct 

To Phthia, her whom thou shalt most approve. 

Chrysothemis shall be thy bride ; or else 

Laodice ; or if she please thee more, 

Iphianassa ; and from thee he asks 

No dower ; himself will such a dower bestow 


THE ILIAD. 


303 


As never father on his child before. 

Seven fair well-peopled cities will he give ; 

Cardamyle and Enope ; and rich 

In herbage, Hira ; Pheree stately-built, 

And for her depth of pasturage renown'd, 

Antheia ; proud ^Epeia's lofty towers, 

And Pedasus impurpled dark with vines. 

All these are maritime, and on the shore 

They stand of Pylus, by a race possess'd 

Most rich in flocks and herds, who tribute large 

And gifts presenting to thy sceptred hand, 

Shall hold thee high in honour as a god. 

These will he give thee, if thy wrath subside. 

But should'st thou rather in thine heart the more 
Both Agamemnon and his gifts detest, 
Yet oh compassionate the afflicted host 
Prepared to adore thee. Thou shalt win renown 
Among the Greecians that shall never die. 
Now strike at Hector. He is here ; — himself 
Provokes thee forth ; madness is in his heart, 
And in his rage he glories that our ships 
Have hither brought no Greecian brave as he. 

Then thus Achilles matchless in the race. 
Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
I must with plainness speak my fix'd resolve 
Unalterable ; lest I hear from each 
The same long murmur'd melancholy tale. 
For I abhor the man, not more the gates 
Of hell itself, whose words belie his heart. 
So shall not mine. My judgment undisguised 
Is this ; that neither Agamemnon me 
Nor all the Greeks shall move ; for ceaseless toil 
Wins here no thanks ; one recompense awaits 
The sedentary and the most alert, 
The brave and base in equal honour stand, 
And drones and heroes fall unwept alike. 
I after all my labours, who exposed 
My life continual in the field, have earn'd 
No very sumptuous prize. As the poor bird 
Gives to her unfledged brood a morsel gain'd 
After long search, though wanting it herself, 
So I have worn out many sleepless nights, 
And waded deep through many a bloody day 
In battle for their wives 1 . I have destroy'd 
Twelve cities with my fleet, and twelve, save one, 
On foot contending in the fields of Troy. 
From all these cities, precious spoils I took 
Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand 
Gave all the treasure. He within his ships 
Abode the while, and having all received, 
Little distributed, and much retain'd ; 
He gave, however, to the kings and chiefs 
A portion, and they keep it. Me alone 
Of all the Greecian host he hath despoil'd ; 
My bride, my soul's delight is in his hands, 
And let him, couch'd with her, enjoy his fill 
Of dalliance. What sufficient cause, what need 


Have the Achaians to contend with Tr 


oyi 


Why hath Atrides gather' d such a host, 
And led them hither ? Was't not for the sake 
Of beauteous Helen ? And of all mankind 
Can none be found who love their proper wives 
But the Atridse ? There is no good man 
Who loves not, guards not, and with care provides 
For his own wife, and, though in battle won, 
I loved the fair Brisei's at my heart. 
But having dispossess 'd me of my prize 

1 Dacier observes, that he pluralizes the one wife of 
Menelaus through the impetuosity of his spirit. 


So foully, let him not essay me now, 
For I am warn'd, and he shall not prevail. 
With thee and with thy peers let him advise, 
Ulysses ! how the fleet may likeliest 'scape 
Yon hostile fires ; full many an arduous task 
He hath accomplish'd without aid of mine ; 
So hath he now this rampart and the trench 
Which he hath digg'd around it, and with stakes 
Planted contiguous — puny barriers all 
To hero-slaughtering Hector's force opposed. 
While I the battle waged, present myself 
Among the Achaians, Hector never fought 
Far from his walls, but to the Scaean gate 
Advancing and the beech-tree, there remain'd. 
Once, on that spot he met me, and my arm 
Escaped with difficulty even there. 
But, since I feel myself not now inclined 
To fight with noble Hector, yielding first 
To Jove due worship, and to all the gods, 
To-morrow will I launch, and give my ships 
Their lading. Look thou forth at early dawn, 
And, if such spectacle delight thee aught, 
Thou shalt behold me cleaving with my prows 
The waves of Hellespont, and all my crews 
Of lusty rowers, active in their task. 
So shall I reach (if ocean's mighty god 
Prosper my passage) Phthia the deep-soil'd 
On the third day. I have possessions there, 
Which hither roaming in an evil hour 
I left abundant. I shall also hence 
Convey much treasure, gold and burnish'd brass, 
And glittering steel, and women passing fair, 
My portion of the spoils. But he, your king, 
The prize he gave, himself, himself resumed, 
And taunted at me. Tell him my reply, 
And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks 
May indignation feel like me, if arm'd 
Always in impudence, he seek to wrong 
Them also. Let him not henceforth presume, 
Canine and hard in aspect though he be, 
To look me hi the face. I will not share 
His counsels, neither will I aid his works. 
Let it suffice him, that he wrong'd me once, 
Deceived me once, henceforth his glozing arts 
Are lost on me. But let him rot in peace 
Crazed as he is, and by the stroke of Jove 
Infatuate. I detest his gifts, and him 
So honour, as the thing which most I scorn. 
And would he give me twenty times the worth 
Of this his offer, all the treasured heaps 
Which he possesses, or shall yet possess, 
All that Orchomenos within her walls, 
And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes 
Receives, the city with a hundred gates, 
Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, 
And would he give me riches as the sands, 
And as the dust of earth, no gifts from him 
Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged 
For all the offensive license of his tongue. 
I will not wed the daughter of your chief, 
Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms 
With golden Venus, had she all the skill 
Of blue-eyed Pallas, even so endow'd 
She were no bride for me. No. He may chuse 
From the Achaians some superior prince, 
One more her equal. Peleus, if the gods 
Preserve me, and I safe arrive at home, 
Himself, ere long, shall mate me with a bride. 
In Hellas and in Phthia may be found 
Fair damsels many, daughters of the chiefs 


304 


THE ILIAD. 


Who guard our cities : I may chuse of them, 

And make the loveliest of them all my own. 

There, in my country, it hath ever been 

My dearest purpose, wedded to a wife 

Of rank convenient, to enjoy in peace 

Such wealth as ancient Peleus hath acquired. 

For life, in my account, surpasses far 

In value, all the treasures which report 

Ascribed to populous Ilium, ere the Greeks 

Arrived, and while the city yet had peace ; 

Those also which Apollo's marble shrine 

In rocky Pytho boasts. Fat flocks and beeves 

May be by force obtain'd, tripods and steeds 

Are bought or won, but if the breath of man 

Once overpass its bounds, no force arrests 

Or may constrain the unbodied spirit back. 

Me, as my silver-footed mother speaks 

Thetis, a two-fold consummation waits. 

If still with battle I encompass Troy, 

I win immortal glory, but all hope 

Renounce of my return. If I return 

To my beloved country, I renounce 

The illustrious meed of glory, but obtain 

Secure and long immunity from death. 

And truly I would recommend to all 

To voyage homeward, for the fall as yet 

Ye shall not see of Ilium's lofty towers, 

For that the Thunderer with uplifted arm 

Protects her, and her courage hath revived. 

Bear ye mine answer back, as is the part 

Of good ambassadors, that they may frame 

Some likelier plan, by which both fleet and host 

May be preserved ; for my resentment still 

Burning, this project is but premature. 

Let Phoenix stay with us, and sleep this night 

Within my tent, that, if he so incline, 

He may to-morrow in my fleet embark, 

And hence attend me ; but I leave him free. 

He ended ; they astonish'd at his tone 
(For vehement he spake) sat silent all, 
Till Phoenix, aged warrior, at the last 
Gush'd into tears, (for dread his heart o'erwhelm'd 
Lest the whole fleet should perish) and replied. 

If thou indeed have purposed to return, 
Noble Achilles ! and such wrath retain'st 
That thou art altogether fix'd to leave 
The fleet a prey to desolating fires, 
How then, my son ! shall I at Troy abide 
Forlorn of thee ? When Peleus, hoary chief, 
Sent thee to Agamemnon, yet a child, 
Unpractised in destructive fight, nor less 
Of councils ignorant, the schools in which 
Great minds are form'd, he bade me to the war 
Attend thee forth, that I might teach thee all, 
Both elocution and address in arms. 
Me therefore shalt thou not with my consent 
Leave here, my son ! no, not would Jove himself 
Promise me, reaping smooth this silver beard, 
To make me downy-cheek'd as in my youth ; 
Such as when erst from Hellas beauty-famed 
I fled, escaping from my father's wrath 
Amyntor, son of Ormenus, who loved 
A beauteous concubine, and for her sake 
Despised his wife and persecuted me. 
My mother suppliant at my knees, with prayer 
Perpetual importuned me to embrace 
The damsel first that she might loathe my sire. 
I did so ; and my father, soon possess'd 
With hot suspicion of the fact, let loose 
A storm of imprecation, in his rage 


Invoking all the Furies to forbid 
That ever son of mine should press his knees. 
Tartarean Jove 1 and dread Persephone 2 
Fulfill'd his curses ; with my pointed spear 
I would have pierced his heart, but that my wrath 
Some deity assuaged, suggesting oft 
What shame and obloquy I should incur, 
Known as a parricide through all the land. 
At length, so treated, I resolved to dwell 
No longer in his house. My friends, indeed, 
And all my kindred compass'd me around 
With much entreaty wooing me to stay ; 
Oxen and sheep they slaughter'd, many a plump 
Well-fatted brawn extended in the flames, 
And drank the old man's vessels to the lees. 
Nine nights continual at my side they slept, 
While others watch'd by turns, nor were the fires 
Extinguish'd ever, one, beneath the porch 
Of the barr'd hall, and one that from within 
The vestibule illumed my chamber door. 
But when the tenth dark night at length arrived, 
Sudden the chamber doors bursting I flew 
That moment forth, and unperceived alike 
By guards and menial women, leap'd the wall. 
Through spacious Hellas flying thence afar, 
I came at length to Phthia the deep-soil'd, 
Mother of flocks, and to the royal house 
Of Peleus ; Peleus with a willing heart 
Receiving, loved me as a father loves 
His only son, the son of his old age, 
Inheritor of all his large demesnes. 
He made me rich ; placed under my controul 
A populous realm, and on the skirts I dwelt 
Of Phthia, ruling the Dolopian race. 
Thee from my soul, thou semblance of the gods, 
I loved, and all illustrious as thou art, 
Achilles ! such I made thee. For with me, 
Me only, would'st thou forth to feast abroad, 
Nor would'st thou taste thy food at home, till first 
I placed thee on my knees, with my own hand 
Thy viands carved and fed thee, and the wine 
Held to thy lips ; and many a time, in fits 
Of infant frowardness, the purple juice 
Rejecting thou hast deluged all my vest, 
And filPd my bosom. Oh, I have endured 
Much, and have also much perform'd for thee, 
Thus purposing, that since the gods vouchsafed 
No son to me, thyself should'st be my son, 
Godlike Achilles ! who should'st screen perchance 
From a foul fate my else unshelter'd age. 
Achilles ! bid thy mighty spirit down. 
Thou should'st not be thus merciless ; the gods, 
Although more honourable, and in power 
And virtue thy superiors, are themselves 
Yet placable ; and if a mortal man 
Offend them by transgression of their laws, 
Libation, incense, sacrifice and prayer, 
In meekness offer'd turn their wrath away. 
Prayers are Jove's daughters, wrinkled 3 , lame, 
slant-eyed, 

i Pluto. 2 Proserpine. 

3 Wrinkled — because the countenance of a man driven 
to prayer by a consciousness of guilt is sorrowful and de- 
jected. Lame— because it is a remedy to which men recur 
late, and with reluctance. And slant-eyed— either because, 
in that state of humiliation, they fear to lift their eyes to 
heaven, or are employed in taking a retrospect of their 
past misconduct. 

The whole allegory, considering when and where it was 
composed, forms a very striking passage. 


THE ILIAD. 


305 


Which though far distant, yet with constant pace 

Follow offence. Offence, robust of limb, 

And treading firm the ground, outstrips them all, 

And over all the earth before them runs 

Hurtful to man. They, following, heal the hurt. 

Received respectfully when they approach, 

They help us, and our prayers hear in return. 

But if we slight, and with obdurate heart 

Resist them, to Saturnian Jove they cry 

Against us, supplicating that offence 

May cleave to us for vengeance of the wrong. 

Thou therefore, Achilles ! honour yield 

To Jove's own daughters, vanquish'd, as the brave 

Have ofttimes been, by honour paid to thee. 

For came not Agamemnon as he comes 

With gifts in hand, and promises of more 

Hereafter ; burn'd his anger still the same, 

I would not move thee to renounce thy own, 

And to assist us, howsoe'er distress'd. 

But now, not only are his present gifts 

Most liberal, and his promises of more 

Such also, but these princes he hath sent 

Charged with entreaties, thine especial friends, 

And chosen for that cause, from all the host. 

Slight not their embassy, nor put to shame 

Their intercession. We confess that once 

Thy wrath was unreprovable and just. 

Thus we have heard the heroes of old times 

Applauded oft, whose anger, though intense, 

Yet left them open to the gentle sway 

Of reason and conciliatory gifts. 

I recollect an ancient history, 

Which, since all here are friends, I will relate. 

The brave .^Etolians and Curetes met 

Beneath the walls of Calydon, and fought 

With mutual slaughter ; the iEtolian powers 

In the defence of Calydon the fair, 

And the Curetes, bent to lay it waste : 

That strife Diana of the golden throne 

Kindled between them, with resentment fired 

That Oeneus had not in some fertile spot 

The first fruits of his harvest set apart 

To her ; with hecatombs he entertained 

All the divinities of heaven beside, 

And her alone, daughter of Jove supreme, 

Or through forgetfulness, or some neglect, 

Served not ; omission careless and profane ! 

She, progeny of Jove, goddess shaft-arm'd, 

A savage boar bright-tusk 'd in anger sent, 

Which haunting Oeneus' fields much havoc made. 

Trees numerous on the earth in heaps he cast 

Uprooting them, with all their blossoms on. 

But Meleager, Oeneus' son, at length 

Slew him, the hunters gathering and the hounds 

Of numerous cities ; for a boar so vast 

Might not be vanquish'd by the power of few, 

And many to their funeral piles he sent. 

Then raised Diana clamorous dispute, 

And contest hot between them, all alike, 

Curetes and iEtolians fierce in arms 

The boar's head claiming, and his bristly hide. 

So long as warlike Meleager fought, 

yEtolia prosper'd, nor with all their powers 

Could the Curetes stand before the walls. 

But when resentment once had fired the heart 

Of Meleager, which hath tumult oft 

Excited in the breasts of wisest men, 

(For his own mother had his wrath provoked 

Althaea) thenceforth with his wedded wife 

He dwelt, fair Cleopatra, close retired. 


She was Marpessa's daughter, whom she bore 

To Idas, bravest warrior in his day 

Of all on earth. He fear'd not 'gainst the king 

Himself Apollo, for the lovely nymph 

Marpessa's sake, his spouse, to bend his bow. 

Her, therefore, Idas and Marpessa named 

Thenceforth Alcyone, because the fate 

Of sad Alcyone Marpessa shared, 

And wept like her, by Phcebus forced away. 

Thus Meleager, tortured with the pangs 

Of wrath indulged, with Cleopatra dwelt, 

Vex'd that his mother cursed him ; for, with grief 

Frantic, his mother importuned the gods 

To avenge her slaughter'd brothers ' on his head. 

Oft would she smite the earth, while on her knees 

Seated, she fill'd her bosom with her tears, 

And call'd on Pluto and dread Proserpine 

To slay her son ; nor vain was that request, 

But by implacable Erinnys heard 

Roaming the shades of Erebus. Ere long 

The tumult and the deafening din of war 

Roar'd at the gates, and all the batter'd towers 

Resounded. Then the elders of the town 

Dispatch'd the high-priests of the gods to plead 

With Meleager for his instant aid, 

With strong assurances of rich reward. 

Where Calydon afforded fattest soil 

They bade him chuse to his own use a farm 

Of fifty measured acres, vineyard half, 

And half of land commodious for the plough. 

Him Oeneus also, warrior grey with age, 

Ascending to his chamber, and his doors 

Smiting importunate, with earnest prayers 

Assay'd to soften, kneeling to his son. 

Nor less his sisters woo'd him to relent, 

Nor less his mother ; but in vain ; he grew 

Still more obdurate. His companions last, 

The most esteem'd and dearest of his friends, 

The same suit urged, yet he persisted still 

Relentless, nor could even they prevail. 

But when the battle shook his chamber-doors, 

And the Curetes climbing the high towers 

Had fired the spacious city, then with tears 

The beauteous Cleopatra, and with prayers 

Assail'd him ; in his view she set the woes 

Numberless of a city storm'd, — the men 

Slaughter'd, the city burnt to dust, the chaste 

Matrons with all their children dragg'd away. 

That dread recital roused him, and at length 

Issuing, he put his radiant armour on. 

Thus Meleager, gratifying first 

His own resentment, from a fatal day 

Saved the iEtolians, who the promised gift 

Refused him, and his toils found no reward. 

But thou my son, be wiser ; follow thou 

No daemon who would tempt thee to a course 

Like his ; occasion more propitious far 

Smiles on thee now, than if the fleet were fired. 

Come, while by gifts invited, and receive 

From all the host, the honours of a god ; 

For should'st thou, by no gifts induced, at last 

Enter the bloody field, although thou chase 

The Trojans hence, yet less shall be thy praise. 

Then thus Achilles, matchless in the race. 
Phoenix, my guide, wise, noble and revered ! 
I covet no such glory ! the renown 
Ordain'd by Jove for me, is to resist 


1 She had five brothers : Iphiclus, Polyphontes, Phanes, 
Eurypylus, Plexippus. 


306 


THE ILIAD. 


All importunity to quit my ships 

While I have power to move, or breath to draw. 

Hear now, and mark me well. Cease thou from 

tears. 
Confound me not, pleading with sighs and sobs 
In Agamemnon's cause ; O love not him, 
Lest I renounce thee, who am now thy friend. 
Assist me rather, as thy duty bids, 
Him to afflict, who hath afflicted me, 
So shalt thou share my glory and my power. 
These shall report as they have heard, but here 
Rest thou this night, and with the rising morn 
We will decide, to stay or to depart. 

He ceased, and silent, by a nod enjoin' d 
Patroclus to prepare an easy couch 
For Phoenix, anxious to dismiss the rest 
Incontinent ; when Ajax, godlike son 
Of Telamon, arising, thus began. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown' d ! 
Depart we now ; for I perceive that end 
Or fruit of all our reasonings shall be none. 
It is expedient also that we bear 
Our answer back (unwelcome as it is) 
With all dispatch, for the assembled Greeks 
Expect us. Brave Achilles shuts a fire 
Within his breast ; the kindness of his friends, 
And the respect peculiar by ourselves 
Shown to him, on his heart work no effect. 
Inexorable man ! others accept 
Even for a brother slain, or for a son 
Due compensation ; the delinquent dwells 
Secure at home, and the receiver, soothed 
And pacified, represses his revenge. 
But thou, resentful of the loss of one, 
One virgin (such obduracy of heart 
The gods have given thee) can'st not be appeased. 
Yet we assign thee seven in her stead, 
The most distinguish'd of their sex, and add 
Large gifts beside. Ah then, at last relent ! 
Respect thy roof ; we are thy guests ; we come 
Chosen from the multitude of all the Greeks, 
Beyond them all ambitious of thy love. 

To whom, Achilles, swiftest of the swift. 
My noble friend, offspring of Telamon ! 
Thou seem'st sincere, and I believe thee such. 
But at the very mention of the name 
Of Atreus' son, who shamed me in the sight 
Of all Aehaia's host, bearing me down 
As I had been some vagrant at his door, 
My bosom boils. Return ye and report 
Your answer. I no thought will entertain 
Of crimson war, till the illustrious son 
Of warlike Priam, Hector, blood-embrued, 
Shall in their tents the Myrmidons assail 
Themselves, and fire my fleet. At my own ship, 
And at my own pavilion, it may chance 
That even Hector's violence shall pause. 

He ended ; they from massy goblets each 
Libation pour'd, and to the fleet their course 
Resumed direct, Ulysses at their head. 
Patroclus then his fellow warriors bade, 
And the attendant women, spread a couch 
For Phoenix ; they the couch, obedient, spread 
With fleeces, with rich arras, and with flax 
Of subtlest woof. There hoary Phoenix lay 
In expectation of the sacred dawn. 
Meantime Achilles in the interior tent, 
With beauteous Diomeda by himself 
From Lesbos brought, daughter of Phorbas, lay. 
Patroclus opposite reposed, with whom 


Slept charming Iphis ; her, when he had won 
The lofty towers of Scyros, the divine 
Achilles took, and on his friend bestow'd. 

But when those chiefs at Agamemnon's tent 
Arrived, the Greeks on every side arose 
With golden cups welcoming their return. 
All question'd them, but Agamemnon first. 

Oh worthy of Aehaia's highest praise, 
And her chief ornament, Ulysses, speak ! 
Will he defend the fleet ? or his big heart 
Indulging wrathful, doth he still refuse ? 

To whom renown'd Ulysses thus replied. 
Atrides, Agamemnon, king of men ! 
He, his resentment quenches not, or will, 
But burns with wrath the more, thee and thy gifts 
Rejecting both. He bids thee with the Greeks 
Consult by what expedient thou may'st save 
The fleet and people, threatening that himself 
Will at the peep of day launch all his barks, 
And counseling, beside, the general host 
To voyage homeward, for that end as yet 
Of Ilium wall'd to heaven, ye shall not find, 
Since Jove the Thunderer with uplifted arm 
Protects her, and her courage hath revived. 
Thus speaks the chief, and Ajax is prepared, 
With the attendant heralds,'to report 
As I have said. But Phoenix in the tent 
Sleeps of Achilles, who his stay desired, 
That on the morrow, if he so incline, 
The hoary warrior may attend him hence 
Home to his country, but he leaves him free. 

He ended. They astonish'd at his tone 
(For vehement he spake) sat silent all. 
Long silent sat the afflicted sons of Greece, 
When thus the mighty Diomede began. 

Atrides, Agamemnon, king of men ! 
Thy supplications to the valiant son 
Of Peleus, and the offer of thy gifts 
Innumerous, had been better far withheld. 
He is at all times haughty, and thy suit 
Hath but increased his haughtiness of heart 
Past bounds : but let him stay, or let him go 
As he shall chuse. He will resume the fight 
When his own mind shall prompt him, and the 

gods 
Shall urge him forth. Now follow my advice. 
Ye have refresh'd your hearts with food and wine, 
Which are the strength of man ; take now repose, 
And when the rosy-finger'd morning fair, 
Shall shine again, set forth without delay 
The battle, horse and foot, before the fleet, 
And where the foremost fight, fight also thou. 

He ended ; all the kings applauded warm 
His counsel, and the dauntless tone admired 
Of Diomede. Then, due libation made, 
Each sought his tent, and took the gift of sleep. 


BOOK X. 

ARGUMENT. 

Diomede and Ulysses enter the Trojan host hy night, and 


slay Rhesus. 


All night the leaders of the host of Greece 
Lay sunk in soft repose, all, save the chief, 
The son of Atreus ; him from thought to thought 
Roving solicitous, no sleep relieved. 


THE ILIAD. 


307 


As when the spouse of beauteous Juno, darts 

His frequent fires, designing heavy rain 

Immense, or hail-storm, or field-whitening snow, 

Or else wide-throated war calamitous, 

So frequent were the groans by Atreus' son 

Heaved from his inmost heart, trembling with 

For cast he but his eye toward the plain [dread. 

Of Ilium, there, astonish'd, he beheld 

The city fronted with bright fires, and heard 

Eipes, and recorders, and the hum of war ; 

But when again the Greecian fleet he view'd, 

And thought on his own people, then his hair 

Uprooted elevating to the gods, 

He from his generous bosom groan'd again. 

At length he thus resolved ; of all the Greeks 

To seek Neleian Nestor first, with whom 

He might, perchance, some plan for the defence 

Of the afflicted Danai, devise. 

Rising he wrapp'd his tunic to his breast, 

And to his royal feet unsullied bound 

His sandals ; o'er his shoulders, next, he threw 

Of amplest size a lion's tawny skin 

That swept his footsteps, dappled o'er with blood, 

Then took his spear. Meantime not less appall'd. 

Was Menelaus, on whose eyelids sleep 

Sat not, lest the Achaians for his sake 

O'er many waters borne, and now intent 

On glorious deeds, should perish all at Troy. 

With a pard's spotted hide his shoulders broad 

He mantled over ; to his head he raised 

His brazen helmet, and with vigorous hand 

Grasping his spear, forth issued to arouse 

His brother, mighty sovereign of the host, 

And by the Greecians like a god revered. 

He found him at his galley's stern, his arms 

Assuming radiant ; welcome he arrived 

To Agamemnon, whom he thus address'd. 

Why arm'st thou, brother? Would'st thou urge 
abroad 
Some trusty spy into the Trojan camp? 
I fear lest none so hardy shall be found 
As to adventure, in the dead still night, 
So far, alone ; valiant indeed were he ! 

To whom great Agamemnon thus replied. 
Heaven-fa vour'd Menelaus ! We have need, 
Thou and myself, of some device well-framed, 
Which both the Greecians and the fleet of Greece 
May rescue, for the mind of Jove hath changed, 
And Hector's prayers alone now reach his ear. 
I never saw, nor by report have learn'd 
From any man, that ever single chief 
Such awful wonders in one day perform'd 
As he with ease against the Greeks, although 
Nor from a goddess sprung nor from a god. 
Deeds he hath done, which, as I think, the Greeks 
Shall deep and long lament, such numerous ills 
Achaia's host hath at his hands sustain'd. 
But haste, begone, and at their several ships 
Call Ajax and Idomeneus ; I go 
To exhort the noble Nestor to arise, 
That he may visit, if he so incline, 
The chosen band who watch, and his advice 
Give them ; for him most prompt they will obey, 
Whose son, together with Meriones, 
Friend of Idomeneus, controuls them all, 
Entrusted by ourselves with that command. 

Him answer'd Menelaus bold in arms. 

Explain thy purpose Would'st thou that I wait 

Thy coming, there, or thy commands to both 
Given, that I incontinent return? 


To whom the sovereign of the host replied. 
There stay ; lest striking into different paths 
(For many passes intersect the camp) 
We miss each other ; summon them aloud 
Where thou shalt come ; enjoin them to arise ; 
Call each by his hereditary name, 
Honouring all. Beware of manners proud, 
For we ourselves must labour, at our birth 
By Jove ordain'd to suffering and to toil. 

So saying, he his brother thence dismiss'd 
Instructed duly, and, himself, his steps 
Turn'd to the tent of Nestor. Him he found 
Amid his sable galleys in his tent 
Reposing soft, his armour at his side, [belt 

Shield, spears, bright helmet, and the broider'd 
Which, when the senior arm'd led forth his host 
To fight, he wore ; for he complied not yet 
With the encroachments of enfeebling age. 
He raised his head, and on his elbow propp'd, 
Questioning Agamemnon, thus began. 

But who art thou, who thus alone, the camp 
Roamest, amid the darkness of the night, 
While other mortals sleep ? Comest thou abroad 
Seeking some friend or soldier of the guard ? 
Speak — come not nearer mute. What is thy wish? 

To whom the son of Atreus, king of men. 
Oh Nestor, glory of the Greecian name, 
Offspring of Neleus ! thou in me shalt know 
The son of Atreus, Agamemnon, doom'd 
By Jove to toil, while life shall yet inform 
These limbs, or I shall draw the vital air. 
I wander thus, because that on my lids 
Sweet sleep sits not, but war and the concerns 
Of the Achaians occupy my soul. 
Terrible are the fears that I endure 
For these my people ; such as supersede 
All thought ; my bosom can no longer hold 
My throbbing heart, and tremors shake my limbs. 
But if thy mind, more capable, project 
Aught that may profit us (for thee it seems 
Sleep also shuns) arise, and let us both 
Visit the watch, lest, haply, overtoil'd 
They yield to sleep, forgetful of their charge. 
The foe is posted near, and may intend 
(None knows his purpose) an assault by night. 

To him Gerenian Nestor thus replied. 
Illustrious Agamemnon, king of men ! 
Deep-planning Jove the imaginations proud 
Of Hector will not ratify, nor all 
His sanguine hopes effectuate ; in his turn 
He also (fierce Achilles once appeased) 
Shall trouble feel, and, haply, more than we. 
But with all readiness I will arise 
And follow thee, that we may also rouse 
Yet others ; Diomede the spear-renown'd, 
Ulysses, the swift Ajax, and the son 
Of Phyleus, valiant Meges. It were well 
Were others also visited and call'd, 
The godlike Ajax and Idomeneus, 
Whose ships are at the camp's extremest bounds. 
But though I love thy brother and revere, 
And though I grieve even thee, yet speak I must, 
And plainly censure him, that thus he sleeps 
And leaves to thee the labour, who himself 
Should range the host, soliciting the chiefs 
Of every band, as utmost need requires. 

Him answer'd Agamemnon, king of men. 
Old warrior, times there are, when I could wish 
Myself thy censure of him, for in act 
He is not seldom tardy and remiss. 

x2 


308 


THE ILIAD. 


Yet is not sluggish indolence the cause, 

No, nor stupidity, but he observes 

Me much, expecting till I lead the way. 

But he was foremost now, far more alert 

This night than I, and I have sent him forth " 

Already, those to call whom thou hast named. 

But let us hence, for at the guard I trust 

To find them, since I gave them so in charge. 

To whom the brave Gerenian chief replied. 
Him none will censure, or his will dispute, 
Whom he shall waken and exhort to rise. 

So saying, he bound his corslet to his breast, 
His sandals fair to his unsullied feet, 
And fastening by its clasps his purple cloak 
Around him, double and of shaggy pile, 
Seized, next, his sturdy spear headed with brass, 
And issued first, into the Greecian fleet. 
There, Nestor, brave Gerenian, with a voice 
Sonorous roused the godlike counsellor 
From sleep, Ulysses ; the alarm came o'er 
His startled ear, forth from his tent he sprang 
Sudden, and of their coming, quick, enquired. 

Why roam ye thus the camp and fleet alone 
In darkness ? by Avhat urgent need constrain'd ? 

To whom the hoary Pylian thus replied. 
Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd 1 
Resent it not, for dread is our distress. 
Come, therefore, and assist us to convene 
Yet others, qualified to judge if war 
Be most expedient, or immediate flight. 

He ended, and regaining, quick, his tent, 
Ulysses slung his shield, then coming forth 
Join'd them. The son of Tydeus first they sought. 
Him sleeping arm'd before his tent they found, 
Encompass'd by his friends also asleep ; 
His head each rested on his shield, and each 
Had planted on its nether point 1 erect 
His spear beside him ; bright their polish'd heads 
As Jove's own lightning glitter 'd from afar. 
Himself, the hero, slept. A wild bull's hide 
Was spread beneath him, and on arras tinged 
With splendid purple lay his head reclined. 
Nestor, beside him standing, with his heel 
Shook him, and urgent, thus the chief reproved. 

Awake, Tydides ! wherefore givest the night 
Entire to balmy slumber ? Hast not heard 
How on the rising ground beside the fleet 
The Trojans sit, small interval between? 

He ceased ; then upsprang Diomede alarm'd 
Instant, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

Old wakeful chief ! thy toils are never done. 
Are there not younger of the sons of Greece, 
Who ranging in all parts the camp, might call 
The kings to council ? But no curb controuls 
Or can abate activity like thine. 

To whom Gerenian Nestor in return. 
My friend ! thou hast well spoken. I have sons, 
And they are well deserving ; I have here 
A numerous people also, one of whom 
Might have sufficed to call the kings of Greece. 
But such occasion presses now the host 
As hath not oft occurr'd ; the overthrow 
Complete, or full deliverance of us all, 
In balance hangs, poised on a razor's edge. 
But haste, and if thy pity of my toils 


i 2aupct>T7?p— seems to have been a hollow iron with a 
point, fitted to the obtuse end of the spear for the purpose 
of planting that end of it in the ground. It might pro- 
bably be taken off at pleasure. 


Be such, since thou art younger, call, thyself, 
Ajax the swift, and Meges to the guard. 

Then Diomede a lion's tawny skin 
Around him wrapp'd, dependent to his heels, 
And, spear in hand, set forth. The hero calPd 
Those two, and led them whither Nestor bade. 

They, at the guard arrived, not sleeping found 
The captains of the guard, but sitting all 
In vigilant posture with their arms prepared. 
As dogs that, careful, watch the fold by night, 
Hearing some wild beast in the woods, which 

hounds 
And hunters with tumultuous clamour drive 
Down from the mountain-top, all sleep forego ; 
So, sat not on their eyelids gentle sleep 
That dreadful night, but constant to the plain 
At every sound of Trojan feet they turn'd. 
The old chief joyful at the sight, in terms 
Of kind encouragement them thus address'd. 

So watch, my children ! and beware that sleep 
Invade none here, lest all become a prey, [trench 

So saying, he traversed with quick pace the 
By every chief whom they had thither calPd 
Attended, with whom Nestor's noble son 
Went, and Meriones, invited both 
To join their consultation. From the foss 
Emerging, in a vacant space they sat, 
Unstrew'd with bodies of the slain, the spot 
Whence furious Hector, after slaughter made 
Of numerous Greeks, night falling, had return'd. 
There seated, mutual converse close they held, 
And Nestor, brave Gerenian, thus began. 

Oh friends ! hath no Achaian here such trust 
In his own prowess, as to venture forth 
Among yon haughty Trojans? He, perchance, 
Might on the borders of their host surprise 
Some wandering adversary, or might learn 
Their consultations, whether they propose 
Here to abide in prospect of the fleet, 
Or, satiate with success against the Greeks 
So signal, meditate retreat to Troy. 
These tidings gain'd, should he at last return 
Secure, his recompenee will be renown 
Extensive as the heavens, and fair reward. 
From every leader of the fleet, his gift 
Shall be a sable 2 ewe, and sucking lamb, 
Rare acquisition ! and at every board 
And sumptuous banquet he shall be a guest. 

He ceased, and all sat silent, when at length 
The mighty son of Tydeus thus replied. 

Me, Nestor, my courageous heart incites 
To penetrate into the neighbour host 
Of enemies ; but went some other chief 
With me, far greater would my comfort prove, 
And I should dare the more. Two going forth, 
One quicker sees than other, and suggests 
Prudent advice ; but he who single goes, 
Mark whatsoe'er he may, the occasion less 
Improves, and his expedients soon exhausts. 

He ended, and no few willing arose 
To go with Diomede. Servants of Mars 
Each Ajax willing stood ; willing as they 
Meriones ; most willing Nestor's son ; 
Willing the brother of the chief of all, 
Nor willing less Ulysses to explore 
The host of Troy, for he possess'd a heart 
Delighted ever with some bold exploit. 

2 Sable, because the expedition was made by night, and 
each with a lamb, as typical of the fruit of their labours. 


THE ILIAD. 


309 


Then Agamemnon, king of men, began. 
Now Diomede, in whom my soul delights ! 
Chuse whom thou wilt for thy companion ; chuse 
The fittest here ; for numerous wish to go. 
Leave not through deference to another's rank, 
The more deserving, nor prefer a worse, 
Respecting either pedigree or power. 

Such speech he interposed, fearing his choice 
Of Menelaus ; then, renown'd in arms 
The son of Tydeus, rising, spake again. 

Since, then, ye bid me my own partner chuse 
Free from constraint, how can I overlook 
Divine Ulysses, whose courageous heart 
With such peculiar cheerfulness endures 
Whatever toils, and whom Minerva loves ? 
Let him attend me, and through fire itself 
We shall return ; for none is wise as he. 

To him Ulysses, hardy chief, replied.- 
Tydides ! neither praise me much, nor blame, 
For these are Greecians in whose ears thou speak'st, 
And know me well. But let us hence ! the night 
Draws to a close ; day comes apace ; the stars 
Are far advanced ; two portions have elapsed 
Of darkness, but the third is yet entire. 

So they ; then each his dreadful arms put on. 
To Diomede, who at the fleet had left 
His own, the dauntless Thrasymedes gave 
His shield and sword two-edged, and on his head 
Placed, crestless, unadorn'd, his bull-skin casque. 
It was a stripling's helmet, such as youths 
Scarce yet confirm' d in lusty manhood, wear. 
Meriones with quiver, bow and sword 
Furnish'd Ulysses, and his brows enclosed 
In his own casque of hide with many a thong 
Well braced within ; guarded it was without 
With boar's teeth ivory-white inherent firm 
On all sides, and with woollen head-piece lined. 
That helmet erst Autolycus' had brought 
From Eleon, city of Amyntor son 
Of Hormenus, where he the solid walls 
Bored through, clandestine, of Amyntor's house. 
He on Amphidamas the prize bestow'd 
In Scandia ; from Amphidamas it pass'd 
To Molusas an hospitable pledge ; 
Hs gave it to Meriones his son, 
And now it guarded shrewd Ulysses' brows. 
Both clad in arms terrific, forth they sped, 
Leaving their fellow chiefs, and as they went 
An heron, by command of Pallas, flew 
Close on the right beside them ; darkling they 
Discern' d him not, but heard his clanging plumes. 
Ulysses in the favourable sign 
Exulted, and Minerva thus invoked. 

Oh hear me, daughter of Jove segis-arm'd ! 
My present helper in all streights, whose eye 
Marks all my ways, oh with peculiar care 
Now guard me, Pallas ! grant that after toil 
Successful, glorious, such as long shall fill 
With grief the Trojans, we may safe return 
And with immortal honours to the fleet. 

Valiant Tydides, next, his prayer preferr'd. 
Hear also me, Jove's offspring by the toils 
Of war invincible ! me follow now 
As my heroic father erst at Thebes 
Thou followedst, Tydeus; by the Greeks dispatch'd 
Ambassador, he left the mail-clad host 
Beside Asopus, and with terms of peace 

1 Autolycus was grandfather of Ulysses by the mother" s 


Entrusted, enter'd Thebes ; but by thine aid 
Benevolent, and in thy strength, perform'd 
Returning, deeds of terrible renown. 
Thus, now, protect me also ! in return 
I vow an offering at thy shrine, a young 
Broad-fronted heifer, to the yoke as yet 
Untamed, whose horns I will incase with gold. 

Such prayer they made, and Pallas heard well 
pleased. 
Their orisons ended to the daughter dread 
Of mighty Jove, lion-like they advanced 
Through shades of night, through carnage, arms 
and blood. 

Nor Hector to his gallant host indulged 
Sleep, but convened the leaders ; leader none 
Or senator of all his host he left 
Unsummon'd, and his purpose thus promulged. 

Where is the warrior who for rich reward, 
Such as shall well suffice him, will the task 
Adventurous, which I propose, perform ? 
A chariot with two steeds of proudest height,. 
Surpassing all in the whole fleet of Greece 
Shall be his portion, with immortal praise, 
Who shall the well-appointed ships approach 
Courageous, there to learn if yet a guard 
As heretofore, keep them, or if subdued 
Beneath us, the Achaians flight intend, 
And worn with labour have no will to watch. 

So Hector spake, but answer none return 'd. 
There was a certain Trojan, Dolon named, 
Son of Eumedes herald of the gods, 
Rich both hi gold and brass, but in his form 
Unsightly ; yet the man was swift of foot, 
Sole brother of five sisters ; he his speech 
To Hector and the Trojans thus address'd. 

My spirit, Hector, prompts me, and my mind 
Endued with manly vigour, to approach 
Yon gallant ships, that I may tidings hear. 
But come. For my assurance, lifting high 
Thy sceptre, swear to me, for my reward, 
The horses and the brazen chariot bright 
Which bear renown'd Achilles o'er the field. 
I will not prove an useless spy, nor fall 
Below thy best opinion ; pass I will 
Their army through, till I shall reach the ship 
Of Agamemnon, where the chiefs, perchance, 
Now sit consulting, or to fight or fly. 

Then raising high his sceptre, Hector sware. 
Know, Jove himself, Juno's high-thundering spouse ! 
That Trojan none shall in that chariot ride 
By those steeds drawn, save Dolon ; on my oath 
I make them thine ; enjoy them evermore. 

He said, and falsely sware, yet him assured. 
Then Dolon, instant, o'er his shoulder slung 
His bow elastic, wrapp'd himself around 
With a grey wolf-skin, to his head a casque 
Adjusted, coated o'er with ferret's felt, 
And seizing his sharp javelin, from the host 
Turn'd right toward the fleet, but was ordain'd 
To disappoint his sender, and to bring 
No tidings thence. The throng of Trojan steeds 
And warriors left, with brisker pace he moved, 
When brave Ulysses his approach perceived, 
And thus to Diomede his speech address'd. 

Tydides ! yonder man is from the host ; 
Either a spy he comes, or with intent 
To spoil the dead. First, freely let him pass 
Few paces, then pursuing him with speed, 
Seize on him suddenly ; but should he prove 
The nimbler of the three, with threatening spear 


310 


THE ILIAD. 


Enforce him from his camp toward the fleet, 
Lest he elude us, and escape to Troy. 

So they ; then, turning from the road oblique, 
Among the carcases each laid him down. 
Dolon, suspecting nought, ran swiftly by. 
1 But when such space was interposed as mules 
Plow in a day, (for mules the ox surpass 
Through fallows deep drawing the ponderous 

plough) 
Both ran toward him. Dolon at the sound 
Stood ; for he hoped some Trojan friends at hand 
From Hector sent to bid him back again. 
But when within spear's cast, or less they came, 
Knowing them enemies he turn'd to flight 
Incontinent, whom they as swift pursued. 
As two flee t hounds sharp fang'd, train'd to the chace, 
Hang on the rear of flying hind or hare, 
And drive her, never swerving from the track, 
Through copses close ; she screaming scuds before; 
So Diomede and dread Ulysses him 
Chased constant, intercepting his return. 
And now, fast-fleeing to the ships, he soon 
Had reach'd the guard, but Pallas with new force 
Inspired Tydides, lest a meaner Greek 
Should boast that he had smitten Dolon first, 
And Diomede win only second praise. 
He poised his lifted spear, and thus exclaim'd. 

Stand ! or my spear shall stop thee. Death im- 
pends 
At every step ; thou can'st not 'scape me long. 

He said, and threw his spear, but by design, 
Err'd from the man. The polish'd weapon swift 
O'er-glancing his right shoulder, in the soil 
Stood fixt, beyond him. Terrified he stood, 
Stammering, and sounding through his lips the 
Of chattering teeth, with visage deadly wan. [clash 
They panting rush'd on him, and both his hands 
Seized fast ; he wept, and suppliant them bespake. 

Take me alive, and I will pay the price 
Of my redemption. I have gold at home, 
Brass also, and bright steel, and when report 
Of my captivity within your fleet 
Shall reach my father, treasures he will give 
Not to be told, for ransom of his son. 

To whom Ulysses politic replied. 
Take courage ; entertain no thought of death. 
But haste ! this tell me, and disclose the truth. 
Why thus toward the ships comest thou alone 
From yonder host, by night, while others sleep ? 
To spoil some carcase ? or from Hector sent 
A spy of all that passes in the fleet ? 
Or by thy curiosity impell'd ? 

Then Dolon, his limbs trembling, thus replied. 
To my great detriment, and far beyond 
My own design, Hector trepann'd me forth, 
Who promised me the steeds of Peleus' son 
Illustrious, and his brazen chariot bright. 
He bade me, under night's fast-flitting shades 
Approach our enemies, a spy, to learn 
If still as heretofore, ye station guards 
For safety of your fleet, or if subdued 
Completely, ye intend immediate flight, 
And worn with labour, have no will to watch. 

To whom Ulysses, smiling, thus replied. 
Thou hadst, in truth, an appetite to gifts 


1 Commentators here are extremely in the dark, and 
even Aristarchus seems to have attempted an explanation 
in vain. — The translator does not pretend to have ascer- 
tained the distance intended, but only to have given a i 
distance suited to the occasion. 


Of no mean value, coveting the steeds 

Of brave iEacides ; but steeds are they 

Of fiery sort, difficult to be ruled 

By force of mortal man, Achilles' self 

Except, whom an immortal mother bore. 

But tell me yet again ; use no disguise ; 

Where left'st thou, at thy coming forth, your chief, 

The valiant Hector ? where hath he disposed 

His armour battle-worn, and where his steeds ? 

What other quarters of your host are watch'd ? 

Where lodge the guard, and what intend ye next ? 

Still to abide in prospect of the fleet % 

Or well-content that ye have thus reduced 

Achaia's host, will ye retire to Troy \ 

To whom this answer Dolon straight returned, 
Son of Eumedes. With unfeigning truth 
Simply and plainly will I utter all. 
Hector, with all the senatorial chiefs, 
Beside the tomb of sacred Ilius sits 
Consulting, from the noisy camp remote. 
But for the guards, hero ! concerning whom 
Thou hast enquired, there is no certain watch 
And regular appointed o'er the camp ; 
The native 2 Trojans (for they can no less) 
Sit sleepless all, and each his next exhorts 
To vigilance ; but all our foreign aids 
Who neither wives nor children hazard here, 
Trusting the Trojans for that service, sleep. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
How sleep the strangers, and allies % — apart ? 
Or with the Trojans mingled ? — I would learn. 

So spake Ulysses ; to whom Dolon thus, 
Son of Eumedes. I will all unfold, 
And all most truly. By the sea are lodged 
The Carians, the Pseonians arm'd with bows, 
The Leleges, with the Pelasgian band, 
And the Caucones. On the skirts encamp 
Of Thymbra, the Mseonians crested high, 
The Phrygian horsemen, with the Lycian host, 
And the bold troop of Mysia's haughty sons. 
But wherefore these enquiries, thus minute \ 
For if ye wish to penetrate the host, 
These who possess the borders of the camp 
Farthest removed of all, are Thracian powers 
Newly arrived ; among them Rhesus sleeps, 
Son of Ei'oneus, their chief and king. 
His steeds I saw, the fairest by these eyes 
Ever beheld, and loftiest ; snow itself 
They pass in whiteness, and in speed the winds. 
With gold and silver all his chariot burns, 
And he arrived in golden armour clad 
Stupendous ! little suited to the state 
Of mortal man — fit for a god to wear ! 
Now, either lead me to your gallant fleet, 
Or, where ye find me, leave me straitly bound 
Till ye return, and, after trial made, 
Shall know if I have spoken false or true. 

But him brave Diomede with aspect stern 
Answer'd. Since,Dolon ! thou art caught, although 
Thy tidings have been good, hope not to live ; 
For should we now release thee and dismiss, 
Thou wilt revisit yet again the fleet 
A spy or open foe ; but smitten once 
By this death-dealing arm, thou shalt return 
To render mischief to the Greeks no more. 

He ceased, and Dolon would have stretch'd his 
hand 


2 "Oaaat yap Tpwwu irvpbs iaxdpcu — As many as are 
owners of hearths, — that is to say, all who are household- 
ers here, or natives of the city. 


THE ILIAD, 


311 




Toward his beard, and pleaded hard for life, 
But with his faulchion, rising to the blow, 
On the mid-neck he smote him, cutting sheer 
Both tendons with a stroke so swift, that ere 
His tongue had ceased, his head was in the dust. 
They took his helmet clothed with ferret's felt, 
Stripp'd off his wolf-skin, seized his bow and spear, 
And brave Ulysses lifting in his hand 
The trophy to Minerva, pray'd and said : 

Hail, goddess ; these are thine ! for thee of all 
Who in Olympus dwell, we will invoke 
First to our aid. Now also guide our steps, 
Propitious, to the Thracian tents and steeds. 

He ceased, and at arm's-length the lifted spoils 
Hung on a tamarisk ; but mark'd the spot, 
Plucking away with hand-full grasp the reeds 
And spreading boughs, lest they should seek the 

prize 
Themselves in vain, returning ere the night, 
Swift traveller, should have fled before the dawn. 
Thence, o'er the bloody champainstrew'd with arms 
Proceeding, to the Thracian lines they came. 
They, wearied, slept profound ; beside them lay, 
In triple order regular arranged, 
Their radiant armour, and their steeds in pairs. 
Amid them Rhesus slept, and at his side 
His coursers, to the outer chariot-ring 
Fasten'd secure. Ulysses saw him first, 
And, seeing, mark'd him out to Diomede. 

Behold the man, Tydides ! Lo ! the steeds 
By Dolon specified whom we have slain. 
Be quick. Exert thy force. Arm'd as thou art, 
Sleep not. Loose thou the steeds, or slaughter thou 
The Thracians, and the steeds shall be my care. 

He ceased ; then blue-eyed Pallas with fresh force 
Invigour'd Diomede. From side to side 
He slew ; dread groans arose of dying men 
Hewn with the sword, and the earth swam with 
As if he find a flock unguarded, sheep [blood. 

Or goats, the lion rushes on his prey, 
With such unsparing force Tydides smote 
The men of Thrace, till he had slaughter'd twelve; 
And whom Tydides with his faulchion struck 
Laertes' son dragg'd by his feet abroad, 
Forecasting that the steeds might pass with ease, 
Nor start, as yet uncustom'd to the dead. ' 
But when the son of Tydeus found the king, 
Him also panting forth his last, last breath, 
He added to the twelve ; for at his head 
An evil dream that night had stood, the form 
Of Diomede, by Pallas' art devised. 
Meantime the bold Ulysses loosed the steeds, 
Which, to each other rein'd, he drove abroad, 
Smiting them with his bow, (for of the scourge 
He thought not in the chariot-seat secured) 
And as he went, hiss'd, warning Diomede. 
But he, projecting still some hardier deed, 
Stood doubtful, whether by the pole to draw 
The chariot thence, laden with gorgeous arms, 
Or whether heaving it on high, to bear 
The burthen off, or whether yet to take [thoughts 
More Thracian lives ; when him with various 
Perplex'd, Minerva, drawing near, bespake. 

Son of bold Tydeus ! think on thy return 
To yonder fleet, lest thou depart constrain'd. 
Some other god may rouse the powers of Troy. 

She ended, and he knew the voice divine. 
At once he mounted. With his bow the steeds 
Ulysses ply'd, and to the ships they flew. 

Nor look'd the bender of the silver bow, 


Apollo, forth in vain, but at the sight 

Of Pallas following Diomede incensed, 

Descended to the field where numerous most 

He saw the Trojans, and the Thracian chief 

And counsellor, Hippocoon aroused, 

Kinsman of Rhesus, and renown'd in arms. 

He, starting from his sleep, soon as he saw 

The spot deserted where so lately lay 

Those fiery coursers, and his warrior friends 

Gasping around him, sounded loud the name 

Of his loved Rhesus. Instant, at the voice, 

Wild stir arose and clamorous uproar 

Of fast-assembling Trojans. Deeds they saw — 

Terrible deeds, and marvellous perform'd, 

But not their authors — they had sought the ships. 

Meantime arrived where they had slain the spy 
Of Hector, there Ulysses, dear to Jove, 
The coursers stay'cl, and, leaping to the ground, 
The son of Tydeus in Ulysses' hands 
The arms of Dolon placed foul with his blood, 
Then vaulted light into his seat again. 
He lash'd the steeds, they, not unwilling, flew 
To the deep-bellied barks, as to their home. 
First Nestor heard the sound, and thus he said. 
I Friends ! counsellors ! and leaders of the Greeks! 
False shall I speak, or true ? — but speak I must. 
The echoing sound of hoofs alarms my ear. 
Oh, that Ulysses, and brave Diomede 
This moment might arrive drawn into camp 
By Trojan steeds ! But ah, the dread I feel! 
Lest some disaster have for ever quell'd 
In yon rude host those noblest of the Greeks. 

He had not ended, when themselves arrived. 
Both quick dismounted; joy at their return 
Fill'd every bosom ; each with kind salute 
Cordial, and right-hand welcome greeted them, 
And first Gerenian Nestor thus enquired. 

Oh chief by all extoll'd, glory of Greece, 
Ulysses ! how have ye these steeds acquired ? 
In yonder host ? or met ye as ye went 
Some god who gave them to you ! for they show 
A lustre dazzling as the beams of day. 
Old as I am, I mingle yet in fight 
With Ilium's sons,— lurk never in the fleet — 
Yet saw I at no time, or have remark'd 
Steeds such as these ; which therefore I believe 
Perforce, that ye have gain'd by gift divine ; 
For cloud-assembler Jove, and azure-eyed 
Minerva, Jove's own daughter, love you both. 

To whom Ulysses, thus discreet, replied. 
Neleian Nestor, glory of the Greeks ! 
A God, so willing, could have given us steeds 
Superior, for their bounty knows no bounds. 
But, venerable chief ! these which thou seest 
Are Thracians new-arrived. Their master lies 
Slain by the valiant Diomede, with twelve 
The noblest of his warriors at his side. 
A thirteenth ' also, at small distance hence 
We slew, by Hector and the chiefs of Troy 
Sent to inspect the posture of our host. 

He said ; then, high in exultation, drove 
The coursers o'er the trench, and with him pass'd 
The glad Achaians ; at the spacious tent 
Of Diomede arrived, with even thongs 
They tied them at the cribs where stood the steeds 

1 Homer did not here forget himself, though some have 
altered rpis to rerpaKaideKaTov. — Rhesus for distinction 
sake is not numbered with his people. — See Villoisson in 
loco. 


I 312 


THE ILIAD. 


Of Tydeus' son, with winnow'd wheat supplied. 

Ulysses in his bark the gory spoils 

Of Dolon placed, designing them a gift 

To Pallas. Then, descending to the sea, 

Neck, thighs, and legs from sweat profuse they 

cleansed, 
And, so refresh'd and purified, their last 
Ablution in bright tepid baths perform'd. 
Each thus completely laved, and with smooth oil 
Anointed, at the well-spread board they sat, 
And quaff 'd in honour of Minerva, wine 
Delicious, from the brimming beaker drawn. 


BOOK XI. 


ARGUMENT. 

Agamemnon distinguishes himself. He is wounded, and 
retires. Diomede is wounded by Paris ; Ulysses by 
Socus. Ajax with Menelaus flies to the relief of Ulysses, 
and Eurypylus, soon after, to the relief of Ajax. While 
he is employed in assisting Ajax, he is shot in the thigh 
by Paris, who also wounds Machaon. Nestor conveys 
Machaon from the field. Achilles dispatches Patroclus 
to the tent of Nestor, and Nestor takes that occasion to 
exhort Patroclus to engage in battle, clothed in the 
armour of Achilles. 


Aurora from Tithonus' side arose 
With light for heaven and earth, when Jove dis- 
Discord, the fiery signal in her hand [patch'd 

Of battle bearing, to the Greecian fleet. 
High on Ulysses' huge black ship she stood 
The centre of the fleet, whence all might hear, 
The tent of Telainon's huge son between, 
And of Achilles ; for confiding they 
In their heroic fortitude, their barks 
Well-poised had station'd utmost of the line. 
There standing, shrill she sent a cry abroad 
Among the Achaians, such as thirst infused 
Of battle ceaseless into every breast. 
All deem'd, at once, war sweeter, than to seek 
Their native country through the waves again. 
Then with loud voice Atrides bade the Greeks 
Gird on their armour, and himself his arms 
Took radiant. First around his legs he clasp' d 
His shining greaves with silver studs secured, 
Then bound his corslet to his bosom, gift 
Of Cinyras long since ; for rumour loud 
Had Cyprus reach' d of an Achaian host 
Assembling, destined to the shores of Troy, 
Wherefore, to gratify the king of men, 
He made the splendid ornament his own. 
Ten rods of steel ccerulean all around 
Embraced it, twelve of gold, twenty of tin ; 
Six ' spiry serpents their uplifted heads 
Ccerulean darted at the wearer's throat, 
Splendour diffusing as the various bow 
Fix'd by Saturnian Jove in showery clouds, 
A sign to mortal men. He slung his sword 
Athwart his shoulders; dazzling bright it shone 
With gold emboss'd, and silver was the sheath 
Suspended graceful in a belt of gold. 
His massy shield o'ershadowing him whole, 
High-wrought and beautiful, he next assumed. 

1 Tpe?s eKarepd', — Three on a side. This is evidently 
the proper punctuation, though it differs from that of all 
editions that I have seen. I find it nowhero but in the 
Venetian Scholium. 


Ten circles bright of brass around its field 
Extensive, circle within circle, ran ; 
The central boss was black, but hemm'd about 
With twice ten bosses of resplendent tin. 
There, dreadful ornament ! the visage dark 
Of Gorgon scowl'd, border'd by Flight and Fear. 
The loop was silver, and a serpent form 
Ccerulean over all its surface twined, 
Three heads erecting on one neck, the heads 
Together wreath'd into a stately crown. 
His helmet quatre-crested% and with studs 
Fast riveted around he to his brows 
Adjusted, whence tremendous waved his crest 
Of mounted hair on high. Two spears he seized 
Ponderous, brass-pointed, and that flash'd to heaven. 
Sounds 3 like clear thunder, by the spouse of Jove 
And by Minerva raised to extol the king 
Of opulent Mycenae, roll'd around. 
At once each bade his charioteer his steeds 
Hold fast beside the margin of the trench 
In orderly array ; the foot all arm'd 
Rush'd forward, and the clamour of the host 
Rose infinite into the dawning skies. 
First, at the trench, the embattled infantry 4 
Stood ranged ; the chariots follow'd close behind; 
Dire was the tumult by Saturnian Jove 
Excited, and from ether down he shed 
Blood-tinctured dews among them, for he meant 
That day to send full many a warrior bold 
To Pluto's dreary realm, slain premature. 
Opposite, on the rising ground, appear'd 
The Trojans; them majestic Hector led, 
Noble Polydamas, JEneas raised 
To godlike honours in all Trojan hearts, 
And Polybus, with whom Antenor's sons 
Agenor, and young Acamas advanced. 
Hector the splendid orb of his broad shield 
Bore in the van, and as a comet now 
Glares through the clouds portentous, and again, 
Obscured by gloomy vapours, disappears, 
So Hector, marshaling his host, in front 
Now shone, now vanish'd in the distant rear. 
All-cased he flamed in brass, and on the sight 
Flash'd as the lightnings of Jove segis-arm'd. 
As reapers, toiling opposite, lay bare 
Some rich man's furrows, while the sever'd grain, 
Barley or wheat, sinks as the sickle moves, 
So Greeks and Trojans springing into fight 
Slew mutual ; foul retreat alike they scorn'd, 
Alike in fierce hostility their heads 
Both bore aloft, and rush'd like wolves to war. 
Discord, spectatress terrible, that sight 
Beheld exulting ; she, of all the gods, 
Alone was present ; not a power beside 
There interfered, but each his bright abode 
Quiescent occupied wherever built 
Among the windings of the Olympian heights ; 
Yet blamed they all the storm-assembler king 
Saturnian, for his purposed aid to Troy. 
The eternal father reck'd not ; he, apart, 

2 Qudtre-crested. So I have rendered TeTpacpaAripov, 
which literally signifies having four cones. The cone was 
a tube into which the crest was inserted. The word 
quatre-crested may need a precedent for its justification, 
and seems to have a sufficient one in the cinque-spotted 
cowslip of Shakspeare. 

3 This seems the proper import of i'ySovTrrjauv. Jupiter 
is called ipiydovwos. 

4 The translator follows Clarke in this interpretation 
of a passage to us not very intelligible. 


THE ILIAD. 


313 


Seated in solitary pomp, enjoy 'd 
His glory, and from on high the towers survey'd 
Of Ilium and the fleet of Greece, the flash 
Of gleaming arms, the slayer and the slain. 

While morning lasted, and the light of day 
Increased, so long the weapons on both sides 
Flew in thick vollies, and the people fell. 
But, what time his repast the woodman spreads 
In some umbrageous vale, his sinewy arms 
Wearied with hewing many a lofty tree, 
And his wants satisfied, he feels at length 
The pinch of appetite to pleasant food, 
Then was it, that encouraging aloud 
Each other, in their native virtue strong, 
The Greecians through the phalanx burst of Troy. 
Forth sprang the monarch first ; he slew the chief 
Bianor, nor himself alone, but slew 
Oileus also driver of his steeds. 
O'i'leus, with a leap alighting, rush'd 
On Agamemnon ; he his fierce assault 
Encountering, with a spear met full his front. 
Nor could his helmet's ponderous brass sustain 
That force, but both his helmet and his scull 
It shatter'd, and his martial rage repress'd. 
The king of men, stripping their corslets, bared 
Their shining breasts, and left them. Isus, next, 
And Antiphus he flew to slay, the sons 
Of Priam both, and in one chariot borne, 
This spurious, genuine that. The bastard drove, 
And Antiphus, a warrior high-renown'd, 
Fought from the chariot ; them Achilles erst 
Feeding their flocks on Ida had surprised 
And bound with osiers, but for ransom loosed. 
Of these, imperial Agamemnon, first, 
Above the pap pierced Isus ; next, he smote 
Antiphus with his sword beside the ear, 
And from his chariot cast him to the ground. 
Conscious of both, their glittering arms he stripp'd, 
For he had seen them when from Ida's heights 
Achilles led them to the Greecian fleet. 
As with resistless fangs the lion breaks 
The young in pieces of the nimble hind, 
Entering her lair, and takes their feeble lives ; 
She, though at hand, can yield them no defence, 
But through the thick wood, wing'd with terror, 
Herself away, trembling at such a foe ; [starts 
So them the Trojans had no power to save, 
Themselves all driven before the host of Greece. 
Next, on Pisandrus, and of dauntless heart 
Hippolochus he rush'd ; they were the sons 
Of brave Antimachus, who with rich gifts 
By Paris bought, inflexible withheld 
From Menelaus still his lovely bride. 
His sons, the monarch, in one chariot borne 
Encounter' d ; they (for they had lost the reins) 
With trepidation and united force 
Essay'd to check the steeds ; astonishment 
Seized both ; Atrides with a lion's rage 
Came on, and from the chariot thus they sued. 

Oh spare us ! son of Atreus, and accept 
Ransom immense. Antimachus our sire 
Is rich in various treasure, gold and brass, 
And temper'd steel, and, hearing the report 
That in Achaia's fleet his sons survive, 
He will requite thee with a glorious price. 

So they, with tears and gentle terms the king 
Accosted, but no gentle answer heard. 

Are ye indeed the offspring of the chief 
Antimachus, who when my brother once 
With godlike Laertiades your town 


Enter'd ambassador, his death advised 
In council, and to let him forth no more 1 
Now rue ye both the baseness of your sire. 

He said, and from his chariot to the plain 
Thrust down Pisandrus, piercing with keen lance 
His bosom, and supine he smote the field. 
Down leap'd Hippolochus, whom on the ground 
He slew ; cut sheer his hands, and lopp'd his head, 
And roll'd it like a mortar 1 through the ranks. 
He left the slain, and where he saw the field 
With thickest battle cover'd, thither flew 
By all the Greecians follow'd bright in arms. 
The scatter'd infantry constrain'd to fly, 
Fell by the infantry ; the charioteers, 
While with loud hoofs their steeds the dusty soil 
Excited, o'er the charioteers their wheels 
Drove brazen-fellied, and the king of men 
Incessant slaughtering, call'd his Argives 3 on. 
As when fierce flames some ancient forest seize, 
From side to side in flakes the various wind 
Rolls them, and to the roots devour'd, the trunks 
Fall prostrate under fury of the fire, 
So under Agamemnon fell the heads 
Of flying Trojans. Many a courser proud 
The empty chariots through the paths of war 
Whirl'd rattling, of their charioteers deprived ; 
They breathless press'd the plain, now fitter far 
To feed the vultures than to cheer their wives. 

Conceal'd, meantime, by Jove, Hector escaped 
The dust, darts, deaths, and tumult of the field, 
And Agamemnon to the swift pursuit 
Call'd loud the Greecians. Through the middle 
Beside the sepulchre of Ilus, son [plain 

Of Dardanus, and where the fig-tree stood, 
The Trojans flew, panting to gain the town, 
While Agamemnon pressing close the rear, 
Shout after shout terrific sent abroad, 
And his victorious hands reek'd, red with gore. 
But at the beech-tree and the Scaean gate 
Arrived, the Trojans halted, waiting there 
The rearmost fugitives ; they o'er the field 
Came like a herd, which in the dead of night 
A lion drives ; all fly, but one is doom'd 
To death inevitable ; her with jaws 
True to their hold he seizes, and her neck 
Breaking, embowels her, and laps the blood ; 
So, Atreus' royal son, the hindmost still 
Slaying, and still pursuing, urged them on. 
Many supine, and many prone the field 
Press'd, by the son of Atreus in their flight 
Dismounted ; for no weapon raged as his. 
But now, at last, when he should soon have reach' d 
The lofty walls of Ilium, came the sire 
Of gods and men descending from the sides, 
And on the heights of Ida fountain-fed, 
Sat arm'd with thunders. Calling to his foot 
Swift Iris golden-pinion'd, thus he spake. 

Iris ! away. Thus speak in Hector's ears. 
While vet he shall the son of Atreus see 
Fierce warring in the van, and mowing down 
The Trojan ranks, so long let him abstain 
From battle, leaving to his host the task 
Of bloody contest furious with the Greeks. 
But soon as Atreus' son by spear or shaft 
Wounded shall climb his chariot, with such force 

2 The Greecians at large are indiscriminately called 
Danai, Argives, and Achaians, in the original. The 
Phthians in particular- Hellenes. They were the troops 
of Achilles. 


314 


THE ILIAD. 


I will endue Hector, that he shall slay 

Till he have reaeh'd the ships, and till, the sun 

Descending, sacred darkness cover all. 

He spake, nor rapid Iris disobey'd 
Storm-wing'd embassadress, but from the heights 
Of Ida stoop'd to Ilium. There she found 
The son of royal Priam by the throng 
Of chariots and of steeds compass'd about. 
She, standing at his side, him thus bespake. 

Oh, son of Priam ! as the gods discreet ! 
I bring thee counsel from the sire of all. 
While yet thou shalt the son of Atreus see 
Fierce warring in the van, and mowing down 
The warrior ranks, so long he bids thee pause 
From battle, leaving to thy host the task 
Of bloody contest furious with the Greeks. 
But soon as Atreus' son, by spear or shaft 
Wounded, shall climb his chariot, Jove will then 
Endue thee with such force, that thou shalt slay 
Till thou have reaeh'd the ships, and till, the sun 
Descending, sacred darkness cover all. 

So saying, swift-pinion' d Iris disappear'd. 
Then Hector from his chariot at a leap 
Came down all arm'd, and, shaking his bright spears, 
Ranged every quarter, animating loud 
The legions, and rekindling horrid war. 
Back roll'd the Trojan ranks, and faced the Greeks; 
The Greeks their host to closer phalanx drew j 
The battle was restored, van fronting van 
They stood, and Agamemnon into fight 
Sprang foremost, panting for superior fame. 

Say now, ye Nine, who on Olympus dwell ! 
What Trojan first, or what ally of Troy 
Opposed the force of Agamemnon's arm ? 
Iphidamas, Antenor's valiant son, 
Of loftiest stature, who hi fertile Thrace 
Mother of flocks was nourish'd. Cisseus him 
His grandsire, father of Theano praised 
For loveliest features, in his own abode 
Rear'd yet a child, and when at length he reaeh'd 
The measure of his glorious manhood firm 
Dismiss'd him not, but, to engage him more, 
Gave him his daughter. Wedded, he his bride 
As soon deserted, and with galleys twelve 
Following the rumour'd voyage of the Greeks, 
The same course steer'd ; but at Percope moor'd, 
And marching thence, arrived on foot at Troy. 
He first opposed Atrides. They approach'd. 
The spear of Agamemnon wander'd wide ; 
But him Iphidamas on his broad belt 
Beneath the corslet struck, and, bearing still 
On his spear-beam, enforced it ; but ere yet 
j He pierced the broider'd zone, his point, impress'd 
Against the silver, turn'd, obtuse as lead. 
Then royal Agamemnon in his hand 
i The weapon grasping, with a lion's rage 
Home drew it to himself, and from his gripe 
Wresting it, with his falchion keen his neck 
Smote full, and stretch'd him lifeless at his foot. 
So slept Iphidamas among the slain ; 
Unhappy ! from his virgin bride remote, 
Associate with the men of Troy in arms 
He fell, and left her beauties unenjoy'd. 
He gave her much, gave her an hundred beeves, 
And sheep and goats a thousand from his flocks 
Promised, for numberless his meadows ranged ; 
But Agamemnon, son of Atreus, him 
Slew and despoil'd, and tln'ough the Greecian host 
Proceeded, laden with his gorgeous arms. 
Coon that sight beheld, illustrious chief, 


Antenor's eldest-born, but with dim eyes 

Through anguish for his brother's fall. Unseen 

Of noble Agamemnon, at his side 

He cautious stood, and with a spear his arm, 

Where thickest fiesh'd, below his elbow, pierced, 

Till opposite the glittering point appear'd. 

A thrilling horror seized the king of men 

So wounded ; yet though wounded so, from fight 

He ceased not, but on Coon rush'd, his spear 

Grasping, well-thriven growth 1 of many a wind. 

He by the foot drew off Iphidamas, 

His brother, son of his own sire, aloud 

Calling the Trojan leaders to his aid, 

When him so occupied with his keen point 

Atrides pierced his bossy shield beneath. 

Expiring on Iphidamas he fell 

Prostrate, and Agamemnon lopp'd his head. 

Thus, under royal Agamemnon's hand, 

Antenor's sons their destiny fulfill'd, 

And to the house of Ades journey 'd both. 

Through other ranks of warriors then he pass'd, 

Now with his spear, now with his faulchion arm'd, 

And now with missile force of massy stones, 

While yet his warm blood sallied from the wound. 

But when the wound grew dry, and the blood ceased, 

Anguish intolerable undermined 

Then all the might of Atreus' royal son. 

As when a labouring woman's arrowy throes 

Seize her intense, by Juno's daughters dread 

The birth-presiding Uithyse deepj 

Infixt, dispensers of those pangs severe ; 

So, anguish insupportable subdued 

Then all the might of Atreus' royal son. 

Up-springing to his seat, instant he bade 

His charioteer drive to the hollow bai-ks, 

Heart-sick himself with pain ; yet, ere he went, 

With voice loud-echoing hail'd the Dana'i. 

Friends ! counsellors and leaders of the Greeks ! 
Now drive, yourselves, the battle from your ships. 
For me the gods permit not to employ 
In fight with Ilium's host the day entire. 

He ended, and the charioteer his steeds 
Lash'd to the ships ; they not unwilling flew, 
Bearing from battle the afflicted king 
With foaming chests and bellies grey with dust. 
Soon Hector, noting his retreat, aloud 
Call'd on the Trojans and allies of Troy. 

Trojans and Lycians, and close-fighting sons 
Of Dardanus ! oh summon all your might ; 
Now, now be men ! Their bravest is withdrawn ! 
Glory and honour from Saturnian Jove 
On me attend ; now full against the Greeks 
Drive all your steeds, and win a deathless name. 

He spake — and all drew courage from his word. 
As when his hounds bright-tooth'd some hunter 
Against the lion or the forest-boar, [cheers 

So Priamefan Hector cheer'd his host 
Magnanimous agamst the sons of Greece, 
Terrible as gore-tainted Mars. Among 
The foremost warriors, with success elate 
He strode, and flung himself into the fight 
Black as a storm which sudden from on high 
Descending, furrows deep the gloomy flood. 

Then whom slew Priamei'an Hector first, 
Whom last, by Jove, that day, with glory crown'd? 
Assieus, Dolops, Orus, Agelaus, 
Autonolis, Hipponous, iEsymnus, 
Opheltius and Opites first he slew, 

i 'Ave/j.0Tpe(pes — literally, wind-nourished. 


THE ILIAD. 


315 


All leaders of the Greeks, and, after these, 
The people. As when whirlwinds of the west 
A storm encounter from the gloomy south, 
The waves roll multitudinous, and the foam 
Upswept by wandering gusts fills all the air, 
So Hector swept the Greecians. Then defeat 
Past remedy and havoc had ensued, 
Then had the routed Greecians, flying, sought 
Their ships again, but that Ulysses thus 
Summon'd the brave Tydides to his aid. 

Whence comes it, Diomede, that we forget 
Our wonted courage ? Hither, O my friend ! 
And, fighting at my side, ward off the shame 
That must be ours, should Hector seize the fleet. 

To whom the valiant Diomede replied. 
I will be firm ; trust me thou shalt not find 
Me shrinking ; yet small fruit of our attempts 
Shall follow, for the Thunderer, not to us, 
But to the Trojan, gives the glorious day. 

The hero spake, and from his chariot cast 
Thymbrseus to the ground pierced through the pap, 
While by Ulysses' hand his charioteer 
Godlike Molion, fell. The warfare thus 
Of both for ever closed, them there they left, 
And plunging deep into the warrior throng- 
Troubled the multitude. As when two boars 
Turn desperate on the close-pursuing hounds, 
So they, returning on the host of Troy, 
Slew on all sides, and overtoil' d with flight 
From Hector's arm, the Greeks meantime respired. 
Two warriors, next, their chariot and themselves 
They took, plebeians brave, sons of the seer 
Percosian Merops in prophetic skill 
Surpassing all ; he both his sons forbad 
The mortal field, but disobedient they 
Still sought it, for their destiny prevail'd. 
Spear-practised Diomede of life deprived 
Both these, and stripp'd them of their glorious arms, 
While by Ulysses' hand Hippodamus 
Died and Hypeirochus. And now the son 
Of Saturn, looking down from Ida, poised 
The doubtful war, and mutual deaths they dealt. 
Tydides plunged his spear into the groin 
Of the illustrious son of Pseon, bold 
Agastrophus. No steeds at his command 
Had he, infatuate ! but his charioteer 
His steeds detain'd remote, while through the van 
Himself on foot rush'd madly till he fell. 
But Hector through the ranks darting his eye 
Perceived, and with ear-piercing cries advanced 
Against them, follow'd by the host of Troy. 
The son of Tydeus, shuddering, his approach 
Discern'd, and instant to Ulysses spake. 

Now comes the storm ! This way the mischief 
rolls ! 
Stand and repulse the Trojan. Now be firm. 

He said, and hurling his long-shadow'd beam 
Smote Heritor. At his helmet's crown he aim'd, 
Nor err'd, but brass encountering brass, the point 
Glanced wide, for he had cased his youthful brows 
In triple brass, Apollo's glorious gift. 
Yet with rapidity at such a shock 
Hector recoil'd into the multitude 
Afar, where sinking to his knees, he lean'd 
On his broad palm, and darkness veil'd his eyes. 
But while Tydides follow'd through the van 
His stormy spear, which in the distant soil 
Implanted stood, Hector his scatter'd sense 
Recovering, to his chariot sprang again, 
And, diving deep into his host, escaped. 


The noble son of Tydeus, spear in hand, 
Rush'd after him, and as he went, exclaim'd. 

Dog ! thou hast now escaped ; but, sure the stroke 
Approach'd thee nigh, well-aim'd. Once more thy 
Which ever to Apollo thou preferr'st [prayers 
Entering the clash of battle, have prevail'd, 
And he hath rescued thee. But well beware 
Our next encounter, for if also me 
Some god befriend, thou diest. Now will I seek 
Another mark, and smite whom next I may. 

He spake, and of his armour stripp'd the son 
Spear-famed of Pseon. Meantime Paris, mate 
Of beauteous Helen, drew his bow against 
Tydides ; by a pillar of the tomb 
Of Ilus, ancient senator revered, 
Conceal' d he stood, and while the hero loosed 
His corslet from the breast of Pseon's son 
Renown'd, and of his helmet and his targe 
Despoil'd him ; Paris, arching quick his bow, 
No devious shaft dismiss'd, but his right foot 
Pierced through the sole, and fix'd it to the ground. 
Transported from his ambush forth he leap'd 
With a loud laugh, and, vaunting, thus exclaim'd : 

Oh shaft well shot! it galls thee. Would to 
heaven 
That it had pierced thy heart, and thou hadst died ! 
So had the Trojans respite from their toils 
Enjoy 'd, who, now, shudder at sight of thee 
Like she-goats when the lion is at hand. 

To whom, undaunted, Diomede replied. 
Archer shrew-tongued ! spie-maiden ! man of 

. curls 1 ! 
Shouldst thou in arms attempt me face to face, 
Thy bow and arrows should avail thee nought. 
Vain boaster ! thou hast scratch'd my foot, — no 
And I regard it as I might the stroke [more — 
Of a weak woman or a simple child. 
The weapons of a dastard and a slave 
Are ever such. More terrible are mine, 
And whom they pierce, though slightly pierced, he 
His wife her cheeks rends inconsolable, [dies. 
His babes are fatherless, his blood the glebe 
Incarnadines, and where he bleeds and rots 
More birds of prey than women haunt the place. 

He ended, and Ulysses, drawing nigh, 
Shelter'd Tydides ; he behind the chief 
Of Ithaca sat drawing forth the shaft, 
But pierced with agonizing pangs the while. 
Then, climbing to his chariot-seat, he bade 
Sthenelus hasten to the hollow ships, 
Heart-sick with pain. And now alone was seen 
Spear-famed Ulysses ; not an Argive more 
Remain'd, so universal was the rout, 
And groaning, to his own great heart he said. 

Alas ! what now awaits me ? if, appall'd 
By multitudes, I fly, much detriment ; 
And if alone they intercept me here, 
Still more ; for Jove hath scatter'd all the host. 
Yet why these doubts ? for know I not of old 
That only dastards fly, and that the voice 
Of honour bids the famed in battle stand, 
Bleed they themselves, or cause their foes to bleed? 

While busied in such thought he stood, the ranks 


1 In the original — Kepa a.y\ak. — All that I pretend to 
know of this expression is that it is ironical, and may- 
relate either to the head-dress of Paris, or to his archer- 
ship. To translate it is impossible ; to paraphrase it in a 
passage of so much emotion, would be absurd. I have 
endeavoured to supply its place by an appellation in point 
of contempt equal. 


31 G 


THE ILIAD. 


Of Trojans fronted with broad shields, enclosed 

The hero with a ring, hemming around 

Their own destruction. As when dogs, and swains 

In prime of manhood, from all quarters rush 

Around a boar, he from his thicket bolts, 

The bright tusk whetting in his crooked jaws ; 

They press him on all sides, and from beneath 

Loud gnashings hear, yet, firm, his threats defy ; 

Like them the Trojans on all sides assail'd 

Ulysses dear to Jove. ' First with his spear 

He sprang impetuous on a valiant chief, 

Whose shoulder with a downright point he pierced, 

De'iopites ; Thoon next he slew, 

And Ennomus, and from his coursers' backs 

Alighting quick, Chersidamas ; beneath 

His bossy shield the gliding weapon pass'd 

Right through his navel ; on the plain he fell 

Expiring, and with both hands clench'd the dust. 

Them slain he left, and Charops wounded next, 

Brother of Socus, generous chief, and son 

Of Hippasus ; brave Socus to the aid 

Of Charops flew, and, godlike, thus began. 

Illustrious chief, Ulysses ! strong to toil 
And rich in artifice ! Or boast to-day 
Two sons of Hippasus, brave warriors both, 
Of armour and of life bereft by thee, 
Or to my vengeful spear resign thy own ! 

So saying, Ulysses' oval disk he smote. 
Through his bright disk the stormy weapon flew, 
Transpierced his twisted mail, and from his side 
Drove all the skin, but to his nobler parts 
Found entrance none, by Pallas turn'd aslant. 
Ulysses, conscious of his life untouch'd, 
Retired a step from Socus, and replied. 

Ah, hapless youth ! thy fate is on the wing ; 
Me thou hast forced indeed to cease a while 
From battle with the Trojans, but I speak 
Thy death at hand ; for, vanquish'd by my spear, 
This self-same day thou shalt to me resign 
Thy fame, thy soul to Pluto steed-renown'd. 

He ceased ; then Socus turn'd his back to fly, 
But, as he turn'd, his shoulder-blades between 
He pierced him, and the spear urged through his 

breast. 
On his resounding arms he fell, and thus 
Godlike Ulysses gloried in his fall. 

Ah, Socus, son of Hippasus, a chief 
Of fame equestrian ! swifter far than thou 
Death follow'd thee, and thou hast not escaped. 
Ill-fated youth ! thy parents' hands thine eyes 
Shall never close, but birds of ravenous maw 
Shall tear thee, flapping thee with frequent wing, 
While me the noble Greecians shall entomb ! 

So saying, the valiant Socus' spear he drew 
From his own flesh, and through his bossy shield. 
The weapon drawn, forth sprang the blood, and left 
His spirit faint. Then Ilium's dauntless sons, 
Seeing Ulysses' blood, exhorted glad 
Each other, and, with force united, all 
Press'd on him. He, retiring, summon'd loud 
His followers. Thrice, loud as a mortal may, 
He call'd, and valiant Menelaus thrice 
Hearing the voice, to Ajax thus remark'd. 

Illustrious son of Telamon! The voice 
Of Laertiades comes o'er my ear 
With such a sound, as if the hardy chief, 
Abandon'd of his friends, were overpowcr'd 
By numbers intercepting his retreat. 
Haste! force we quick a passage through the ranks. 
His worth demands our succour, for I fear 


Lest sole conflicting with the host of Troy, 
Brave as he is, he perish, to the loss 
Unspeakable and long regret of Greece. 

So saying, he went, and Ajax, godlike chief, 
Follow'd him. At the voice arrived, they found 
Ulysses Jove-beloved compass'd about 
By Trojans, as the lynxes in the hills, 
Adust for blood, compass an antler'd stag 
Pierced by an archer ; while his blood is warm 
And his limbs pliable, from him he 'scapes ; 
And when the feather 'd barb hath quell' d his force, 
In some dark hollow of the mountain's side, 
The hungry troop devour him ; chance, the while, 
Conducts a lion thither, before whom 
All vanish, and the lion feeds alone ; 
So swarm'd the Trojan powers, numerous and bold, 
Around Ulysses, who with wary skill 
Heroic combated his evil day. 
But Ajax came cover'd with his broad shield 
That seem'd a tower, and at Ulysses' side 
Stood fast ; then fled the Trojans wide-dispersed, 
And Menelaus led him by the hand 
Till his own chariot to his aid approach'd* 
But Ajax, springing on the Trojans, slew 
Doryclus, from the loins of Priam sprung, 
But spurious. Pandocus he wounded next, 
Then wounded Pyrasus, and after him 
Pylartes and Lysander. As a flood 
Runs headlong from the mountains to the plain 
After long showers from Jove ; many a dry oak 
And many a pine the torrent sweeps along, 
And, turbid, shoots much soil into the sea, 
So, glorious Ajax troubled wide the field, 
Horse and man slaughtering, whereof Hector yet 
Heard not ; for on the left of all the war 
He fought beside Scamander, where around 
Huge Nestor, and Idomeneus the brave, 
Most deaths were dealt, and loudest roar'd the fight. 
There Hector toil'd, feats wonderful of spear 
And horsemanship achieving, and the lines 
Of many a phalanx desolating wide. 
Nor even then had the bold Greeks retired, 
But that an arrow triple-barb'd, dispatch'd 
By Paris, Helen's mate, against the chief 
Machaon warring with distinguish'd force, 
Pierced his right shoulder. For his sake alarm'd, 
The valour-breathing Greecians fear'd, lest he 
In that disastrous field should also fall. 
At once, Idomeneus of Crete approach'd 
The noble Nestor, and him thus bespake. 

Arise, Neleian Nestor ! pride of Greece ! 
Ascend thy chariot, and Machaon placed 
Beside thee, bear him, instant, to the fleet. 
For one so skill'd in medicine, and to free 
The inherent barb, is worth a multitude. 

He said, nor the Gerenian hero old 
Aught hesitated, but into his seat 
Ascended, and Machaon, son renown'd 
Of .ZEsculapius, mounted at his side. 
He lash'd the steeds, they not unwilling sought 
The hollow ships, long their familiar home. 

Cebriones, meantime, the charioteer 
Of Hector, from his seat the Trojan ranks 
Observing sore discomfited, began. 

Here are we busied, Hector ! on the skirts 
Of roaring battle, and meantime I see 
Our host confused, their horses and themselves 
All mingled. Telamonian Ajax there 
Routs them ; I know the hero by his shield. 
Haste, drive we thither, for the carnage most 


THE ILIAD. 


317 


Of horse and foot conflicting furious, there 
Rages, and infinite the shouts arise. [steeds 

He said, and with shrill-sounding scourge the 
Smote ample-maned ; they, at the sudden stroke 
Through both hosts whirl'd the chariot, shields 

and men 
Trampling ; with blood the axle underneath 
All redden'd, and the chariot-rings with drops 
From the horse-hoofs, and from the fellied wheels. 
Full on the multitude he drove, on fire 
To burst the phalanx, and confusion sent [spear. 
Among the Greeks, for nought 1 he shunn'd the 
All quarters else with faulchion or with lance, 
Or with huge stones he ranged, but cautious shunn'd 
The encounter of the Telamonian chief. 

But the eternal father throned on high 
With fear filfd Ajax ; panic-fix'd he stood, 
His seven-fold shield behind his shoulder cast, 
And hemm'd by numbers, with an eye askant, 
Watchful retreated. As a beast of prey 
Retiring, turns and looks, so he his face 
Turn'd oft, retiring slow, and step by step. 
As when the watch-dogs and assembled swains 
Have driven a tawny lion from the stalls, 
Then, interdicting him his wish'd repast, 
Watch all the night, he, famish'd, yet again 
Comes furious on, but speeds not, kept aloof 
By frequent spears from daring hands, but more 
By flash of torches, which, though fierce, he dreads, 
Till, at the dawn, sullen, he stalks away ; 
So from before the Trojans Ajax stalk'd 
Sullen, and with reluctance slow retired, 
His brave heart trembling for the fleet of Greece. 
As when (the boys o'erpower'd) a sluggish ass, 
On whose tough sides they have spent many a staff, 
Enters the harvest, and the spiry ears 
Crops persevering ; with their rods the boys 
Still ply him hard, but all their puny might 
Scarce drives him forth when he hath browzed his 
So, there, the Trojans and their foreign aids [fill, 
With glittering lances keen huge Ajax urged, 
His broad shield's centre smiting. He, by turns, 
With desperate force the Trojan phalanx dense 
Facing, repulsed them, and by turns he fled, 
But still forbad all inroad on the fleet. 
Trojans and Greeks between, alone, he stood 
A bulwark. Spears from daring hands dismiss'd 
Some, piercing his broad shield, there planted stood, 
While others, in the midway falling, spent 
Their disappointed rage deep in the ground. 

Eurypylus, Evsemon's noble son, 
Him seeing, thus, with weapons overwhelm'd 
Flew to his side, his glittering lance dismiss'd, 
And Apisaon, son of Phausias, struck 
Under the midriff; through his liver pass'd 
The ruthless point, and, falling, he expired. 
Forth sprang Eurypylus to seize the spoil ; 
Whom soon as godlike Alexander saw 
Despoiling Apisaon of his arms, 
Drawing incontinent his bow, he sent 
A shaft to his right thigh ; the brittle reed 
Snapp'd, and the rankling barb stuck fast within. 
Terrified at the stroke, the wounded chief 
To his own band retired, but, as he went, 
With echoing voice call'd on the Danai' 

i This interpretation of — ylvvvQa 5e x^fe™ SovpSs — 
is taken from the Scholium by Villoisson. It differs from 
those of Clarke, Eustathius, and another Scholiast quoted 
by Clarke, but seems to suit the context much better than 
either. 


Friends! Counsellors, and leaders of the Greeks ! 
Turn ye and stand, and from his dreadful lot 
Save Ajax whelm'd with weapons ; 'scape, I judge, 
He cannot from the roaring fight, yet oh 
Stand fast around him ; save, if save ye may, 
Your champion huge, the Telamonian chief. 

So spake the wounded warrior. They at once 
With sloping bucklers, and with spears erect, 
To his relief approach'd. Ajax with joy 
The friendly phalanx join'd*, then turn'd and stood. 

Thus burn'd the embattled field as with the 
Of a devouring fire. Meantime afar [flames 

From all that tumult the Neleian mares 
Bore Nestor, foaming as they ran, with whom 
Machaon also rode, leader revered. 
Achilles mark'd him passing ; for he stood 
Exalted on his huge ship's lofty stern, 
Spectator of the toil severe, and flight 
Deplorable of the defeated Greeks. 
He call'd his friend Patroclus. He below 
Within his tent the sudden summons heard 
And sprang like Mars abroad, all unaware 
That in that sound he heard the voice of fate. 
Him first Menoetius' gallant son address'd. 

What would Achilles? Wherefore hath he call'd? 
To whom Achilles swiftest of the swift : 

Brave Menoetiades ! my soul's delight ! 
Soon will the Greecians now my knees surround 
Suppliant, by dread extremity constrain'd. 
But fly Patroclus, haste, oh dear to Jove ! 
Enquire of Nestor, whom he hath convey 'd 
From battle, wounded ? Viewing him behind, 
I most believed him yEsculapius' son 
Machaon, but the steeds so swiftly pass'd 
My galley, that his face escaped my note. 

He said, and prompt to gratify his friend, 
Forth ran Patroclus through the camp of Greece. 

Now when Neleian Nestor to his tent 
Had brought Machaon, they alighted both, 
Afid the old hero's friend Eurymedon 
Released the coursers. On the beach awhile 
Their tunics sweat-imbued in the cool air 
They ventilated, facing full the breeze, 
Then on soft couches in the tent reposed. 
Meantime, their beverage Hecamede mix'd, 
The old king's bright-hair'd captive, Avhom he 
From Tenedos, what time Achilles sack'd [brought 
The city, daughter of the noble chief 
Arsinoiis, and selected from the rest 
For Nestor, as the honourable meed 
Of counsels always eminently wise. 
She, first, before them placed a table bright, 
With feet coerulean ; thirst-provoking sauce 
She brought them also in a brazen tray, 
Garlick and honey new, and sacred meal. 
Beside them, next, she placed a noble cup 
Of labour exquisite, which from his home 
The ancient king had brought with golden studs 
Embellish'd ; it presented to the grasp 
Four ears ; two golden turtles, perch'd on each, 
Seem'd feeding, and two turtles 1 form'd the base. 
That cup once fill'd, all others must have toil'd 
To move it from the board, but it was light 
In Nestor's hand ; he lifted it with ease. 
The graceful virgin in that cup a draught 

2 I have interpreted the very ambiguous words 8va> 
§' vwb irvOfxeves -fjaav according to Athenaeus as quoted 
by Clarke, and his interpretation of them is confirmed by 
the Scholium in the Venetian edition of the Iliad, lately 
published by Villoisson. 


318 


THE ILIAD. 


Mix'd for them, Pramnian wine and savoury 
Of goat's milk, grated with a brazen rasp, [cheese 
Then sprinkled all with meal. The draught prepared, 
She gave it to their hand ; they, drinking, slaked 
Their fiery thirst, and with each other sat 
Conversing friendly, when the godlike youth 
By brave Achilles sent, stood at the door. 

Him seeing, Nestor from his splendid couch 
Arose, and by the hand leading him in, 
Entreated him to sit, but that request 
Patroclus, on his part refusing, said : 

Oh venerable king ! no seat is here 
For me, nor may thy courtesy prevail. 
He is irascible, and to be fear'd 
Who bade me ask what chieftain thou hast brought 
From battle, wounded ; but untold I learn ; 
I see Machaon, and shall now report 
As I have seen ; oh ancient king revered ! 
Thou know'st Achilles fiery, and propense 
Blame to impute even where blame is none. 

To whom the brave Gerenian thus replied. 
Why feels Achilles for the wounded Greeks 
Such deep concern? He little knows the height 
To which our sorrows swell. Our noblest lie 
By spear or arrow wounded in the fleet. 
Diomede, warlike son of Tydeus, bleeds, 
Gall'd by a shaft ; Ulysses, glorious chief, 
And Agamemnon 1 suffer by the spear ; 
Eurypylus is shot into the thigh, 
And here lies still another newly brought 
By me from fight, pierced also by a shaft. 
What then ? How strong soe'er to give them aid 
Achilles feels no pity of the Greeks. 
Waits he till every vessel on the shore 
Fired, in despite of the whole Argive host, 
Be sunk in its own ashes, and ourselves 
All perish, heaps on heaps ? For in my limbs 
No longer lives the agility of my youth. 
Oh, for the vigour of those days again, 
When Elis, for her cattle which we took, 
Strove with us, and Itymoneus I slew, 
Brave offspring of Hypirochus ; he dwelt 
In Elis, and while I the pledges drove, 
Stood for his herd, but fell among the first 
By a spear hurl'd from my victorious arm. 
Then fled the rustic multitude, and we 
Drove off abundant booty from the plain, 
Herds fifty of fat beeves, large flocks of goats 
As many, with as many sheep and swine, 
And full thrice fifty mares of brightest hue, 
All breeders, many with their foals beneath. 
All these, by night returning safe, we drove 
Into Neleian Pylus, and the heart 
Rejoiced of Neleus, in a son so young 
A warrior, yet enrich'd with such a prize. 
At early dawn the heralds summon'd loud 
The citizens, to prove their just demands 
On fruitful Elis, and the assembled chiefs 
Division made, (for numerous were the debts 
Which the Epeans, in the weak estate 
Of the unpeopled Pylus, had incurr'd ; 
For Hercules, few years before, had sack'd 2 


1 It would have suited the dignity of Agamemnon's rank 
to have mentioned his wound first; hut Nestor making 
this recital to the friend of Achilles names him slightly, 
and without any addition. 

2 It is said that the Thehans having war with the people 
of Orchomenos, the Pylians assisted the latter, for which 
cause Hercules destroyed their city. — See Scholium par 
Villoisson. 


Our city, and our mightiest slain. Ourselves 

The gallant sons of Neleus, were in all 

Twelve youths, of whom myself alone survived ; 

The rest all perish'd ; whence, presumptuous grown, 

The brazen-mail' d Epeans wrong'd us oft.) 

An herd of beeves my father for himself 

Selected, and a numerous flock beside, 

Three hundred sheep, with shepherds for them all. 

For he a claimant was of large arrears 

From sacred Elis. Four unrival'd steeds 

With his own chariot to the games he sent, 

That should contend for the appointed prize 

A tripod ; but Augeias, king of men, " 

Detain'd the steeds, and sent the charioteer 

Defrauded home. My father, therefore, fired 

At such foul outrage both of deeds and words, 

Took much, and to the Pylians gave the rest 

For satisfaction of the claims of all. 

While thus we busied were in these concerns, 

And in performance of religious rites 

Throughout the city, came the Epeans arm'd, 

Their whole vast multitude both horse and foot 

On the third day ; came also clad in brass 

The two Molions, inexpert as yet 

In feats of arms, and of a boyish age. 

There is a city on a mountain's head, 

Fast by the banks of Alpheus, far remote, 

The utmost town which sandy Pylus owns, 

Named Thryoessa, and, with ardour fired 

To lay it waste, that city they besieged. 

Now when their host had traversed all the plain, 

Minerva from Olympus flew by night 

And bade us arm ; nor were the Pylians slow 

To assemble, but impatient for the fight. 

Me, then, my father suffer'd not to arm, 

But hid my steeds, for he supposed me raw 

As yet, and ignorant how war is waged. 

Yet, even thus, unvantaged and on foot, 

Superior honours I that day acquired 

To theirs who rode, for Pallas led me on 

Herself to victory. There is a stream 

Which at Arena falls into the sea, 

Named Minueius ; on that river's bank 

The Pylian horsemen waited day's approach, 

And thither all our foot came pouring down. 

The flood divine of Alpheus thence we reach'd 

At noon, all arm'd complete ; there, hallow'd rites 

We held to Jove omnipotent, and slew 

A bull to sacred Alpheus, with a bull 

To Neptune, and an heifer of the herd 

To Pallas ; then, all marshal'd as they were, 

From van to rear our legions took repast, 

And at the river's side slept on their arms. 

Already the Epean host had round 

Begirt the city, bent to lay it waste, 

A task which cost them, first, both blood and toil. 

For when the radiant sun on the green earth 

Had risen, with prayer to Pallas and to Jove, 

We gave them battle. When the Pylian host 

And the Epeans thus were close engaged, 

I first a warrior slew, Mulius the brave, 

And seized his coursers. He the eldest-born 

Of king Augeias' daughters had espoused 

The golden Agamede ; not an herb 

The spacious earth yields but she knew its powers. 

Him, rushing on me, with my brazen lance 

I smote, and in the dust he fell ; I leap'd 

Into his seat, and drove into the van. 

A panic seized the Epeans when they saw 

The leader of their horse o'erthrown, a chief 


THE ILIAD. 


319 


Surpassing all in fight. Black as a cloud 

With whirlwind fraught, I drove impetuous on, 

Took fifty chariots, and at side of each 

Lay two slain warriors, with their teeth the soil 

Grinding, all vanquish 'd by my single arm. 

I had slain also the Molions, sons 

Of Actor, but the sovereign of the deep 

Their own authentic sire, in darkness dense 

Involving both, convey'd them safe away. 

Then Jove a victory of prime renown 

Gave to the Pylians ; for we chased and slew 

And gather'd spoil o'er all the champain spread 

With scatter'd shields, till we our steeds had driven 

To the Buprasian fields laden with corn, 

To the Olenian rock, and to a town 

In fair Colona situate, and named 

Alesia. There it was that Pallas turn'd 

Our people homeward ; there I left the last 

Of all the slain, and he was slain by me. 

Then drove the Achaians from Buprasium home 

Then" coursers fleet, and Jove, of gods above, 

Received most praise, Nestor of men below. 

Such once was I. But brave Achilles shuts 

His virtues close, an unimparted store ; 

Yet even he shall weep, when all the host, 

His fellow-warriors once, shall be destroy'd. 

But recollect, young friend ! the sage advice 

Which when thou earnest from Phthia to the aid 

Of Agamemnon, on that selfsame day 

Mencetius gave thee. We were present there, 

Ulysses and myself, both in the house, 

And heard it all ; for to the house we came 

Of Peleus in our journey through the land 

Of fertile Greece, gathering her states to war. 

We found thy noble sire Menoetius there, 

Thee and Achilles ; ancient Peleus stood 

To Jove the Thunderer offering in his court 

Thighs of an ox, and on the blazing rites 

Libation pouring from a cup of gold. 

While ye on preparation of the feast 

Attended both, Ulysses and myself 

Stood in the vestibule ; Achilles flew 

Toward us, introduced us by the hand, 

And, seating us, such liberal portion gave 

To each, as hospitality requires. 

Our thirst, at length, and hunger both sufficed, 

I, foremost speaking, ask'd you to the wars, 

And ye were eager both, but from your sires 

Much admonition, ere ye went, received. 

Old Peleus charged Achilles to aspire 

To highest praise, and always to excel. 

But thee, thy sire Menoetius thus advised. 

" My son ! Achilles boasts the nobler birth, 

But thou art elder ; he in strength excels 

Thee far ; thou, therefore, with discretion rule 

His inexperience ; thy advice impart 

With gentleness ; instruction wise suggest 

Wisely, and thou shalt find him apt to learn." 

So thee thy father taught, but, as it seems, 

In vain. Yet even now essay to move 

Warlike Achilles ; if the gods so please, 

Who knows but that thy reasons may prevail 

To rouse his valiant heart % men rarely scorn 

The earnest intercession of a friend. 

But if some prophecy alarm his fears, 

And from his goddess mother he have aught 

Received, who may have learnt the same from Jove, 


Thee let him send at least, and order forth 
With thee the Myrmidons ; a dawn of hope 
Shall thence, it may be, on our host arise. 
And let him send thee to the battle clad 
In his own radiant armour ; Troy, deceived 
By such resemblance, shall abstain perchance 
From conflict, and the weary Greeks enjoy 
Short respite ; it is all that war allows. 
Fresh as ye are, ye, by your shouts alone, 
May easily repulse an army spent 
With labour from the camp and from the fleet. 

Thus Nestor, and his mind bent to his words. 
Back to iEacides through all the camp 
He ran ; and when, still running, he arrived 
Among Ulysses' barks, where they had fix'd 
The forum, where they minister'd the laws, 
And had erected altars to the gods, 
There him Eurypylus, Evsemon's son, 
Illustrious met, deep-wounded in his thigh, 
And halting back from battle. From his head 
The sweat, and from his shoulders ran profuse, 
And from his perilous wound the sable blood 
Continual stream'd ; yet was his mind composed. 
Him seeing, Menoetiades the brave 
Compassion felt, and, mournful, thus began. 

Ah hapless senators and chiefs of Greece ! 
Left ye your native country that the dogs 
Might fatten on your flesh at distant Troy 1 
But tell me, hero ! say, Eurypylus, 
Have the Achaians power still to withstand 
The enormous force of Hector, or is this 
The moment when his spear must pierce us all ? 

To whom Eurypylus, discreet, replied. 
Patroclus, dear to Jove ! there is no help, 
No remedy. We perish at our ships. 
The warriors, once most strenuous of the Greeks, 
Lie wounded in the fleet by foes whose might 
Increases ever. But thyself afford 
To me some succour ; lead me to my ship ; 
Cut forth the arrow from my thigh ; the gore 
With warm ablution cleanse, and on the wound 
Smooth unguents spread, the same as by report 
Achilles taught thee ; taught, himself, their use 
By Chiron, centaur, justest of his kind, 
For Podalirius and Machaon both 
Are occupied. Machaon, as I judge, 
Lies wounded in his tent, needing like aid 
Himself, and Podalirius in the field 
Maintains sharp conflict with the sons of Troy. 

To whom Menoetius' gallant son replied. 
Hero ! Eurypylus ! how shall we act 
In this perplexity ? what course pursue ? 
I seek the brave Achilles, to whose ear 
I bear a message from the ancient chief 
Gerenian Nestor, guardian of the Greeks. 
Yet will I not, even for such a cause, 
My friend ! abandon thee in thy distress. 

He ended, and his arms folding around 
The warrior, bore him thence into his tent. 
His servant, on his entrance, spread the floor 
With hides, on which Patroclus at his length 
Extended him, and with his knife cut forth 
The rankling point ; with tepid lotion, next, 
He cleansed the gore, and with a bitter root 
Bruised small between his palms, sprinkled the 
At once, the anodyne his pains assuaged, [wound. 
The wound was dried within, and the blood ceased. 


320 


THE ILIAD. 


BOOK XII. 

ARGUMENT. 

The Trojans assail the ramparts, and Hector forces the 
gates. 


So was Menoetius' valiant son employ'd 
Healing Eurypylus. The Greeks, meantime, 
And Trojans with tumultuous fury fought. 
Nor was the foss ordain'd long time to exclude 
The host of Troy, nor yet the rampart built 
Beside it for protection of the fleet ; 
For hecatomb the Greeks had offer'd none, 
Nor prayer to heaven, that it might keep secure 
Their ships with all their spoils. The mighty work 
, As in defiance of the immortal powers 
| Had risen, and could not therefore long endure. 
While Hector lived, and while Achilles held 
His wrathful purpose ; while the city yet 
Of royal Priam was unsack'd, so long 
The massy structure stood ; but when the best 
And bravest of the Trojan host were slain, 
And of the Greecian heroes, some had fallen 
And some survived, when Priam's towers had blazed 
In the tenth year, and to their native shores 
The Greecians with their ships, at length, return'd, 
Then Neptune, with Apollo leagued, devised 
Its ruin ; every river that descends 
From the Idseau heights into the sea 
They brought against it, gathering all them force, 
Rhesus, Caresus, Rhodius, the wide-branch'd 
Heptaporus, ^Esepus, Granicus, 
Scamander's sacred current, and thy stream 
Simois, whose banks with helmets and with shields 
Were strew'd, and chiefs of origin divine ; 
All these with refluent course Apollo drove 
Nine days against the rampart, and Jove rain'd 
Incessant, that the Greecian wall wa ve- whelm' d 
Through all its length might sudden disappear. 
Neptune with his tridental mace, himself, 
Led them, and beam and buttress to the flood 
Consigning, laid by the laborious Greeks, 
Swept the foundation, and the level bank 
Of the swift- rolling Hellespont restored. 
The structure thus effaced, the spacious beach 
He spread with sand as at the first : then bade 
Subside the streams, and in their channels wind 
With limpid course, and pleasant as before. 
Apollo thus and Neptune, from the first, 
Design'd its fall ; but now the battle raved 
And clamours of the warriors all around 
The strong-built turrets, whose assaulted planks 
Rang, while the Greecians, by the scourge of Jove 
Subdued, stood close within their fleet immured, 
At Hector's phalanx-scattering force appalPd. 
He, as before, with whirlwind fury fought. 
As when the boar or Hon fiery-eyed 
Turns short, the hunters and the hounds among, 
The close-imbattled troop him firm oppose, 
And ply him fast with speai*s ; he no dismay 
Conceives or terror in his noble heart, 
But by his courage falls ; frequent he turns 
Attempting bold the ranks, and where he points 
Direct his onset, there the ranks retire ; 
So, through the concourse on his rolling wheels 
Borne rapid, Hector animated loud 
His fellow-warriors to surpass the trench. 
But not his own swift-footed steeds would dare 


That hazard ; standing on the dangerous brink 

They neigh'd aloud, for by its breadth the foss 

Deterr'd them ; neither was the effort slight 

To leap that gulf, nor easy the attempt 

To pass it through ; steep were the banks profound 

On both sides, and with massy piles acute 

Thick -planted, interdicting all assault. 

No courser to the rapid chariot braced 

Had enter'd there with ease ; yet strong desires 

Possess'd the infantry of that emprize, 

And thus Polydamas the ear address'd 

Of dauntless Hector, standing at his side. 

Hector, and ye the leaders of our host, 
Both Trojans and allies ! rash the attempt 
1 deem, and vain, to push our horses through, 
So dangerous is the pass ; rough is the trench 
With pointed stakes, and the Achaian wall 
Meets us beyond. No chariot may descend 
Or charioteer fight there ; strait are the bounds, 
And incommodious, and his death were sure. 
If Jove, high- thundering ruler of the skies, 
Will succour Ilium, and nought less intend 
Than utter devastation of the Greeks, 
I am content ; now perish all their host 
Inglorious, from their country far remote. 
But should they turn,and should ourselves be driven 
Back from the fleet impeded and perplex'd 
In this deep foss, I judge that not a man, 
'Scaping the rallied Greecians, should survive, 
To bear the tidings of our fate to Troy. 
Now, therefore, act we all as I advise. 
Let every charioteer his coursers hold 
Fast-rein'd beside the foss, while we on foot, 
With order undisturb'd and arms in hand, 
Shall follow Hector. If destruction borne 
On wings of destiny this day approach 
The Greecians, they will fly our first assault. 

So spake Polydamas, whose safe advice 
Pleased Hector ; from his chariot to the ground 
All arm'd he leap'd, nor would a Trojan there 
(When once they saw the hero on his feet) 
Ride into battle, but unanimous 
Descending with a leap, all trod the plain. 
Each gave command that at the trench his steeds 
Should stand detain 'd in orderly array ; 
Then, suddenly, the parted host became 
Five bands, each following its appointed chief. 
The bravest and most numerous, and whose hearts 
Wish'd most to burst the barrier and to wage 
The battle at the ships, with Hector march'd 
And with Polydamas, whom follow'd, third, 
Cebriones ; for Hector had his steeds 
Consign 'd and chariot to inferior care. 
Paris, Alcathous, and Agenor led 
The second band, and, sons of Priam both, 
Dei'phobus and Helenus, the third ; 
With them was seen partner of their command, 
The hero Asius ; from Arisba came 
Asius Hyrtacides, to battle drawn 
From the Selle'fs' banks by martial steeds 
Hair'd fiery-red and of the noblest size. 
The foui'th, Anchises' mighty son controul'd, 
^Eneas ; under him Antenor's sons, 
Archilochus and Acamas, advanced, 
Adept in all the practice of the field. 
Last came the glorious powers in league with Troy 
Led by Sarpedon ; he with Glaucus shared 
His high controul, and with the waxlike chief 
Asteropteus ; for of all his host 
Them bravest he esteem'd, himself except 


THE ILIAD. 


321 


Superior in heroic might to all. 
And now, (their shields adjusted each to each) 
With dauntless courage fired, right on they moved 
Against the Greecians ; nor expected less 
Than that beside their sable ships, the host 
Should self-abandon'd fall an easy prey. 

The Trojans, thus, with their confederate powers, 
The counsel of the accomplish'd prince pursued, 
Polydamas, one chief alone except, 
Asius Hyrtacides. He scorn'd to leave 
His charioteer and coursers at the trench, 
And drove toward the fleet. Ah, madly brave ! 
His evil hour was come ; he was ordain'd 
With horse and chariot and triumphant shout 
To enter wind-swept Ilium never more. 
Deucalion's offspring, first, into the shades 
Dismiss'd him; by Idomeneus he died. 
Leftward he drove furious, along the road 
By which the steeds and chariots of the Greeks 
Return'd from battle ; in that track he flew, 
Nor found the portals by the massy bar 
Secured, but open for reception safe 
Of fugitives, and to a guard consign'd. 
Thither he drove direct, and in his rear 
His band shrill-shouting follow'd, for they judged 
The Greeks no longer able to withstand 
Their foes, but sure to perish in the camp. 
Vain hope ! for in the gate two chiefs they found 
Lapithse-born, courageous offspring each 
Of dauntless father ; Polypoetes, this, 
Sprung from Pirithous ; that, the warrior bold 
Leonteus, terrible as gore-tainted Mars. 
These two, defenders of the lofty gates, 
Stood firm before them. As when two tall oaks 
On the high mountains day by day endure 
Rough wind and rain, by deep-descending roots 
Of hugest growth fast-founded in the soil ; 
So they, sustain'd by conscious valour, saw 
Unmoved, high towering Asius on his way, 
Nor fear'd him aught, nor shrank from his ap- 
proach. 
Right on toward the barrier, lifting high 
Their season'd bucklers and with clamour loud 
The band advanced, king Asius at their head, 
With whom Iamenus, expert in arms, 
Orestes, Thoon, Acamas the son 
Of Asius, and Oenam^us, led them on. 
Till now, the warlike pair, exhorting loud 
The Greecians to defend the fleet, had stood 
Within the gates ; but soon as they perceived 
The Trojans swift advancing to the wall, 
And heard a cry from all the flying Greeks, 
Both sallying, before the gates they fought 
Like forest-boars, which hearing in the hills 
The crash of hounds and huntsmen nigh at hand, 
With start oblique lay many a sapling flat 
Short-broken by the root, nor cease to grind 
Their sounding tusks, till by the spear they die J 
So sounded on the breasts of those brave two 
The smitten brass ; for resolute they fought, 
Embolden'd by their might who kept the wall, 
And trusting in their own ; they,. in defence 
Of camp and fleet and life, thick battery hurl'd 
Of stones precipitated from the towers ; 
Frequent as snows they fell, which stormy winds, 
Driving the gloomy clouds, shake to the ground, 
Till all the fertile earth lies cover'd deep. 
S^eh volley pour'd the Greeks, and such return'd 
The Trojans ; casques of hide, arid and tough, 
And bossy shields rattled, by such a storm 


Assail'd of millstone masses from above. 
Then Asius, son of Hyrtaeus, a groan 
Indignant utter'd ; on both thighs he smote 
With disappointment furious, and exclaim'd, 

Jupiter ! even thou art false become, 
And altogether such. Full sure I deem'd 
That not a Greecian hero should abide 
One moment force invincible as ours, 
And lo ! as wasps ring-straked 1 , or bees that build 
Their dwellings in the highway's craggy side 
Leave not their hollow home, but fearless wait 
The hunter's coming, in their brood's defence, 
So these, although two only, from the gates 
Move not, or will, till either seized or slain. 

So Asius spake, but speaking so, changed not 
The mind of Jove on Hector's glory bent. 
Others, as obstinate, at other gates 
Such deeds perform'd, that to enumerate all 
Were difficult, unless to power divine. 
For fierce the hail of stones from end to end 
Smote on the barrier ; anguish fill'd the Greeks, 
Yet, by necessity constrain'd, their ships 
They guarded still ; nor less the gods themselves, 
Patrons of Greece, all sorrow'd at the sight. 

At once the valiant Lapithse began 
Terrible conflict, and Pirithous' son 
Brave Polypcetes through his helmet pierced 
Damasus ; his resplendent point the brass 
Sufficed not to withstand; entering, it crush'd' 
The bone within, and mingling all his brain 
With his own blood, his onset fierce repress'd. 
Pylon and Ormenus he next subdued. 
Meantime Leonteus, branch of Mars, his spear 
Hurl'd at Hippomachus, whom through his belt 
He pierced ; then drawing forth his falchion keen, 
Through all the multitude he flew to smite 
Antiphates, and with a downright stroke 
Fell'd him. Iamenus and Menon next 
He slew, with brave Orestes, whom he heap'd, 
All three together, on the fertile glebe. 

While them the Lapithse of their bright arms 
Despoil' d, Polydamas and Hector stood 
(With all the bravest youths and most resolved 
To burst the barrier and to fire the fleet) 
Beside the foss, pondering the event. 
For, while they press'd to pass, they spied a bird 
Sublime in air, an eagle. Right between 
Both hosts he soar'd (the Trojan on his left) 
A serpent bearing in his pounces clutch'd 
Enormous, dripping blood, but lively still 
And mindful of revenge ; for from beneath 
The eagle's breast, updarting fierce his head, 
Fast by the throat he struck him ; anguish-siek 
The eagle cast him down into the space 
Between the hosts, and, clanging loud his plumes, 
As the wind bore him, floated far away. 
Shudder'd the Trojans viewing at their feet 
The spotted serpent ominous, and thus 
Polydamas to dauntless Hector spake. 

Ofttimes in council, Hector, thou art wont 
To censure me, although advising well ; 
Nor ought the private citizen, I. confess, 
Either in council or in war to indulge 
Loquacity, but ever to employ 
All his exertions in support of thine. 
Yet hear my best opinion once again. 
Proceed we not in our attempt against 

1 The word is of scripture use : see Gen. ch. xxx., where 
it describes the cattle of Jacob. 

Y 


322 


THE ILIAD. 


The Greecian fleet. For if in truth the sign 
Respect the host of Troy ardent to pass, 
Then, as the eagle soar : d both hosts between, 
With Ilium's on his left, and clutch'd a snake 
Enormous, dripping blood, but still alive, 
Which yet he dropp'd suddenly, ere he reach'd 
His eyryy or could give it to his young, 
So we, although with mighty force we burst 
Both gates and barrier, and although the Greeks 
Should all retire, shall never yet the way 
Tread honourably back by which we came. 
No. Many a Trojan shall we leave behind 
Slain by the Greecians in their fleet's defence. 
An augur skill'd in omens would expound 
This omen thus, and faith would win from all. 

To whom, dark-louring Hector thus replied. 
Polydamas ! I like not thy advice ; 
Thou couldst have framed far better ; but if this 
Be thy deliberate judgment, then the gods 
Make thy deliberate judgment nothing worth, 
Who bidd'st me disregard the Thunderer's firm 
Assurance to myself announced i, and make 
The wild inhabitants of air my guides, 
Which I alike despise, speed they their course 
With right-hand flight toward the ruddy east, 
Or leftward down into the shades of eve. 
Consider we the will of Jove alone, 
Sovereign of heaven and earth. Omens abound, 
But the best omen is our country's cause. 
Wherefore should fiery war thy soul alarm ? 
For were we slaughter'd, one and all, around 
The fleet of Greece, thou need'st not fear to die, 
Whose courage never will thy flight retard. 
But if thou shrink thyself or by smooth speech 
Seduce one other from a soldier's part, 
Pierced by this spear incontinent thou diest. 

So saying he led them, who with deafening roar 
Follow'd him. Then, from the Idsean hills 
Jove hurl'd a storm which wafted right the dust 
Into the fleet ; the spirits too he quell'd 
Of the Achaians, and the glory gave 
To Hector and his host ; they, trusting firm 
In signs from Jove, and in their proper force, 
Assay'd the barrier ; from the towers they tore 
The galleries, cast the battlements to ground, 
And the projecting buttresses adjoin'd 
To strengthen the vast work, with bars upheaved. 
All these, with expectation fierce to break 
The rampart, down they drew ; nor yet the Greeks 
Gave back, but, fencing close with shields the wall, 
Smote from behind them many a foe beneath. 
Meantime fromiower to tower the Ajaces moved 
Exhorting all, with mildness some, and some 
With harsh rebuke, whom they observed through 
Declining base the labours of the fight. [fear 

Friends ! Argives ! warriors of whatever rank ! 
Ye who excel, and ye of humbler note ! 
And ye the last and least ! (for such there are, 
All have not magnanimity alike) 
Now have we work for all, as all perceive. 
Turn not, retreat not to your ships, appall'd 
By sounding menaces, but press the foe ; 
Exhort each other, and even now perchance 
Olympian Jove, by whom the lightnings burn, 
Shall grant us to repulse them, and to chase 
The routed Trojans to their gates again. 

So they vociferating to the Greeks, 


1 Alluding to the message delivered to him from Jupiter 
by Iris. 


Stirr'd them to battle. As the feathery snows 
Fall frequent, on some wintry day, when Jove 
Hath risen to shed them on the race of man, 
And show his arrowy stores ; he lulls the winds, 
Then shakes them down continual, covering thick 
Mountain tops, promontories, flowery meads, 
And cultured vallies rich ; the ports and shores 
Receive it also of the hoary deep, 
But there the waves bound it, while all beside 
Lies whelm'd beneath Jove's fast-descending 

shower, 
So thick, from side to side, by Trojans hurl'd 
Against the Greeks, and by the Greeks return'd 
The stony vollies flew ; resounding loud 
Through all its length the batter'd rampart roar'd. 
Nor yet had Hector and his host prevail'd 
To burst the gates, and break the massy bar, 
Had not all-seeing Jove Sai'pedon moved 
His son, against the Greeks, furious as falls 
The lion on some horned herd of beeves. 
At once his polish'd buckler he advanced 
With leafy brass o'erlaid ; for with smooth brass 
The forger of that shield its oval disk 
Had plated, and with thickest hides throughout 
Had lined it, stitch'd with circling wires of gold. 
That shield he bore before him ; firmly grasp'd 
He shook two spears, and with determined strides 
March'd forward. As the lion mountain-bred, 
After long fast, by impulse of his heart 
Undaunted urged, seeks resolute the flock 
Even in the shelter of their guarded home ; 
He finds, perchance, the shepherds arm'd with 

spears, 
And all their dogs awake, yet cannot leave 
Untried the fence, but either leaps it light, 
And entering tears the prey, or in the attempt 
Pierced by some dexterous peasant, bleeds himself; 
So high his courage to the assault impell'd 
Godlike Sarpedon, and him fired with hope 
To break the barrier ; when to Glaucus thus, 
Son of Hippolochus, his speech he turn'd. 

Why, Glaucus, is the seat of honour ours, 
Why drink we brimming cups, and feast in state % 
Why gaze they all on us as we were gods 
In Lycia, and why share we pleasant fields 
And spacious vineyards, where the Xanthus winds? 
Distinguish'd thus in Lycia, we are call'd 
To firmness here, and to encounter bold 
The burning battle, that our fair report 
Among the Lycians may be blazon'd thus — 
No dastards are the potentates who rule 
The bright-arm'd Lycians ; on the fatted flock 
They banquet, and they drink the richest wines, 
But they are also valiant, and the fight 
Wage dauntless in the vaward of us all. 
Oh Glaucus, if escaping safe the death 
That threats us here, we also could escape 
Old age, and to ourselves secure a life 
Immortal, I would neither in the van 
Myself expose, nor would encourage thee 
To tempt the perils of the glorious field. 
But since a thousand messengers of fate 
Pursue us close, and man is born to die — 
Even let us on ; the prize of glory yield, 
If yield we must, or wrest it from the foe. 

He said, nor cold refusal in return 
Received from Glaucus, but toward the wall 
Their numerous Lycian host both led direct. 
Menestheus, son of Peteos, saw appall'd 
Their dread approach, for to his tower they bent 


THE ILIAD. 


323 


Their threatening march. An eager look he cast 

On the embodied Greeks, seeking some chief 

Whose aid might turn the battle from his van : 

He saw, where never sated with exploits 

Of war, each Ajax fought, near whom his eye 

Kenn'd Teucer also, newly from his tent ; 

But vain his efforts were with loudest call 

To reach their ears, such was the deafening din 

Upsent to heaven, of shields and crested helms, 

And of the batter'd gates ; for at each gate 

They thundering stood, and urged alike at each 

Their fierce attempt by force to burst the bars. 

To Ajax therefore he at once dispatch'd 

A herald, and Thootes thus enjoin'd. 

My noble friend, Thootes ! with all speed 
Call either Ajax ; bid them hither both ; 
Far better so ; for havoc is at hand. 
The Lycian leaders, ever in assault 
Tempestuous, bend their force against this tower 
My station. But if also there they find 
Laborious conflict pressing them severe, 
At least let Telamonian Ajax come, 
And Teucer with his death-dispensing bow. 

He spake, nor was Thootes slow to hear ; 
Beside the rampart of the mail-clad Greeks 
Rapid he flew, and, at their side arrived, 
To either Ajax, eager, thus began. 

Ye leaders of the well-appointed Greeks, 
The son of noble Peteos calls ; he begs 
With instant suit, that ye would share his toils, 
However short your stay ; the aid of both 
Will serve him best, for havoc threatens there. 
The Lycian leaders, ever in assault 
Tempestuous, bend their force toward the tower 
His station. But if also here ye find 
Laborious conflict pressing you severe, 
At least let Telamonian Ajax come, 
And Teucer with his death-dispensing bow. 

He spake, nor his request the towering son 
Of Telamon denied, but quick his speech 
To Ajax Oiliades address'd. 

Ajax ! abiding here, exhort ye both 
(Heroic Lycomedes and thyself) 
The Greeks to battle. Thither I depart 
To aid our friends, which service once perform'd 
Duly, I will incontinent return. 

So saying, the Telamonian chief withdrew, 
With whom went Teucer, son of the same sire, 
Pandion also, bearing Teucer's bow. 
Arriving at the turret given in charge 
To the bold chief Menestheus, and the wall 
Entering, they found their friends all sharply tried. 
Black as a storm the senators renown'd 
And leaders of the Lycian host assail'd 
Buttress and tower, while opposite the Greeks 
Withstood them, and the battle-shout began. 
First, Ajax, son of Telamon, a friend 
And fellow-warrior of Sarpedon, slew 
Epicles. With a marble fragment huge 
That crown'd the battlement's interior side, 
He smote him. No man of our puny race, 
Although in prime of youth, had with both hands 
That weight sustain'd ; but he the cumbrous mass 
Uplifted high, and hurl'd it on his head. 
It burst his helmet, and his batter'd skull 
Dash'd from all form. He from the lofty tower 
Dropp'd downright, with a diver's plunge, and died. 
But Teucer wounded Glaucus with a shaft, 
Son of Hippolochus ; he, climbing, bared 
His arm, which Teucer, marking, from the wall 


Transfix'd it, and his onset fierce repress'd ; 
For with a backward leap Glaucus withdrew 
Sudden and silent, cautious lest the Greeks 
Seeing him wounded should insult his pain. 
Grief seized, at sight of his retiring friend, 
Sarpedon, who forgat not yet the fight, 
But piercing with his lance Alcmaon, son 
Of Thestor, suddenly rdvulsed the beam, 
Which following, Alcmaon to the earth 
Fell prone, with clangor of his brazen arms. 
Sarpedon, then, strenuous with both hands 
Tugg'd, and down fell the battlement entire ; 
The wall, dismantled at the summit, stood 
A ruin, and wide chasm was open'd through. 
Then Ajax him and Teucer at one time 
Struck both ; an arrow struck from Teucer's bow 
The belt that cross'd his bosom, by which hung 
His ample shield ; yet lest his son should fall 
Among the ships, Jove turn'd the death aside. 
But Ajax, springing to his thrust, a spear 
Drove through his shield. Sarpedon at the shock 
With backward step short interval recoil'd, 
But not retired, for in his bosom lived 
The hope of glory still, and, looking back 
On all his godlike Lycians, he exclaim'd, 

Oh Lycians ! where is your heroic might 1 
Brave as I boast myself, I feel the task 
Arduous, through the breach made by myself 
To win a passage to the ships, alone. 
Follow me all — Most labourers, most dispatch 1 . 

So he ; at whose sharp reprimand abash'd 
The embattled host to closer conflict moved, 
Obedient to their counsellor and king. 
On the other side the Greeks within the wall 
Made firm the phalanx, seeing urgent need ; 
Nor could the valiant Lycians through the breach 
Admittance to the Greecian fleet obtain, 
Nor, since they first approach'd it, had the Greeks 
With all their efforts thrust the Lycians back. 
But as two claimants of one common field, 
Each with his rod of measurement in hand, 
Dispute the boundaries, litigating warm 
Their right in some small portion of the soil, 
So they, divided by the barrier, struck 
With hostile rage the bull-hide bucklers round, 
And the light targets on each other's breast. 
Then many a wound the ruthless weapons made. 
Pierced through the unarm'd back, if any turn'd, 
He died, and numerous even through the shield. 
The battlements from end to end with blood 
Of Greecians and of Trojans on both sides 
Were sprinkled ; yet no violence could move 
The stubborn Greeks, or turn their powers to flight. 
So hung the war in balance, as the scales 
Held by some woman scrupulously just, 
A spinner ; wool and weight she poises nice, 
Hard-earning slender pittance for her babes, 
Such was the poise in which the battle hung, 
Till Jove himself superior fame, at length, 
To Priameian Hector gave, who sprang 
First through the wall. In lofty sounds that reach'd 
Their utmost ranks, he call'd on all his host, 

Now press them, now ye Trojans steed-renown'd 
Rush on! break through the Greecian rampart, 
At once devouring flames into the fleet. [hurl 

Such was his exhortation ; they his voice 


1 irAedi/wv 8e toi ep~yov 'd^eivov — This is evidently 
proverbial, for which reason I have given it that air in 
the translation. 

v 2 


324 


THE ILIAD. 


All hearing, with close-order'd ranks direct 
Bore on the barrier, and upswarming show'd 
On the high battlement their glittering spears. 
But Hector seized a stone ; of ample base 
But tapering to a point, before the gate 
It stood. No two men, mightiest of a land 
(Such men as now are mighty) could with ease 
Have heaved it from the earth up to a wain ; 
He swung it easily alone : so light 
The sou of Saturn made it in his hand. 
As in one hand with ease the shepherd bears 
A ram's fleece home, nor toils beneath the weight, 
So Hector, right toward the planks of those 
Majestic folding-gates, close-jointed, firm 
And solid, bore the stone. Two bars within 
Their corresponding force combined transverse 
To guard them, and one bolt secured the bars. 
He stood fast by them, parting wide his feet 
For 'vantage sake, and smote them in the midst. 
He burst both hinges ; inward fell the rock 
Ponderous, and the portals roar'd ; the bars 
Endured not, and the planks, riven by the force 
Of that huge mass, flew scatter'd on all sides. 
In leap'd the godlike hero at the breach, 
Gloomy as night in aspect, but in arms 
All-dazzling, and he grasp'd two quivering spears. 
Him entering with a leap the gates, no force 
Whate'er of opposition had repress'd, 
Save of the gods alone. Fire fill'd his eyes ; 
Turning, he bade the multitude without 
Ascend the rampart ; they his voice obey'd ; 
Part climb'd the Avail, part pour'd into the gate ; 
The Greecians to their hollow galleys flew 
Scatter'd, and tumult infinite arose. 


BOOK XIII. 

ARGUMENT. 
Neptune engages on the part of the Greecians. The battle 
proceeds. Deiphobus advances to combat, but is repulsed 
by Meriones, who losing his spear, repairs to his tent for 
another. Teucer slays Imbrius, and Hector Amphi- 
machus. Neptune, under the similitude of Thoas, ex- 
horts Idomeneus. Idomeneus having armed himself in 
his tent, and going forth to battle, meets Meriones. 
After discourse held with each other, Idomeneus accom- 
modates Meriones with a spear, and they proceed to 
battle. Idomeneus slays Othryoneus, and Asius. Dei- 
phobus assails Idomeneus, but his spear glancing over 
him, kills Hypsenor. Idomeneus slays Alcathoiis, 
son-in-law of Anchiscs. Deiphobus and Idomeneus 
respectively summon their friends to their assistance, 
and a contest ensues for the body of Alcatlioiis. 

When Jove to Hector and his host had given 
Such entrance to the fleet, to all the woes 
And toils of unremitting battle there 
He them abandon'd, and his glorious eyes 
Averting, on the land look'd down remote 
Of the horse-breeding Thracians, of the bold 
Close-fighting Mysian race, and where abide 
On milk sustain'd, and blest with length of days, 
The Hippemolgi, justest of mankind. 
No longer now on Troy his eyes he turn'd, 
For expectation none within his breast 
Survived, that god or goddess would the Greeks 
Approach with succour, or the Trojans more, 
Nor Neptune, sovereign of the boundless deep, 


Look'd forth in vain ; he on the summit sat 

Of Samothracia forest-crown'd, the stir 

Admiring thence and tempest of the field ; 

For thence appear'd all Ida, thence the towers 

Of lofty Ilium, and the fleet of Greece. 

There sitting from the deeps uprisen, he mourn' d 

The vanquish'd Greecians, and resentment fierce 

Conceived and wrath against all-ruling Jove. 

Arising sudden, down the rugged steep 

With rapid strides he came ; the mountains huge 

And forests under the immortal feet 

Trembled of ocean's sovereign as he strode. 

Three strides he made, the fourth convey'd him 

To Mgse. At the bottom of the abyss, [home 

There stands magnificent his golden fane, 

A dazzling incorruptible abode. 

Arrived, he to his chariot join'd his steeds 

Swift, brazen-hoof'd, and maned with wavy gold ; 

Himself attiring next in gold, he seized 

His golden scourge, and to his seat sublime 

Ascending, o'er the billows drove ; the whales 

Leaving their caverns, gambol'd on all sides 

Around him, not unconscious of their king ; 

He swept the surge that tinged not as he pass'd 

His axle, and the sea parted for joy. 

His bounding coursers to the Greecian fleet 

Convey'd him swift. There is a spacious cave 

Deep in the bottom of the flood, the rocks 

Of Imbrus rude and Tenedos between ; 

There Neptune, shaker of the shores, his steeds 

Station'd secure ; he loosed them from the yoke, 

Gave them ambrosial food, and bound their feet 

With golden tethers not to be untied 

Or broken, that unwandering they might wait 

Their lord's return, then sought the Greecian host. 

The Trojans, tempest-like or like a flame, 

Now, following Priame'ian Hector, all 

Came furious on and shouting to the skies. 

Their hope was to possess the fleet, and leave 

Not an Achaian of the host unslain. 

But earth-encircler Neptune from the gulf 

Emerging, in the form and with the voice 

Loud-toned of Calchas, roused the Argive ranks 

To battle — and his exhortation first 

To either Ajax turn'd, themselves prepared. 

Ye heroes Ajax ! your accustomed force 
Exert, oh ! think not of disastrous flight, 
And ye shall save the people. Nought I fear 
Fatal elsewhere, although Troy's haughty sons 
Have pass'd the barrier with so fierce a throng 
Tumultuous ; for the Greecians brazen-greaved 
Will check them there. Here only I expect 
And with much dread some dire event forebode, 
Where Hector, terrible as fire, and loud 
Vaunting his glorious origin from Jove, 
Leads on the Trojans. Oh that from on high 
Some god would form the purpose in your hearts 
To stand yourselves firmly, and to exhort 
The rest to stand ! so should ye chase him hence 
All ardent as he is, and even although 
Olympian Jove himself his rage inspire. 

So Neptune spake, compasser of the earth, 
And, with his sceptre smiting both, their hearts 
Fill'd with fresh fortitude ; their limbs the touch 
Made agile, wing'd their feet and nerved their arms. 
Then, swift as stoops a falcon from the point 
Of some rude rock sublime, when he would chase 
A fowl of other wing along the meads, 
So started Neptune thence, and disappear'd. 
Him, as lie went, swift Oi'liades 


THE ILIAD. 


325 


First recognised, and, instant, thus his speech 
To Ajax, son of Telamon, address'd. 

Since, Ajax, some inhabitant of heaven 
Exhorts us, in the prophet's form, to fight, 
(For prophet none or augur we have seen ; 
This was not Calchas ; as he went I mark'd 
His steps and knew him; gods are known with 

ease) 
I feel my spirit in my bosom fired 
Afresh for battle ; lightness in my limbs, 
In hands and feet a glow unfelt before. 

To whom the son of Telamon replied. 
I also with invigorated hands 

More firmly grasp my spear, my courage mounts, 
A buoyant animation in my feet 
Bears me along, and I am all on fire 
To cope with Priam's furious son, alone. 

Thus they, with martial transport to their souls 
Imparted by the god, conferr'd elate. 
Meantime the king of ocean roused the Greeks, 
Who in the rear, beside their gallant barks 
Some respite sought. They, spent with arduous 
Felt not alone their weary limbs unapt [toil, 

To battle, but their hearts with grief oppress'd, 
Seeing the numerous multitude of Troy 
Within the mighty barrier ; sad they view'd 
That sight, and bathed their cheeks with many a 
Despairing of escape. But ocean's lord [tear, 
Entering among them, soon the spirit stirr'd 
Of every valiant phalanx to the fight. 
Teucer and Le'itus, and famed in arms 
Peneleus, Thoas and Deipyrus, 
Meriones, and his compeer renown'd, 
Antilochus ; all these in accents wing'd 
With fierce alacrity the god address'd. 

Oh shame, ye Greecians ! vigorous as ye are 
And in life's prime, to your exertions most 
I trusted for the safety of our ships. 
If ye renounce the labours of the field, 
Then hath the day arisen of our defeat 
And final ruin by the powers of Troy. 
Oh ! I behold a prodigy, a sight 
Tremendous, deem'd impossible by me, 
The Trojans at our ships ! the dastard race 
Fled once like fleetest hinds the destined prey 
Of lynxes, leopards, wolves ; feeble and slight 
And of a nature indisposed to war 
They rove uncertain ; so the Trojans erst 
Stood not, nor to Achaian prowess dared 
The hindrance of a moment's strife oppose. 
But now, Troy left afar, even at our ships 
They give us battle, through our leader's fault 
And through the people's negligence, who fill'd 
With fierce displeasure against^ jto, prefer 
Death at their ships, to war in their defence. 
But if the son of Atreus, our supreme, 
If Agamemnon, have indeed transgress'd 
Past all excuse, dishonouring the swift 
Achilles, ye at least the fight decline 
Blame-worthy, and with no sufficient plea. 
But heal we speedily the breach ; brave minds 
Easily coalesce. It is not well 
That thus your fury slumbers, for the host 
Hath none illustrious as yourselves in arms. 
I can excuse the timid if he shrink, 
But am incensed at you. My friends, beware ! 
Your tardiness will prove ere long the cause 
Of some worse evil. Let the dread of shame 
Affect your hearts ; oh tremble at the thought 
Of infamy ! Fierce conflict hath arisen, 


Loud-shouting Hector combats at the ships 
Nobly, hath forced the gates and burst the bar. 

With such encouragement those Greecian chiefs 
The king of ocean roused. Then, circled soon 
By many a phalanx either Ajax stood, 
Whose order Mars himself arriving there 
Had praised, or Pallas, patroness of arms. 
For there the flower of all expected firm 
Bold Hector and his host ; spear crowded spear, 
Shield, helmet, man, press'd helmet, man and ! 

shield l ; 
The hairy crests of their resplendent casques 
Kiss'd close at every nod, so wedged they stood ; 
No spear was seen but in the manly grasp 
It quiver'd, and their every wish was war. 
The powers of Ilium gave the first assault 
Embattled close ; them Hector led himself 
Right on, impetuous as a rolling rock 
Destructive ; torn by torrent waters off 
From its old lodgement on the mountain's brow, 
It bounds, it shoots away ; the crashing wood 
Falls under it ; impediment or check 
None stays its fury, till the level found, 
There, settling by degrees, it rolls no more ; 
So after many a threat that he would pass 
Easily through the Greecian camp and fleet 
And slay to the sea-brink, when Hector once 
Had fallen on those firm ranks, standing, he bore' 
Vehement on them ; but by many a spear 
Urged and bright falchion, soon, reeling, retired, 
And call'd vociferous on the host of Troy. 

Trojans, and Lycians, and close-fighting sons 
Of Dardanus, oh stand ! not long the Greeks 
Will me confront, although embodied close 
In solid phalanx ; doubt it not ; my spear 
Shall chase and scatter them, if Jove, in truth, 
High-thundering mate of Juno, bid me on. 

So saying he roused the courage of them all, 
Foremost of whom advanced, of Priam's race 
Deiphobus, ambitious of renown. 
Tripping he came with shorten'd steps 2 , his feet 
Sheltering behind his buckler ; but at him 
Aiming, Meriones his splendid lance 
Dismiss'd, nor err'd ; his bull-hide targe he struck 
But ineffectual ; where the hollow wood 
Receives the inserted brass, the quivering beam 
Snapp'd ; then, Deiphobus his shield afar 
Advanced before him, trembling at a spear 
Hurl'd by Meriones. He, moved alike 
With indignation for the victory lost 
And for his broken spear, into his band 
At first retired, but soon set forth again 
In progress through the Achaian camp, to fetch 
Its fellow-spear within his tent reserved. 

The rest all fought, and dread the shouts arose 
On all sides* Telamonian Teucer, first, 
Slew valiant Imbrius, son of Mentor, rich 
In herds of sprightly steeds. He ere the Greeks 
Arrived at Ilium, in Pedteus dwelt, 
And Priam's spurious daughter had espoused 
Medesicasta. But the^ barks well-oar' d 
Of Greece arriving, he" return'd to Troy, 
Where he excell'd the noblest, and abode 
With Priam, loved and honour'd as his own. 
Him Teucer pierced beneath his ear, and piuck'd 

1 For this admirable line the translator is indebted to 
Mr. Fuseli. 

2 A fitter occasion to remark on this singular mode of 
approach in battle, will present itself hereafter. 


326' 


THE ILIAD. 


His weapon home ; he fell as falls an ash 

Which on some mountain visible afar, 

Hewn from its bottom by the woodman's axe, 

With all its tender foliage meets the ground. 

So Imbrius fell ; loud rang his armour bright 

With ornamental brass, and Teucer flew 

To seize his arms, whom hasting to the spoil 

Hector with his resplendent spear assail'd ; 

He, marking opposite its rapid flight, 

Declined it narrowly and it pierced the breast, 

As he advanced to battle, of the son 

Of Cteatus of the Actorian race, 

Amphimachus ; he, sounding, smote the plain, 

And all his batter'd armour rang aloud. 

Then Hector swift approaching, would have torn 

The well-forged helmet from the brows away 

Of brave Amphimachus ; but Ajax hurl'd 

Right forth at Hector hasting to the spoil 

His radiant spear ; no wound the spear impress'd, 

For he was arni'd complete in burnish'd brass 

Terrific ; but the solid boss it pierced 

Of Hector's shield, and with enormous force 

So shock d him, that retiring he resign'd 

Both bodies ', which the Greecians dragg'd away. 

Stichius and Menestheus, leaders both 

Of the Athenians, to the host of Greece 

Bore off Amphimachus, and, fierce in arms 

The Ajaces, Imbrius. As two lions bear 

Through thick entanglement of boughs and brakes 

A goat snatch'd newly from the peasants' dogs, 

Upholding high their prey above the ground, 

So either Ajax terrible in fight, 

Upholding Imbrius high, his brazen arms 

Tore off, and 0'i'liades his head 

From his smooth neck dissevering in revenge 

For slain Amphimachus, through all the host 

Sent it with swift rotation like a globe, 

Till in the dust at Hector's feet it fell. 

Then anger fill'd the heart of ocean's king, 
His grandson 2 slain in battle; forth he pass'd 
Through the Achaian camp and fleet, the Greeks 
Rousing, and meditating woe to Troy. 
It chanced that brave Idomeneus return'd 
That moment from a Cretan at the knee 
Wounded, and newly borne into his tent ; 
His friends had borne him off, and when the chief 
Had given him into skilful hands, he sought 
The field again, still coveting renown. 
Him therefore, meeting him on his return, 
Neptune bespake, but with the borrow'd voice 
Of Thoas, offspring of Andrsemon, king 
In Pleuro and in lofty Calydon, 
And honour'd by the iEtolians as a god. 

Oh counsellor of Crete ! our threats denounced 
Against the towers of Troy, where are they now ? 

To whom the leader of the Cretans, thus, 
Idomeneus. For aught that I perceive 
Thoas ! no Greecian is this day in fault ! 
For we are all intelligent in arms, 
None yields by fear oppress'd, none lull'd by sloth 
Fi-om battle shrinks, but such the pleasure seems 
Of Jove himself, that we should perish here 
Inglorious, from our country far remote. 
But, Thoas! (for thine heart was ever firm 
In battle, and thyself art wont to rouse 
Whom thou observest remiss) now also fight 
As erst, and urge each leader of the host. 

1 The bodies of Imbrius and Amphimachus. 
2 Amphimachus. 


Him answer'd, then, the sovereign of the deep. 
Return that Greecian never from the shores 
Of Troy, Idomeneus ! but may the dogs 
Feast on him, who shall this day intermit 
Through wilful negligence his force in fight ! 
But haste, take arms and come ; we must exert 
All diligence, that, being only two, 
We yet may yield some service. Union much 
Emboldens even the weakest, and our might 
Hath oft been proved on warriors of renown. 

So Neptune spake, and, turning, sought again 
The toilsome field. Ere long, Idomeneus 
Arriving in his spacious tent, put on 
His radiant armour, and, two spears in hand, 
Set forth like lightning which Saturnian Jove 
From bright Olympus shakes into the air, 
A sign to mortal men, dazzling all eyes ; 
So beam'd the hero's armour as he ran. 
But him not yet far distant from his tent 
Meriones, his fellow-warrior met, 
For he had left the fight, seeking a spear, 
When thus the brave Idomeneus began. 

Swift son of Molus ! chosen companion dear ! 
Wherefore, Meriones, hast thou the field 
Abandon'd? Art thou wounded? Bring'st thou home 
Some pointed mischief in thy flesh infixt ? 
Or comest thou sent to me, who of myself 
The still tent covet not, but feats of arms 1 

To whom Meriones discreet replied. 
Chief leader of the Cretans, brazen-mail'd 
Idomeneus ! if yet there be a spear 
Left in thy tent, I seek one ; for I broke 
The spear, even now, with which erewhile I fought, 
Smiting the shield of fierce Deiphobus. 

Then answer thus the Cretan chief return'd. 
Valiant Idomeneus. If spears thou need, 
Within my tent, leaning against the wall, 
Stand twenty spears and one, forged all in Troy, 
Which from the slain I took ; for distant fight 
Me suits not ; therefore in my tent have I 
Both spears and bossy shields, with brazen casques 
And corslets bright that smile against the sun. 

Him answer'd, then, Meriones discreet. 
I also, at my tent and in my ship, 
Have many Trojan spoils, but they are hence 
Far distant. I not less myself than thou 
Am ever mindful of a warrior's part, 
And when the din of glorious arms is heard, 
Fight in the van. If other Greeks my deeds 
Know not, at least I judge them known to thee. 

To whom the leader of the host of Crete, 
Idomeneus. I know thy valour well, 
Why speak est thus to me ? Chose we this day 
An ambush forth of all the bravest Greeks, 
(For in the ambush is distinguish'd best 
The courage ; there the timorous and the bold 
Plainly appear ; the dastard changes hue 
And shifts from place to place, nor can he calm 
The fears that shake his trembling limbs, but sits 
Low-crouching on his hams, while in his breast 
Quick palpitates his death-foreboding heart, 
And his teeth chatter ; but the valiant man 
His posture shifts not; no excessive fears 
Feels he, but seated once in ambush, deems ' 
Time tedious till the bloody fight begin ;) 
Even there, thy courage should no blame incur. 
For should'st thou, toiling in the fight, by spear 
Or falchion bleed, not on thy neck behind 
Would fall the weapon, or thy back annoy, 
But it would meet thy bowels or thy chest 


THE ILIAD. 


327 


While thou didst rush into the clamorous van. 
But haste — we may not longer loiter here 
As children prating, lest some sharp rebuke 
Reward us. Enter quick, and from within 
My tent provide thee with a noble spear. 

Then, swift as Mars, Meriones produced 
A brazen spear of those within the tent 
Reserved, and kindling with heroic fire 
Follow'd Idomeneus. As gory Mars 
By Terrour follow'd, his own dauntless son 
Who quells the boldest heart, to battle moves ; 
From Thrace against the Ephyri they arm, 
Or hardy Phlegyans, and by both invoked, 
Hear and grant victory to which they please ; 
Such, bright in arms Meriones, and such 
Idomeneus advanced, when foremost thus 
Meriones his fellow-chief bespake. 

Son of Deucalion ! where inclinest thou most 
To. enter into battle ? On the right 
Of all the host % or through the central ranks ? 
Or on the left? for nowhere I account 
The 'Greeks so destitute of force as there. 

Then answer thus Idomeneus return'd, 
Chief of the Cretans. Others stand to guard 
The middle fleet ; there either Ajax wars, 
And Teucer, noblest archer of the Greeks, 
Nor less in stationary fight approved. 
Bent as he is on battle, they will task 
And urge to proof sufficiently the force 
Of Priameian Hector ; burn his rage 
How fierce soever, he shall find it hard, 
With all his thirst of victory, to quell 
Their firm resistance, and to fire the fleet, 
Let not Saturnian Jove cast down from heaven 
Himself a flaming brand into the ships. 
High towering Telamonian Ajax yields 
To no mere mortal by the common gift 
Sustain'd of Ceres, and whose flesh the spear 
Can penetrate, or rocky fragment bruise ; 
In standing fight Ajax would not retire 
Even before that breaker of the ranks 
Achilles, although far less swift than he. 
But turn we to the left, that we may learn 
At once, if glorious death, or fife be ours. 

Then, rapid as the god of war, his course 
Meriones toward the left began, 
As he enjoin'd. Soon as the Trojans saw 
Idomeneus advancing like a flame, 
And his compeer Meriones in arms 
All-radiant clad, encouraging aloud 
From rank to rank each other, on they came 
To the assault combined. Then soon arose 
Sharp contest on the left of all the fleet. 
As when shrill winds blow vehement, what time 
Dust deepest spreads the ways, by warring blasts 
Upborne a sable cloud stands in the air, 
Such was the sudden conflict ; equal rage 
To stain with gore the lance ruled every breast. 
Horrent with quivering spears the fatal field 
Frown'd on all sides ; the brazen flashes dread 
Of numerous helmets, corslets furbish'd bright, 
And shields refulgent meeting, dulPd the eye, 
And turn'd it dark away. Stranger indeed 
Were he to fear, who could that strife have view'd 
With heart elate, or spirit unperturb'd. 

Two mighty sons of Saturn adverse parts 
Took in that contest, purposing alike 
To many a valiant chief sorrow and pain. 
Jove, for the honour of Achilles, gave 
Success to Hector and the host of Troy, 


Not for complete destruction of the Greeks 

At Ilium, but that glory might redound 

To Thetis thence, and to her dauntless son. 

On the other side, the king of ocean risen 

Secretly from the hoary deep, the host 

Of Greece encouraged, whom he grieved to see 

Vanquish'd by Trojans, and with anger fierce 

Against the Thunderer burn'd on their behalf. 

Alike from one great origin divine 

Sprang they, but Jove was elder, and surpass'd 

In various knowledge ; therefore when he roused 

Their courage, Neptune traversed still the ranks 

Clandestine, and in human form disguised. 

Thus, these immortal two, straining the cord 

Indissoluble of all- wasting war, 

Alternate measured with it either host, 

And loosed the joints of many a warrior bold. 

Then, loud exhorting (though himself with age 

Half grey) the Achaians, into battle sprang 

Idomeneus, and scatter'd, first, the foe, 

Slaying Othryoneus, who, by the lure 

Of martial glory drawn, had left of late 

Cabesus. He Priam's fair daughter woo'd 

Cassandra, but no nuptial gift vouchsafed 1 

To offer, save a sounding promise proud 

To chase, himself, however resolute 

The Greecian host, and to deliver Troy. 

To him assenting, Priam, ancient king, 

Assured to him his wish, and in the faith 

Of that assurance confident, he fought. 

But brave Idomeneus his splendid lance * 

Well-aim'd dismissing, struck the haughty chief, 

Pacing elate the field ; his brazen mail 

Endured not ; through his bowels pierced,with clang 

Of all his arms he fell, and thus with joy 

Immense exulting, spake Idomeneus. 

I give thee praise, Othryoneus ! beyond 
All mortal men, if truly thou perform 
Thy whole big promise to the Dardan king, 
Who promised thee his daughter. Now, behold, 
We also promise : doubt not the effect. 
We give into thy arms the most admired 
Of Agamemnon's daughters, whom ourselves 
Will hither bring from Argos, if thy force 
With ours uniting, thou wilt rase the walls 
Of populous Troy. Come — follow me ; that here 
Among the ships we may adjust the terms 
Of marriage, for we take not scanty dower. 

So saying, the hero dragg'd him by his heel 
Through all the furious fight. His death to avenge 
Asius on foot before his steeds advanced, 
For them, where'er he moved, his charioteer 
Kept breathing ever on his neck behind. 
With fierce desire the heart of Asius burn'd 
To smite Idomeneus, who with his lance 
Him reaching first, pierced him beneath the chin 
Into his throat, and urged the weapon through. 
He fell, as some green poplar falls, or oak, 
Or lofty pine, by naval artists hewn 
With new-edged axes on the mountain's side. 
So, his teeth grinding, and the bloody dust 
Clenching, before his chariot and his steeds 
Extended, Asius lay. His charioteer 
(All recollection lost) sat panic-stunn'd, 
Nor dared for safety turn his steeds to flight. 
Him bold Antilochus right through the waist 
Transpierced ; his mail sufficed not, but the spear 
Implanted in his midmost bowels stood. 

1 It was customary for the suitor to pay the dower. 


328 


THE ILIAD. 


Down from his seat magnificent he fell 
Panting, and young Antilochus the steeds 

I Drove captive thence into the host of Greece. 
Then came Deiphobus by sorrow urged 
For Asius, and, small interval between, 
Hurl'd at Idomeneus his glittering lance ; 
But he, foreseeing its approach, the point 
Eluded, cover'd whole by his round shield 
Of hides and brass by double belt sustain'd, 
And it flew over him, but on his targe 
Glancing, elicited a tinkling sound. 
Yet left it not in vain his vigorous grasp, 

! But pierced the liver of Hypsenor, son 
Of Hippasus ; he fell incontinent, 
And measureless exulting in his fall 
Deiphobus with, mighty voice exclaim'd. 

Not unavenged lies Asius ; though he seek 
Hell's iron portals, yet shall he rejoice, 
For I have given him a conductor home. 

So he, whose vaunt the Greeks indignant heard ; 
But of them all to anger most he roused 
Antilochus, who yet his breathless friend l 
Left not, but, hasting, fenced him with his shield, 
And brave Alastor with Mecisteus, son 
Of Echius, bore him to the hollow ships 
Deep-groaning both, for of their band was he. 
Nor yet Idomeneus his warlike rage 

j Remitted aught, but persevering strove 
Either to plunge some Trojan in the shades, 
Or fall himself, guarding the fleet of Greece. 
Then slew he brave Alcathoiis the son 
Of /Esyeta, and the son-in-law 
Of old Anchises, who to him had given 
The eldest-born of all his daughters fair, 
Hippodamia ; dearly loved was she 
By both her parents in her virgin state 2 , 
For that in beauty she surpass'd, in works 
Ingenious, and in faculties of mind 
Ail her coevals ; wherefore she was deem'd 
Well worthy of the noblest prince of Troy. 
Him in that moment, Neptune by the arm 
Quell'd of Idomeneus, his radiant eyes 
Dimming, and fettering his proportion'd limbs. 
All power of flight or to elude the stroke 
Forsook him, and while motionless he stood 
As stands a pillar tall or towering oak, 
The hero of the Cretans with a spear 
Transfix'd his middle chest. He split the mail 
Erewhile his bosom's faithful guard ; shrill rang 
The shiver'd brass ; sounding he fell ; the beam 
Implanted in his palpitating heart 
Shook to its topmost point, but, its force spent, 
At last, cmiescent, stood. Then loud exclaim'd 
Idomeneus, exulting in his fall. 

What thinks Deiphobus ? seems it to thee, 
Vain boaster, that, three warriors slain for one, 
We yield thee just amends? else, stand thyself 
Against me ; learn the valour of a chief 
The pi'ogeny of Jove ; Jove first begat 
Crete's guardian, Minos, from which Minos sprang 
Deucalion, and from famed Deucalion, I ; 
1, sovereign of the numerous race of Crete's 
Extensive isle, and whom my galleys brought 
To these your shores at last, that I might prove 
Thy curse, thy father's, and a curse to Troy. 

1 Hypsenor. 

2 This seems to be the meaning of eV neyapw, an ex- 
pression similar to that of Demosthenes in a parallel case, 
— tri evdov ottaav. — Bee Bchaufelburgerus. 


He spake ; Deiphobus uncertain stood 
Whether, retreating, to engage the help 
Of some heroic Trojan, or himself 
To make the dread experiment alone. 
At length, as his discreter course, he chose 
To seek JEneas ; him he found afar 
Station'd, remotest of the host of Troy, 
For he resented evermore his worth 
By Priam 3 recompensed with cold neglect. 
Approaching him, in accents wing'd he said. 

^Eneas ! Trojan chief ! If e'er thou lovedst 
Thy sister's husband, duty calls thee now 
To prove it. Haste— defend with me the dead 
Alcathoiis, guardian of thy tender years, 
Slain by Idomeneus the spear-renown'd. 

So saying, he roused his spirit, and on fire 
To combat with the Cretan, forth he sprang. 
But fear seized not Idomeneus as fear 
May seize a nursling boy ; resolved he stood 
As in the mountains, conscious of his force, 
The wild boar waits a coming multitude 
Of boisterous hunters to his lone retreat ; 
Arching his bristly spine he stands, his eyes 
Beam fire, and whetting his bright tusks, he burns 
To drive, not dogs alone, but men to flight ; 
So stood the royal Cretan, and fled not, 
Expecting brave JSneas ; yet his friends 
He summon'd, on Ascalaphus his eyes 
Fastening, on Aphareus, Deipyrus, 
Meriones, and Antilochus, all bold 
In battle, and in accents wing'd exclaim'd. 

Haste ye, my friends ! to aid me, for I stand 
Alone, nor undismay'd the coming wait 
Of swift ^Eneas, nor less brave than swift, 
And who possesses fresh his flower of youth, 
Man's prime advantage ; were we match'd in years 
As in our spirits, either he should earn 
At once the meed of deathless fame, or I. 

He said ; they all unanimous approach'd, 
Sloping their shields, and stood. On the other side 
His aids vEneas call'd, with eyes toward 
Paris, Deiphobus, Agenox-, turn'd, 
His fellow-warriors bold ; them follow'd all 
Their people as the pastured flock the ram 
To water, by the shepherd seen with joy ; 
Such joy iEneas felt, seeing, so soon, 
That numerous host attendant at his call. 
Then, for Alcathoiis, into contest close [breast 
Arm'd with long spears they rush'd ; on every 
Dread rang the brazen corslet, each his foe 
Assailing opposite ; but two, the rest 
Surpassing far, terrible both as Mars, 
iEneas and Idomeneus, alike 
Panted to pierce each other with a spear. 
/Eneas, first, cast at Idomeneus, 
But, warn'd, he shunn'd the weapon, and it pass'd. 
Quivering in the soil iEneas' lance 
Stood, hurl'd in vain, though by a forceful arm. 
Not so the Cretan ; at his waist he pierced 
Oenomaus, his hollow corslet clave, 
And in his midmost bowels drench'd the spear ; 
Down fell the chief, and dying, clench'd the dust. 
Instant, his massy spear the King of Crete 
Pluck 'd from the dead, but of his radiant arms 
Despoil'd him not, by numerous weapons urged ; 


3 He is said to have been jealous of him on account of 
his great popularity, and to have discountenanced him, 
fearing a conspiracy in his favour to the prejudice of his 
own family.— See Villoisson. 


THE ILIAD. 


329 


For now, time-worn, he could no longer make 
Brisk sally, spring to follow his own spear, 
Or shun another, or by swift retreat 
Vanish from battle, but the evil day 
Warded in stationary fight alone. 
At him retiring, therefore, step by step 
Deiphobus, who had with bitterest hate 
Long time pursued him, hurl'd his splendid lance, 
But yet again erroneous, for he pierced 
Ascalaphus instead, offspring of Mars ; 
Right through his shoulder flew the spear ; he fell 
Incontinent, and dying, clench'd the dust. 
But tidings none the brazen-throated Mars 
Tempestuous yet received, that his own son 
In bloody fight had fallen, for on the heights 
Olympian over-arch'd with clouds of gold 
He sat, where sat the other powers divine, 
Prisoners together of the will of Jove. 
Meantime, for slam Ascalaphus arose 
Conflict severe ; Deiphobus his casque 
Resplendent seized, but swift as fiery Mars 
Assailing him, Meriones his arm 
Pierced with a spear, and from his idle hand 
Fallen, the casque sonorous struck the ground. 
Again, as darts the vulture on his prey, 
Meriones assailing him, the lance 
Pluck'd from his arm, and to his band retired. 
Then, casting his fraternal arms around 
Deiphobus, him young Polites led 
From the hoarse battle to his rapid steeds 
And his bright chariot in the distant rear, 
Which bore him back to Troy, languid and loud- 
Groaning, and bleeding from his recent wound. 
Still raged the war, and infinite arose 
The clamour. Aphareus, Caletor's son, 
Turning to face .Eneas, in his throat 
Instant the hero's pointed lance received. 
With head reclined, and bearing to the ground 
Buckler and helmet with him, in dark shades 
Of soul-divorcing death involved, he fell. 
Antilochus, observing Thoon turn'd 
To flight, that moment pierced him; from his back 
He ripp'd the vein which through the trunk its 

course 
Winds upward to the neck ; that vein he ripp'd 
All forth ; supine he fell, and with both hands 
Extended to his fellow-warriors, died. 
Forth sprang Antilochus to strip his arms 
But watch'd, meantime, the Trojans, who in crowds 
Encircling him, his splendid buckler broad 
Smote oft, but none with ruthless point prevail'd 
Even to inscribe the skin of Nestor's son, 
Whom Neptune, shaker of the shores, amid 
Innumerable darts kept still secure. 
Yet never from his foes he shrank, but faced 
From side to side, nor idle slept his spear, 
But with rotation ceaseless turn'd and turn'd 
To every part, now level'd at a foe 
Far-distant, at a foe, now, near at hand. 
Nor he, thus occupied, unseen escaped 
By Asius' offspring Adamas, who close 
Advancing, struck the centre of his shield. 
But Neptune azure-hair'd so dear a life 
Denied to Adamas, and render'd vain 
The weapon ; part within his disk remain'd 
Like a serecl stake, and part fell at his feet. 
Then Adamas, for his own life alarm'd, 
Retired, but as he went, Meriones 
Him reaching with his lance, the shame between 
And navel pierced him, where the stroke of Mars 


Proves painful most to miserable man. 

There enter' d deep the weapon ; down he fell, 

And in the dust lay panting as an ox 

Among the mountains pants by peasants held 

In twisted bands, and dragg'd perforce along ; 

So panted dying Adamas, but soon 

Ceased, for Meriones, approaching, pluck'd 

The weapon forth, and darkness veil'd his eyes. 

Helenus, with his heavy Thracian blade 

Smiting the temples of Deipyrus, 

Dash'd off his helmet ; from his brows remote 

It fell, and wandering roll'd, till at his feet 

Some warrior found it, and secured ; meantime 

The sightless shades of death him wrapp'd around. 

Grief at that spectacle the bosom fill'd 

Of valiant Menelaus ; high he shook 

His radiant spear, and threatening him, advanced 

On royal Helenus, who ready stood 

With his bow bent. They met ; impatient, one, 

To give his pointed lance its rapid course, 

And one, to start his arrow from the nerve. 

The arrow of the son of Priam struck 

Atrides' hollow corslet, but the reed 

Glanced wide. As vetches or as swarthy beans 

Leap from the van and fly athwart the floor, 

By sharp winds driven, and by the winnower's 

force, 
So from the corslet of the glorious Greek 
Wide-wandering flew the bitter shaft away. 
But Menelaus the left hand transpierced 
Of Helenus, and with the lance's point 
Fasten'd it to his bow ; shunning a stroke 
More fatal, Helenus into his band 
Retired, his arm dependent at his side, 
And trailing, as he went, the ashen beam ; 
There, bold Agenor from his hand the lance 
Drew forth, then folded it with softest wool 
Around, sling-wool, and borrow'd from the sling 
Which his attendant into battle bore. 
Then sprang Pisander on the glorious chief 
The son of Atreus, but his evil fate 
Beckon'd him to his death in conflict fierce, 
Oh Menelaus, mighty chief ! with thee. 
And now they met, small interval between. 
Atrides hurl'd his weapon, and it err'd. 
Pisander with his spear struck full the shield 
Of glorious Menelaus, but his force 
Resisted by the stubborn buckler broad 
Fail'd to transpierce it, and the weapon fell 
Snapp'd at the neck. Yet, when he struck, the 

heart 
Rebounded of Pisander, full of hope. 
But Menelaus, drawing his bright blade, 
Sprang on him, while Pisander from behind 
His buckler drew a brazen battle-axe 
By its long haft of polish'd olive-wood, 
And both chiefs struck together. He the crest 
That crown'd the shaggy casque of Atreus' son 
Hew'd from its base, but Menelaus him 
In his swift onset smote full on the front 
Above his nose ; sounded the shatter'd bone, 
And his eyes both fell bloody at his feet. 
Convolved with pain he lay ; then, on his breast 
Atrides setting fast his heel, tore off 
His armour, and exulting thus began. 

So shall ye leave at length the Greecian fleet, 
Traitors, and neyer satisfied with war ! 
Nor want ye other guilt, dogs and profane ! 
But me have injured also, and defied 
The hot displeasure of high-thundering Jove 


330 


THE ILIAD. 


The hospitable, who shall waste in time, 

And level with the dust your lofty Troy. 

I wrong'd not you, yet bore ye far away 

My youthful bride who welcomed you, and stole 

My treasures also, and ye now are bent 

To burn Achaia's gallant fleet with fire 

And slay her heroes ; but your furious thirst 

Of battle shall hereafter meet a check. 

Oh, father Jove ! Thee wisest we account 

In heaven or earth, yet from thyself proceed 

All these calamities, who favour show'st 

To this flagitious race the Trojans, strong 

In wickedness alone, and whose delight 

In war and bloodshed never can be cloy'd. 

All pleasures breed satiety, sweet sleep, 

Soft dalliance, music, and the graceful dance, 

Though sought with keener appetite by most 

Than bloody war ; but Troy still covets blood. 

So spake the royal chief, and to his friends 
Pisander's gory spoils consigning, flew 
To mingle in the foremost fight again. 
Him, next, Harpalion, offspring of the king 
Pylsemenes assail' d ; to Troy he came 
Following his sire, but never thence return'd. 
He, from small distance, smote the central boss 
Of Menelaus' buckler with his lance, 
But wanting power to pierce it, with an eye 
Of cautious circumspection, lest perchance 
Some spear should reach him, to his band retired. 
But him retiring with a brazen shaft 
Meriones pursued ; swift flew the dart 
To his right buttock, slipp'd beneath the bone, 
His bladder grazed, and started through before. 
There ended his retreat ; sudden he sank 
And like a worm lay on the ground, his life 
Exhaling hi his fellow-warrior's arms, 
And with his sable blood soaking the plain. 
Around him flock'd his Paphlagonians bold, 
And in his chariot placed drove him to Troy, 
With whom his father went, mourning with tears 
A son, whose death he never saw avenged. 

Him slain with indignation Paris view'd, 
For he, with numerous Paphlagonians more, 
His guest had been, he, therefore, in the thirst 
Of vengeance, sent a brazen arrow forth. 
There was a certain Greek, Euchenor, son 
Of Polyides the soothsayer, rich 
And brave in fight, and who in Corinth dwelt. 
He, knowing well his fate, yet sail'd to Troy. 
For Polyides oft, his reverend sire, 
Had prophesied that he should either die 
By some dire malady at home, or, slain 
By Trojan hands, amid the fleet of Greece. 
He, therefore, shunning the reproach alike 
Of the Achaians, and that dire disease, 
Had join'd the Greecian host ; him Paris pierced 
The ear and jaw beneath ; life at the stroke 
Left him, and darkness overspread his eyes. 

So raged the battle like devouring fire. 
But Hector dear to Jove not yet had learn'd, 
Nor aught surmised the havoc of his host 
Made on the left, where victory crown'd well-nigh 
The Greecians animated to the fight 
By Neptune seconding himself their arms. 
He, where he first had started through the gate 
After dispersion of the shielded Greeks 
Compact, still persevered. The galleys there 
Of Ajax and Protesilaiis stood 
Updrawn above the hoary deep ; the wall 
Was there of humblest structure, and the steeds 


And warriors there conflicted furious most. 

The Epeans there and Iiionians 1 robed- 

Prolix, the Phthians 2 , Locrians, and the bold 

Boeotians check'd the terrible assault 

Of Hector, noble chief, ardent as flame, 

Yet not repulsed him. Chosen Athenians form'd 

The van, by Peteos' son, Menestheus, led, 

Whose high command undaunted Bias shared, 

Phidas and Stichius. The Epean host 

Under Amphion, Dracius, Meges, fought. 

Podarces brave in arms the Phthians ruled, 

And Medon (Medon was by spurious birth 

Brother of Ajax O'iliades, 

And for his uncle's death, whom he had slain, 

The brother of Oileus' wife, abode 

In Phylace ; but from Iphiclus sprang 

Podarces ;) these, all station'd in the front 

Of Phthia's hardy sons, together strove 

With the Boeotians for the fleet's defence. 

Ajax the swift swerved never from the side 

Of Ajax son of Telamon a step, 

But as in some deep fallow two black steers 

Labour combined, dragging the ponderous plough, 

The briny sweat around their rooted horns 

Oozes profuse ; they, parted as they toil 

Along the furrow, by the yoke alone, 

Cleave to its bottom sheer the stubborn glebe, 

So, side by side, they, persevering fought. 

The son of Telamon a people led 

Numerous and bold, who, when his bulky limbs 

Fail'd overlabour'd, eased him of his shield. 

Not so attended by his Locrians fought 

Oileus' valiant son ; pitch 'd battle them 

Suited not, unprovided with bright casques 

Of hairy crest, with ashen spears, and shields 

Of ample orb ; for, trusting in the bow 

And twisted sling alone, they came to Troy, 

And broke with shafts andvolley'd stones the ranks. 

Thus occupying, clad in burnish'd arms, 

The van, these two with Hector and his host 

Conflicted, while the Locrians from behind 

Vex'd them with shafts, secure ; nor could the men 

Of Ilium stand, by such a shower confused. 

Then, driven with dreadful havoc thence, the foe 

To wind-swept Ilium had again retired, 

Had not Polydamas, at Hector's side 

Standing, the dauntless hero thus address'd. 

Hector ! Thou ne'er canst listen to advice ; 
But think'st thou, that if heaven in feats of arms 
Give thee pre-eminence, thou must excel 
Therefore in council also all mankind ? 
No. All-sufficiency is not for thee. 
To one, superior force in arms is given, 
Skill, to another, in the graceful dance, 
Sweet song and powers of music to a third, 
And to a fourth loud-thundering Jove imparts 
Wisdom, which profits many, and which saves 
Whole cities oft, though reverenced but by few. 
Yet hear ; I speak as wisest seems to me. 
War, like a fiery circle, all around 
Environs thee ; the Trojans, since they pass'd 
The bulwark, either hold themselves aloof, 
Or, wide-dispersed among the galleys, cope 


1 The laonians were a distinct people from the Ionians, 
and according to the Scholium, separated from them by a 
pillar, bearing on opposite sides the name of each. — See 
Barnes. See also Villoisson. 

2 The people of Achilles were propei-ly called the 
Phthiotjc ; whereas the Phthians belonged to Protesilaiis 
and Philoctetes.— See Eustathius, as quoted by Clarke. 


THE ILIAD. 


331 


With numbers far superior to their own. 

Retiring, therefore, summon all our chiefs 

To consultation on the sum of all, 

Whether (should heaven so prosper us) to rush 

Impetuous on the gallant barks of Greece, 

Or to retreat secure ; for much I dread 

Lest the Achaians punctually refund 

All yesterday's arrear, since yonder chief f 

Insatiable with battle still abides 

Within the fleet, nor longer, as I judge, 

Will rest a mere spectator of the field. 

So spake Polydamas, whose safe advice 
Pleased Hector ; from his chariot down he leap'd 
All arm'd, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

Polydamas ! here gather all the chiefs ; 
I haste into the fight, and my commands 
Once issued there, incontinent return. 

He ended, and conspicuous as the height 
Of some snow-crested mountain, shouting ranged 
The Trojans and confederates of Troy. 
They swift around Polydamas, brave son 
Of Panthus, at the voice of Hector, ran. 
Himself with hasty strides the front, meantime, 
Of battle roam'd, seeking from rank to rank 
Asius Hyrtacides, with Asius' son 
Adamas, and Deiphobus, and the might 
Of Helenus, his royal brother bold. 
Them neither altogether free from hurt 
He found, nor living all. Beneath the sterns 
Of the Achaian ships some slaughter'd lay 
By Greecian hands ; some stricken by the spear 
Within the rampart sat, some by the sword. 
But leftward of the woeful field he found, 
Ere long, bright Helen's paramour his band 
Exhorting to the fight. Hector approach'd, 
And him, in fierce displeasure, thus bespake. 

Cursed Paris, specious, fraudulent and lewd ! 
Where is Deiphobus, and where the might 
Of royal Helenus ? Where Adamas 
Offspring of Asius, and where Asius, son 
Of Hyrtacus, and where Othryoneus ? 
Now lofty Ilium from her topmost height 
Falls headlong, now is thy own ruin sure. 

To whom the godlike Paris thus replied. 
Since Hector ! thou art pleased with no just cause 
To censure me, I may decline, perchance, 
Much more the battle on some future day, 
For I profess some courage, even I. 
Witness our constant conflict Avith the Greeks 
Here, on this spot, since first led on by thee 
The host of Troy waged battle at the ships. 
But those our friends of whom thou hast inquired 
Are slain, Deiphobus alone except 
And royal Helenus, who in the hand 
Bear each a wound inflicted by the spear, 
And have retired ; but Jove their life preserved. 
Come now — conduct us whither most thine heart 
Prompts thee, and thou shalt find us ardent all 
To face like danger ; what we can, we will, 
The best and most determined can no more. 

So saying, the hero soothed his brother's mind. 
Then moved they both toward the hottest war 
Together, where Polydamas the brave, 
Phalces, Cebriones, Orthseus fought, 


Palmys and Polyphoetes, godlike chief, 
And Morys and Ascanius, gallant sons 
Both of Hippotion. They at Troy arrived 
From fair Ascania the preceding morn, 
In recompense for aid 2 by Priam lent 
Erewhile to Phrygia, and, by Jove impefl'd, 
Now waged the furious battle side by side. 
The march of these at once, was as the sound 
Of mighty winds from deep-hung thunder-clouds 
Descending ; clamorous the blast and wild 
With ocean mingles ; many a billow, then, 
Upridged rides turbulent the sounding flood, 
Foam-crested, billow after billow driven, 
So moved the host of Troy, rank after rank 
Behind their chiefs, all dazzling bright in arms. 
Before them Priameian Hector strode 
Fierce as gore-tainted Mars, and his broad shield 
Advancing came, heavy with hides, and thick- 
Plated with brass, his helmet on his brows 
Refulgent shook, and in its turn he tried 
The force of every phalanx, if perchance 
Behind his broad shield pacing he might shake 
Their steadfast order ; but he bore not down 
The spirit of the firm Achaian host. 
Then Ajax striding forth, him, first, defied. 

Approach. Why temptest thou the Greeks to 
fear % 
No babes are we in aught that appertains 
To arms, though humbled by the scourge of Jove. 
Thou cherishest the foolish hope to burn 
Our fleet with fire ; but even we have hearts 
Prepared to guard it, and your populous Troy, 
By us dismantled and to pillage given, 
Shall perish sooner far. Know this thyself 
Also ; the hour is nigh when thou shalt ask 
In prayer to Jove and all the gods of heaven, 
That speed more rapid than the falcon's flight 
May wing thy coursers, while, exciting dense 
The dusty plain, they whirl thee back to Troy. 

While thus he spake, sublime on the right hand 
An eagle soar'd ; confident in the sign 
The whole Achaian host with loud acclaim 
Hail'd it. Then glorious Hector thus replied. 

Brainless and big, what means this boast of thine, 
Earth-cumberer Ajax ? Would I were the son 
As sure, for ever, of almighty Jove 
And Juno, and such honour might receive 
Henceforth as Pallas and Apollo share, 
As comes this day with universal woe 
Fraught for the Greecians, among whom thyself 
Shalt also perish if thou dare abide 
My massy spear, which shall thy pamper'd flesh 
Disfigure, and amid the barks of Greece 
Falling, thou shalt the vultures with thy bulk 
Enormous satiate, and the dogs of Troy. 

He spake, and led his host ; with clamour loud 
They follow'd him, and all the distant rear 
Came shouting on. On the other side the Greeks 
Re-echoed shout for shout, all undismay'd, 
And waiting firm the bravest of their foes. 
Upwent the double roar into the heights 
Ethereal, and among the beams of Jove. 


1 Achilles. 


2 This, according to Eustathius, is the import of a/j.oi$oi. 
— See Iliad in — in which Priam relates an expedition of 
his into that country. 


332 


THE ILIAD. 


BOOK XIV 


ARGUMENT. 

; Agamemnon and the other wounded chiefs taking Nestor 
with them, visit the battle. Juno having borrowed the 
cestus of Venus, first engages the assistance of Sleep, 
then hastes to Ida to inveigle Jove. She prevails. Jove 
sleeps ; and Neptune takes that opportunity to succour 
the Greecians. 

Nor was that cry by Nestor unperceived 
Though drinking, who hi words wing'd with surprise 
The son of iEsculapius thus address'd. 

Divine Machaon ! think what this may bode. 
The cry of our young warriors at the ships 
Grows louder ; sitting here, the sable wine 
Quaff thou, while bright-hair'd Hecamede warms 
A bath, to cleanse thy crimson stains aAvay. 
I from yon eminence will learn the cause. 

So saying, he took a shield radiant with brass 
There lying in the tent, the shield well-forged 
Of valiant Thrasimedes, his own son, 
(For he had borne to fight his father's shield) 
And arming next his hand with a keen lance 
Stood forth before the tent. Thence soon he saw 
Foul deeds and strange, the Greecian host confused, 
Their broken ranks flying before the host 
Of Ilium, and the rampart overthrown. 
As when the wide sea, darken'd over all 
Its silent flood, forebodes shrill winds to blow, 
The doubtful waves roll yet to neither side, 
Till swept at length by a decisive gale ; 
So stood the senior, with distressful doubts 
Conflicting anxious, whether first to seek 
The Greecian host, or Agamemnon's self 
The sovereign, and at length that course preferr'd. 
Meantime with mutual carnage they the field 
Spread far and wide, and by spears double-edged 
Smitten, and by the sword their corslets rang. 

The royal chiefs ascending from the fleet, 
Ulysses, Diomede, and Atreus' son 
Imperial Agamemnon, who had each 
Bled in the battle, met him on his way. 
For from the war remote they had updrawn 
Their galleys on the shore of the grey deep, 
The foremost to the plain, and at the sterns 
Of that extei'ior line had built the wall. 
For spacious though it were, the shore alone 
That fleet sufficed not, incommoding much 
The people ; wherefore they had ranged the ships 
Line above line gradual, and the bay 
Between both promontories, all was fill'd. 
They, therefore, curious to survey the fight. 
Came forth together, leaning on the spear, 
When Nestor met them ; heavy were their hearts, 
And at the sight of him still more alarm'd, 
Whom royal Agamemnon thus bespake. 
Neleian Nestor, glory of the Greeks ; 
What moved thee to forsake yon bloody field, 
And urged thee hither ? Cause I see of fear, 
Lest furious Hector even now his threat 
Among the Trojans publish'd, verify, 
That he would never enter Ilium more 
Till he had burn'd our fleet, and slain ourselves. 
So threaten'd Hector, and shall now perform. 
Alas ! alas ! the Achaians brazen-greaved 
All, like Achilles, have deserted me 
Resentful, and decline their fleet's defence. 
To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied. 


Those threats are verified ; nor Jove himself 
The Thunderer can disappoint them now ; 
For our chief strength in which we trusted most 
That it should guard impregnably secure 
Our navy and ourselves, the wall hath fallen. 
Hence all this conflict by our host sustain'd 
Among the ships ; nor could thy keenest sight 
Inform thee where in the Achaian camp 
Confusion most prevails, such deaths are dealt 
Promiscuous, and the cry ascends to heaven. 
But come — consult we on the sum of all, 
If counsel yet may profit. As for you, 
Ye shall have exhortation none from me 
To seek the fight ; the wounded have excuse. 
Whom Agamemnon answer'd, king of men. 
Ah Nestor ! if beneath our very sterns 
The battle rage, if neither trench nor wall 
Constructed with such labour, and supposed 
Of strength to guard impregnably secure 
Our navy and ourselves, avail us aught, 
It is because almighty Jove hath will'd 
That the Achaian host should perish here 
Inglorious, from their country far remote. 
When he vouchsafed assistance to the Greeks, 
I knew it well ; and now, not less I know 
That high as the immortal gods he lifts 
Our foes to glory, and depresses us. 
Haste therefore all, and act as I advise. 
Our ships — all those that nearest skirt the deep, 
Launch we into the sacred flood, and moor 
With anchors safely, till o'ershadowing night 
(If night itself may save us) shall arrive. 
Then may we launch the rest ; for I no shame 
Account it, even by 'vantage of the night 
To fly destruction. Wiser him I deem 
Who 'scapes his foe, than whom his foe enthrals. 

But him Ulysses, frowning stern, reproved. 
What word, Atrides, now hath pass'd thy lips ? , 
Counsellor of despair ! thou should'st command 
(And would to heaven thou didst) a different host, 
Some dastard race, not ours ; whom Jove ordains 
From youth to hoary age to weave the web 
Of toilsome warfare, till we perish all. 
Wilt thou the spacious city thus renounce 
For which such numerous woes we have endured 1 
Hush ! lest some other hear ; it is a word 
Which no man qualified by years mature 
To speak discreetly, no man bearing rule 
O'er such a people as confess thy sway, 
Should suffer to contaminate his lips. 
I from my soul condemn thee, and condemn 
Thy counsel, who persuad'st us in the heat 
Of battle terrible as this, to launch 
Our fleet into the waves, that we may give 
Our too successful foes their full desire, 
And that our own preponderating scale 
May plunge us past all hope ; for while they draw 
Their galleys down, the Greecians shall but ill 
Sustain the fight, seaward Avill cast their eyes 
And shun the battle, bent on flight alone. 
Then shall they rue thy counsel, king of men ! 

To whom the imperial leader of the Greeks. 
Thy sharp reproof, Ulysses, hath my soul 
Pierced deeply. Yet I gave no such command 
That the Achaians should their galleys launch, 
Would they, or would they not. No. I desire 
That, young or old, some other may advice 
More prudent give, and he shall please me well. 

Then thus the gallant Diomede replied. 
That man is near, and may ye but be found 


THE ILIAD. 


333 


Tractable, our inquiry shall be short. 

Be patient each, nor chide me or reproach 

Because I am of greener years than ye, 

For I am sprung from an illustrious sire, 

From Tydeus, who beneath his hill of earth 

Lies now entomb'd at Thebes, Three noble sons 

Were born to Portheus, who in Pleuro dwelt, 

And on the heights of Calydon ; the first 

Agrius ; the second Melas ; and the third 

Brave Oeneus, father of my father, famed 

For virtuous qualities above the rest. 

Oeneus still dwelt at home ; but wandering thence 

My father dwelt in Argos ; so the will 

Of Jove appointed, and of all the gods. 

There he espoused the daughter of the king 

Adrastus, occupied a mansion rich 

In all abundance ; many a field possess'd 

Of wheat, well-planted gardens, numerous flocks, 

And was expert in spearmanship esteem'd 

Past all the Greecians. I esteem'd it right 

That ye should hear these things, for they are true. 

Ye will not, therefore, as I were obscure 

And of ignoble origin, reject 

What I shall well advise. Expedience bids 

That, wounded as we are, we join the host. 

We will preserve due distance from the range 

Of spears and arrows, lest already gall'd, 

We suffer worse ; but we will others urge 

To combat, who have stood too long aloof, 

Attentive only to their own repose. 

He spake, whom all approved, and forth they 
Imperial Agamemnon at their head. [went, 

Nor watch'd the glorious shaker of the shores 
In vain, but like a man time-worn approach'd, 
And, seizing Agamemnon's better hand, 
In accents wing'd the monarch thus adclress'd. 

Atrides ! now exults the vengeful heart 
Of fierce Achilles, viewing at his ease 
The flight and slaughter of Achaia's host ; 
For he is mad, and let him perish such, 
And may his portion from the gods be shame ! 
But as for thee, not yet the powers of heaven 
Thee hate implacable ; the chiefs of Troy 
Shall cover yet with cloudy dust the breadth 
Of all the plain, and backward from the camp 
To Hlium's gates thyself shalt see them driven. 

He ceased, and shouting traversed swift the field. 
Loud as nine thousand-or ten thousand shout 
In furious battle mingled, Neptune sent 
His voice abroad, force irresistible 
Infusing into every Greecian heart, 
And thirst of battle not to be assuaged. 

But Juno of the golden throne stood forth 
On the Olympian summit, viewing thence 
The field, where clear distinguishing the god 
Of ocean, her own brother, sole engaged 
Amid the glorious battle, glad was she. 
Seeing Jove also on the topmost point 
Of spring-fed Ida seated, she conceived 
Hatred against him, and thenceforth began 
Deliberate how best she might deceive 
The Thunderer, and thus at last resolved ; 
Attired with skill celestial to descend 
On Ida, with a hope to allure him first 
Won by her beauty to a fond embrace, 
Then closing fast in balmy sleep profound 
His eyes, to elude his vigilance, secure. 
She sought her chamber ; Vulcan her own son 
That chamber built. He framed the solid doors, 
And to the posts fast closed them with a key 


Mysterious, which, herself except, in heaven 
None understood. Entering she secured 
The splendid portal. First, she laved all o'er 
Her beauteous body with ambrosial lymph, 
Then polish'd it with richest oil divine 
Of boundless fragrance ; oil that in the courts 
Eternal only shaken, through the skies 
Breathed odours, and through all the distant earth. 
Her whole fair body with those sweets bedew 'd, 
She pass'd the comb through her ambrosial hair, 
And braided her bright locks streaming profuse 
From her immortal brows ; with golden studs 
She made her gorgeous mantle fast before, 
Ethereal texture, labour of the hands 
Of Pallas beautified with various art, 
And braced it with a zone fringed all around 
A hundred-fold ; her pendants triple-gemm'd 
Luminous, graceful, in her ears she hung, 
And covering all her glories with a veil 
Sun-bright, new-woven, bound to her fair feet 
Her sandals elegant. Thus full attired, 
In all her ornaments, she issued forth, 
And beckoning Venus from the other powers 
Of heaven apart, the goddess thus bespake. 

Daughter beloved ! shall I obtain my suit, 
Or wilt thou thwart me, angry that I aid 
The Greecians, while thine aid is given to Troy ? 

To whom Jove's daughter Venus thus replied. 
What would majestic Juno, daughter dread 
Of Saturn, sire of Jove ? I feel a mind 
Disposed to gratify thee, if thou ask 
Things possible, and possible to me. 

Then thus Avith wiles veiling her deep design 
Imperial Juno. Give me those desires, 
That love-enkindling power by which thou sway'st 
Immortal hearts and mortal, all alike ; 
For to the green earth's utmost bounds I go, 
To visit there the parent of the gods, 
Oceanus, and Tethys his espoused, 
Mother of all. They kindly from the hands 
Of Rhea took, and with parental care 
Su stain' d and cherish 'd me, what time from heaven 
The Thunderer hurl'd down Saturn, and beneath 
The earth fast bound him and the barren deep. 
Them go I now to visit, and their feuds 
Innumerable to compose ; for long 
They have from conjugal embrace abstain'd 
Through mutual wrath, whom by persuasive speech 
Might I restore into each other's arms, 
They would for ever love me and revere. 

Her, foam-born Venus then, goddess of smiles, 
Thus answer'd. Thy request, who in the arms 
Of Jove reposest the omnipotent, 
Nor just it were nor seemly to refuse. 

So saying, the cincture from her breast she 
loosed 
Embroider'd, various, her all- charming zone. 
It was an ambush of sweet snares, replete 
With love, desire, soft intercourse of hearts, 
And music of resistless whisper'd sounds 
That from the wisest steal their best resolves ; 
She placed it in her hands and thus she said. 

Take this — this girdle fraught with every charm. 
Hide this within thy bosom, and return, 
Whate'er thy purpose, mistress of it all. 

She spake ; imperial Juno smiled, and still 
Smiling complacent, bosom'd safe the zone. 
Then Venus to her father's court return'd, 
And Juno, starting from the Olympian height, 
O'erflew Pieria and the lovely plains 


334 


THE ILIAD. 


Of broad Emathia ; soaring thence she swept 
The snow-clad summits of the Thracian hills 
Steed-famed, nor printed, as she pass'd, the soil. 
From Athos o'er the foaming billows borne 
She came to Lemnos, city and abode 
Of noble Thoas, and there meeting Sleep, 
Brother of Death, she press' d his hand, and said, 

Sleep, over all, both gods and men, supreme ! 
If ever thou hast heard, hear also now 
My suit ; I will be grateful evermore. 
Seal for me fast the radiant eyes of Jove 
In the instant of his gratified desire. 
Thy recompense shall be a throne of gold, 
Bright, incorruptible ; my limping son, 
Vulcan, shall fashion it himself with art 
Laborious, and, beneath, shall place a stool 
For thy fair feet, at the convivial board. 

Then answer thus the tranquil Sleep return'd. 
Great Saturn's daughter, awe-inspiring queen ! 
All other of the everlasting gods 
I could with ease make slumber, even the streams 
Of Ocean, sire of all. Not so the king 
The son of Saturn ; him, unless himself 
Give me command, I dare not lull to rest, 
Or even approach him, taught as I have been 
Already in the school of thy commands 
That wisdom. I forget not yet the day 
When, Troy laid waste, that valiant son 1 of his 
Sail'd homeward : then my influence I diffused 
Soft o'er the sovereign intellect of Jove ; 
While thou, against the hero plotting harm, 
Didst rouse the billows with tempestuous blasts, 
And separating him from all his friends, 
Brought'st him to populous Cos. Then Jove awoke, 
And, hurling in his wrath the gods about, 
Sought chiefly me, whom far below all ken 
He had from heaven cast down into the deep, 
But Night, resistless vanquisher of all, 
Both gods and men, preserved me ; for to her 
I fled for refuge. So the Thunderer cool'd, 
Though sore displeased, and spared me through a 
To violate the peaceful sway of Night. [fear 

And thou wouldst now embroil me yet again ! 

To whom majestic Juno thus replied. 
Ah, wherefore, Sleep ! should'st thou indulge a fear 
So groundless ? Chase it from thy mind afar. 
Think'st thou the Thunderer as intent to serve 
The Trojans, and as jealous in their cause 
As erst for Hercules, his genuine son ? 
Come then, and I will bless thee with a bride ; 
One of the younger Graces shall be thine, 
Pasithea, day by day still thy desire. 

She spake ; Sleep heard delighted, and replied. 
By the inviolable Stygian flood 
Swear to me ; lay thy right hand on the glebe 
All-teeming, lay thy other on the face 
Of the flat sea, that all the immortal powers 
Who compass Saturn in the nether realms 
May witness, that thou givest me for a bride 
The younger Grace whom thou hast named, divine 
Pasithea, day by day still my desire. 

He said, nor beauteous Juno not complied, 
But sware, by name invoking all the powers 
Titanian call'd who in the lowest gulf 
Dwell under Tartarus, omitting none. 
Her oath with solemn ceremonial sworn, 
Together forth they went ; Lemnos they left 
And Imbrus, city of Thrace, and in dark clouds 


Mantled, with gliding ease swam through the air 
To Ida's mount with rilling waters vein'd, 
Parent of savage beasts ; at Lectos 2 first 
They quitted ocean, overpassing high 
The dry land, while beneath their feet the woods 
Their spiry summits waved. There, unperceived 
By Jove, Sleep mounted Ida's loftiest pine 
Of growth that pierced the sky, and hidden sat 
Secured by its expanded boughs, the bird 
Shrill-voiced resembling in the mountains seen, 
Chalcis in heaven, on earth Cymindis named. 

But Juno swift to Gargarus the top 
Of Ida, soar'd, and there Jove saw his spouse. 
■ — Saw her — and in his breast the same love felt 
Rekindled vehement, which had of old 
Join'd them, when, by their parents unperceived, 
They stole aside, and snatch'd their first embrace. 
Soon he accosted her, and thus inquired. 

Juno ! what region seeking hast thou left 
The Olympian summit, and hast here arrived 
With neither steed nor chariot in thy train ? 

To whom majestic Juno thus replied 
Dissembling. To the green earth's end I go, 
To visit there the parent of the gods 
Oceanus, and Tethys his espoused, 
Mother of all. They kindly from the hands 
Of Rhea took, and with parental care 
Sustain'd and cherish'd me ; to them I haste 
Their feuds innumerable to compose, 
Who disunited by intestine strife 
Long time, from conjugal embrace abstain. 
My steeds, that lightly over dank and dry 
Shall bear me, at the rooted base I left 
Of Ida river-vein'd. But for thy sake 
From the Oympian summit I arrive, 
Lest journeying remote to the abode 
Of Ocean, and with no consent of thine 
Entreated first, I should, perchance, offend. 

To whom the cloud-assembler god replied. 
Juno ! thy journey thither may be made 
Hereafter. Let us turn to dalliance now. 
For never goddess pour'd, nor woman yet 
So full a tide of love into my breast ; 
I never loved Ixion's consort thus 
Who bore Pirithoiis, wise as Ave in heaven ; 
Nor sweet Acrisian Damie, from whom 
Sprang Perseus, noblest of the race of man ; 
Nor Phoenix' daughter fair 3 , of whom were born 
Minos unmatch'd but by the powers above, 
And Rhadamanthus ; nor yet Semele, 
Nor yet Alcmena, who in Thebes produced 
The valiant Hercules ; and though my son 
By Semele were Bacchus, joy of man ; 
Nor Ceres golden-hair' d, nor high-enthroned 
Latona in the skies, no — nor thyself 
As now I love thee, and my soul perceive 
O'erwhelm'd with sweetness of intense desire. 

Then thus majestic Juno her reply 
Framed artful. Oh unreasonable haste ! 
What speaks the Thunderer ? If on Ida's heights 
Where all is open and to view exposed 
Thou wilt that we embrace, what must betide, 
Should any of the everlasting gods 
Observe us, and declare it to the rest I 
Never could I, arising, seek again 
Thy mansion, so unseemly were the deed. 
But if thy inclinations that way tend, 
Thou hast a chamber ; it is Vulcan's work, 


2 One of the heads of Ida. 


Europa. 


THE ILIAD. 


335 


Our son's ; he framed and fitted to its posts 

The solid portal ; thither let us hie, 

And there repose, since such thy pleasure seems. 

To whom the cloud-assembler deity. 
Fear thou not, Juno, lest the eye of man 
Or of a god discern us ; at my word 
A golden cloud shall fold us so around, 
That not the Sun himself shall through that veil 
Discover aught, though keenest-eyed of all. 

So spake the son of Saturn, and his spouse 
Fast lock'd within his arms. Beneath them earth 
With sudden herbage teem'd ; at once upsprang 
The crocus soft, the lotus bathed in dew, 
And the crisp hyacinth with clustering bells ; 
Thick was their growth, and high above the ground 
Upbore them. On that flowery couch they lay, 
Invested with a golden cloud that shed 
Bright dew-drops all around. His heart at ease, 
There lay the sire of all, by sleep and love 
Vanquish'd on lofty Gargarus, his spouse 
Constraining still with amorous embrace. 
Then, gentle Sleep to the Achaian camp 
Sped swift away, with tidings for the ear 
Of earth-encircler Neptune charged ; him soon 
He found, and in wing'd accents thus began. 

Now Neptune, yield the Greeks effectual aid, 
And, while the moment lasts of Jove's repose, 
Make victory theirs ; for him in slumbers soft 
I have involved, while Juno by deceit 
Prevailing, lured him with the bait of love. 

He said, and swift departed to his task 
Among the nations ; but his tidings urged 
Neptune with still more ardour to assist 
The Dana'f ; he leap'd into the van 
Afar, and thus exhorted them aloud. 

Oh Argives ! yield we yet again the day 
To Priameian Hector ? Shall he seize 
Our ships, and make the glory all his own ? 
Such is his expectation, so he vaunts, 
For that Achilles leaves not yet his camp, 
Resentful ; but of him small need, I judge, 
Should here be felt, could once the rest be roused 
To mutual aid. Act, then, as I advise. 
The best and broadest bucklers of the host, 
And brightest helmets put we on, and arm'd 
With longest spears, advance ; myself will lead ; 
And trust me, furious though he be, the son 
Of Priam flies. Ye then who feel your hearts 
Undaunted, but are arm'd with smaller shields, 
Them give to those who fear, and in exchange 
Their stronger shields and broader take yourselves. 

So he, whom, unreluctant, all obey'd. 
Then, wounded as they were, themselves the kings, 
Tydides, Agamemnon, and Ulysses 
Marshal'd the warriors, and from rank to rank 
Made just exchange of arms, giving the best 
To the best warriors, to the worse, the worst. 
And now in brazen armour all array'd 
Refulgent, on they moved, by Neptune led 
With firm hand grasping his long-bladed sword 
Keen as Jove's bolt ; with him may none contend 
In dreadful fight ; but fear chains every arm. 

Opposite, Priameian Hector ranged 
His Trojans ; then they stretch'd the bloody cord 
Of conflict tight, Neptune coerulean-hair'd, 
And Hector, pride of Ilium ; one, the Greeks 
Supporting firm, and one, the powers of Troy ; 
A sea-flood dash'd the galleys, and the hosts 
Join'd clamorous. Not so the billows roar 
The shores among, when Boreas' roughest blast 


Sweeps landward from the main the towering 
Not so, devouring fire among the trees [surge ; 
That clothe the mountain, when the sheeted flames 
Ascending wrap the forest in a blaze ; 
Nor howl the winds through leafy boughs of oaks 
Upgrown aloft, (though loudest there they rave) 
With sounds so awful as were heard of Greeks 
And Trojans shouting when the clash began. 

At Ajax, first, (for face to face they stood) 
Illustrious Hector threw a spear well-aim'd, 
But smote him where the belts that bore his shield 
And falchion cross'd each other on his breast. 
The double guard preserved him unannoy'd. 
Indignant that his spear had bootless flown, 
Yet fearing death at hand, the Trojan chief 
Toward the phalanx of his friends retired. 
But, as he went, huge Ajax with a stone 
Of those which propp'd the ships, (for numerous 

such 
Lay rolling at the feet of those who fought) 
Assail'd him. Twirling like a top it pass'd 
The shield of Hector, near the neck his breast 
Struck full, then plough'd circuitous the dust. 
As when Jove's arm omnipotent an oak 
Prostrates uprooted on the plain, a fume 
Rises sulphureous from the riven trunk, 
And if, perchance, some traveller nigh at hand 
See it, he trembles at the bolt of Jove, 
So fell the might of Hector, to the earth 
Smitten at once. Down dropp'd his idle spear, 
And with his helmet and his shield himself 
Also ; loud thunder'd all his gorgeous arms. 
Swift flew the Greecians shouting to the skies, 
And showering darts, to drag his body thence, 
But neither spear of theirs nor shaft could harm 
The fallen leader, with such instant aid 
His princely friends encircled him around, 
Sarpedon, Lycian chief, Glaucus the brave, 
Polydamas, iEneas, and renown'd 
Agenor ; neither tardy were the rest, 
But with round shields all shelter'd Hector fallen. 
Him soon uplifted from the plain his friends 
Bore thence, till where his fiery coursers stood, 
And splendid chariot in the rear, they came* 
Then Troy-ward drove him groaning as he went. 
Ere long arriving at the pleasant stream 
Of eddied Xanthus, progeny of Jove, 
They laid him on the bank, and on his face 
Pour'd water ; he, reviving, upward gazed, 
And seated on his hams black blood disgorged 
Coagulate, but soon relapsing, fell 
Supine, his eyes with pitchy darkness veil'd, 
And all his powers still torpid by the blow. 

Then, seeing Hector borne away, the Greeks 
Rush'd fiercer on, all mindful of the fight, 
And far before the rest, Ajax the swift, 
The Oiilean chief, with pointed spear 
On Satnius springing, pierced him. Him a nymph 
A Naiad, bore to Enops, while his herd 
Feeding, on Satnio's grassy verge he stray'd. 
But Oiiliades the spear-renown'd 
Approaching, pierced his flank ; supine he fell, 
And fiery contest for the dead arose. 
In vengeance of his fall, spear-shaking chief 
The son of Panthus into fight advanced 
Polydamas, who Prothoenor pierced 
Offspring of Areilocus, and ui-ged 
Through his right shoulder sheer the stormy lance. 
He, prostrate, clench'd the dust, and with loud 
Polydamas exulted at his fall. [voice 


336 


THE ILIAD. 


Yon spear, me thinks, hurl'd from the warlike 
Of Panthus' noble son, flew not in vain, [hand 
But some Greek hath it, purposing, I judge, 
To lean on it in his descent to hell. 

So he, whose vaunt the Greeks indignant heard, 
But most indignant, Ajax, offspring bold 
Of Telamon, to whom he nearest fell. 
He, quick, at the retiring conqueror cast 
His radiant spear ; Polydamas the stroke 
Shunn'd, starting sideward ; but Antenor's son 
Archilochus the mortal dint received, 
Death-destined by the gods ; where neck and spine 
Unite, both tendons he dissever'd wide, 
And, ere his knees, his nostrils met the ground. 

Then Ajax in his turn vaunting aloud 
Against renown'd Polydamas, exclaim'd. 
Speak now the truth, Polydamas, and weigh 
My question well. His life whom I have slain 
Makes it not compensation for the loss 
Of Prothoenor's life ? To me he seems 
Nor base himself, nor yet of base descent, 
But brother of Antenor steed-renown'd, 
Or else perchance his son ; for in my eyes 
Antenor's lineage he resembles most. 

So he, well knowing him, and sorrow seized 
Each Trojan heart. "Then Acamas around 
His brother stalking, wounded with his spear 
Boeotian Promachus, who by the feet 
Dragg'd off the slain. Acamas in his fall 
Aloud exulted with a boundless joy. 

Vain-glorious Argives, archers inexpert ! 
War's toil and trouble are not ours alone, 
But ye shall perish also ; mark the man, — 
How sound he sleeps tamed by my conquering arm, 
Your fellow-warrior Promachus ! the debt 
Of vengeance on my brother's dear behalf 
Demanded quick discharge ; well may the wish 
Of every dying warrior be to leave 
A brother living to avenge his fall. 

He ended, whom the Greeks indignant heard, 
But chiefly brave Peneleus ; swift he rush'd 
On Acamas ; but from before the force 
Of King Peneleus Acamas retired, 
And, in his stead, Uioneus he pierced, 
Offspring of Phorbas, rich in flocks, and blest 
By Mercury with such abundant wealth 
As other Trojan none, nor child to him 
His spouse had borne, Uioneus except. 
Him close beneath the brow to his eye-roots 
Piercing, he push'd the pupil from its seat, 
And thi'ough his eye and through his poll the spear 
Urged furious. He down-sitting on the earth 
Both hands extended ; but his glittering blade 
Forth-drawn, Peneleus through his middle neck 
Enforced it ; head and helmet to the ground 
He lopp'd together, with the lance infixt 
Still in his eye ; then like a poppy's head 
The crimson trophy lifting, in the ears 
He vaunted loud of Ilium's host, and cried. 

Go, Trojans ; be my messengers ! Inform 
The parents of Uioneus the brave 
That they may mourn their son through all their 
For so the wife of Alegenor's son [house, 

Boeotian Promachus must him fcewail, 
Nor shall she welcome his return with smiles 
Of joy affectionate, when from the shores 
Of Troy the fleet shall bear us Greecians home. 

He said ; fear whiten'd every Trojan cheek, 
And every Trojan eye with earnest look 
Enquired a refuge from impending fate. 


Say now, ye Muses, blest inhabitants 
! Of the Olympian realms ! what Greecian first 
! Fill'd his victorious hand with armour stript 
i From slaughter'd Trojans, after ocean's god 
| Had, interposing, changed the battle's course ? 
First, Telamonian Ajax Hyrtius slew, 
Undaunted leader of the Mysian band. 
Phalces and Mermerus their arms resign'd 
To young Antilochus ; Hippotion fell 
And Morys by Meriones ; the shafts 
Right-aim'd of Teucer to the shades dismiss'd 
Prothous and Periphetes, and the prince 
Of Sparta, Menelaus, in his flank 
Pierced Hyperenor ; on his entrails prey'd 
The hungry steel, and, through the gaping wound 
ExpelPd, his spirit flew ; night veil'd his eyes. 
But Ajax Oi'liades the swift 
Slew most ; him none could equal in pursuit 
Of tremblers scatter'd by the frown of Jove. 


BOOK XT. 


ARGUMENT. 

Jove, awaking and seeing the Trojans routed, threatens 
Juno. He sends Iris to admonish Neptune to relinquish 
the battle, and Apollo to restore health to Hector. 
Apollo armed with the segis, puts to flight the Greecians ; 
they are pursued home to their fleet, and Telamonian 
Ajax slays twelve Trojans bringing fire to burn it. 

But when the flying Trojans had o'erpass'd 
Both stakes and trench, and numerous slaughter'd 
By Greecian hands, the remnant halted all [lay 
Beside their^chariots, pale, discomfited. 
Then was it that on Ida's summit Jove 
At Juno's side awoke ; starting, he stood 
At once erect ; Trojans and Greeks he saw, 
These broken, those pursuing and led on 
By Neptune ; he beheld also remote 
Encircled by his friends, and on the plain 
Extended, Hector ; there he panting lay, 
Senseless, ejecting blood, bruised by a blow 
From not the feeblest of the sons of Greece. 
Touch'd with compassion at that sight, the sire 
Of gods and men, frowning terrific, fix'd 
His eyes on Juno, and her thus bespake. 

No place for doubt remains. Oh, versed in wiles, 
Juno ! thy mischief-teeming mind perverse 
Hath plotted this ; thou hast contrived the hurt 
Of Hector, and hast driven his host to flight. 
I know not but thyself may'st chance to reap 
The first-fruits of thy cunning, scourged ' by me. 
Hast thou forgotten how I once aloft 
Suspended thee, with anvils at thy feet, 
And both thy wrists bound with a golden cord 

1 The translator seizes the opportunity afforded to him 
by this remarkable passage, to assure his readers, who are 
not readers of the original, that the discipline which .Juno 
is here said to have suffered from the hands of Jove, is not 
of his own invention. He found it in the original, and 
considering fidelity as his indispensable duty, has not 
attempted to soften or to refine away the matter. He begs 
that this observation may be adverted to as often as any 
passage shall occur, in which ancient practices or customs, 
not consonant to our own, either in point of delicacy or 
humanity, may be either expressed or alluded to. 

He makes this request the rather, because on these 
occasions Mr. Pope has observed a different conduct, sup- 
pressing all such images as he had reason to suppose might 
be offensive. 


THE ILIAD. 


337 


Indissoluble ? In the clouds of heaven 
I hung thee, while from the Olympian heights 
The gods look'd mournful on, but of them all 
None could deliver thee, for whom I seized, 
Hurl'd through the gates of heaven on earth he fell, 
Half-breathless. Neither so did I resign 
My hot resentment of the hero's wrongs 
Immortal Hercules, whom thou by storms 
Call'd from the north, with mischievous intent 
Hadst driven far distant o'er the barren deep 
To populous Cos. Thence I deliver'd him, 
And after numerous woes severe, he reach'd 
The shores of fruitful Argos, saved by me. 
I thus remind thee now, that thou may'st cease 
Henceforth from artifice, and may'st be taught 
How little all the dalliance and the love 
Which, stealing down from heaven, thou hast by 
Obtain'd from me, shall profit thee at last, [fraud 

He ended, whom imperial Juno heard 
Shuddering, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

Be witness earth, the boundless heaven above, 
And Styx beneath, whose stream the blessed gods 
Even tremble to adjure ; be witness too 
Thy sacred life, and our connubial bed, 
Which by a false oath I will never wrong, 
That by no art induced or plot of mine 
Neptune, the shaker of the shores, inflicts 
These harms on Hector and the Trojan host 
Aiding the Greecians, but impell'd alone 
By his own heart with pity moved at sight 
Of the Achaians at the ships subdued. 
But even him, oh sovereign of the storms ! 
I am prepared to admonish that he quit ■ 
The battle, and retire where thou command'st. 

So she ; then smiled the sire of gods and men, 
And in wing'd accents answer thus return'd. 

Juno ! wouldst thou on thy celestial throne 
Assist my counsels, howsoe'er in heart 
He differ now, Neptune should soon his will 
Submissive bend to thy desires and mine. 
But if sincerity be in thy words 
And truth, repairing to the blest abodes 
Send Iris hither, with the archer god 
Apollo ; that she, visiting the host 
Of Greece, may bid the sovereign of the deep 
Renounce the fight, and seek his proper home. 
Apollo's part shall be to rouse again 
Hector to battle, to inspire his soul 
Afresh with courage, and all memory thence 
To banish of the pangs which now he feels. 
Apollo also shall again repulse 
Achaia's host, which with base panic fill'd, 
Shall even to Achilles' ships be driven. 
Achilles shall his valiant friend exhort 
Patroclus forth ; him under Ilium's walls 
Shall glorious Hector slay ; but many a youth 
Shall perish by Patroclus first, with whom, 
My noble son Sarpedon. Peleus' son, 
Resentful of Patroclus' death, shall slay 
Hector, and I will urge ceaseless, myself, 
Thenceforth the routed Trojans back again, 
Till by Minerva's aid the Greeks shall take 
Ilium's proud city ; till that day arrive 
My wrath shall burn, nor will I one permit 
Of all the immortals to assist the Greeks, 
But will perform Achilles' whole desire. 
Such was my promise to him at the first, 
Ratified by a nod that self-same day 
When Thetis clasp'd my knees, begging revenge 
And glory for her city-spoiler son. 


He ended ; nor his spouse white-arm'd refused 
Obedience, but from the Ideean heights 
Departing, to the Olympian summit soar'd. 
Swift as the traveller's thought, who, many a land 
Traversed, deliberates on his future course 
Uncertain, and his mind sends every way, 
So swift updarted Juno to the skies. 
Arrived on the Olympian heights, she found 
The gods assembled ; they, at once, their seats 
At her approach forsaking, with full cups 
Her coming hail'd ; heedless of all beside, 
She took the cup from blooming Themis' hand, 
For she first flew to welcome her, and thus 
In accents wing'd of her return enquired. 

Say, Juno, why. this sudden re-ascent, 
Thou seem'st dismay'd; hath Saturn's son, thy 

spouse ? 
Driven thee affrighted to the skies again ? 

To whom the white-arm'd goddess thus replied. 
Themis divine, ask not. Full well thou know'st 
How harshly temper'd is the mind of Jove, 
And how untractable. Resume thy seat ; 
The banquet calls thee ; at our board preside. 
Thou shalt be told, and all in heaven shall hear 
What ills he threatens ; such as shall not leave 
All minds at ease, I judge, here or on earth, 
However tranquil some and joyous now. 

So spake the awful spouse of Jove, and sat. 
Then, all alike, the gods displeasure felt 
Throughout the courts of Jove, but she, her lips 
Gracing with smiles from which her sable brows 
Dissented, thus, indignant them address'd. 

Alas ! how vain against the Thunderer's will 
Our anger, and the hope to supersede 
His purpose, by persuasion or by force ! 
He solitary sits, all unconcern'd 
At our resentment, and himself proclaims 
Mightiest and most to be revered in heaven. 
Be patient, therefore, and let each endure 
Such ills as Jove may send him. Mars, I ween, 
Already hath his share ; the warrior god 
Hath lost Ascalaphus, of all mankind 
His most beloved, and whom he calls his own. 

She spake, and with expanded palms his thighs 
Smiting, thus, sorrowful, the god exclaim'd. 

Inhabitants of the Olympian heights ! 
Oh bear with me, if to avenge my son 
I seek Achaia's fleet, although my doom 
Be thunder-bolts from Jove, and with the dead 
Outstretch'd to lie in carnage and in dust. 

He spake, and bidding Horror and Dismay 
Lead to the yoke his rapid steeds, put on 
His all-refulgent armour. Then had wrath 
More dreadful, some strange vengeance on the gods 
From Jove befallen, had not Minerva, touch'd 
With timely fears for all, upstarting sprung 
From where she sat, right through the vestibule. 
She snatch'd the helmet from his brows, the shield 
From his broad shoulder, and the brazen spear 
Forced from his grasp into its place restored. 
Then reprimanding Mars, she thus began. 

Frantic, delirious ! thou art lost for ever ! 
Is it in vain that thou hast ears to hear, 
And hast thou neither shame nor reason left ? 
How ? hear'st thou not the goddess ? the report 
Of white-arm'd Juno from Olympian Jove 
Return'd this moment % or preferr'st thou rather, 
Plagued with a thousand woes, and under force 
Of sad necessity to seek again 
Olympus, and at thy return to prove 


338 


THE ILIAD. 


Author of countless miseries to us all ? 

For he at once Greecians and Trojans both 

Abandoning, will hither haste prepared 

To tempest l us in heaven, whom he will seize, 

The guilty and the guiltless, all alike. 

I bid thee, therefore, patient bear the death 

Of thy Ascalaphus ; braver than he 

And abler have, ere now, in battle fallen, 

And shall hereafter ; arduous were the task 

To rescue from the stroke of fate, the race 

Of mortal men, with all their progeny. 

So saying, Minerva on his throne replaced 
The fiery Mars. Then, summoning abroad 
Apollo from within the hall of Jove, 
With Iris, swift embassadress of heaven, 
Them in wiug'd accents Juno thus bespake. 

Jove bids you hence with undelaying speed 
To Ida ; in his presence once arrived, 
See that ye execute his whole command. 

So saying, the awful goddess to her throne 
Return'd and sat. They, cleaving swift the air, 
Alighted soon on Ida fountain-fed, 
Parent of savage kinds. High on the point 
Seated of Gargarus, and wrapt around 
With fragrant clouds, they found Saturnian Jove 
The Thunderer, and in his presence stood. 
He, nought displeased that they his high command 
Had with such readiness obey'd, his speech 
To Iris, first, in accents wing'd address'd. 

Swift Iris, haste — to royal Neptune bear 
My charge entire ; falsify not the word. 
Bid him, relinquishing the fight, withdraw 
Either to heaven, or to the boundless deep. 
But should he disobedient prove, and scorn 
My message, let him, next, consider well 
How he will bear, powerful as he is, 
My coming. Me I boast superior far 
In force, and elder-born ; yet deems he slight 
The danger of comparison with me, 
Who am the terror of all heaven beside. 

He spake, nor storm-wing'd Iris disobey'd, 
But down from the Idsean summit stoop'd 
To sacred Ilium. As when snow or hail 
Flies drifted by the cloud-dispelling north, 
So swiftly, wing'd with readiness of will, 
She shot the gulf between, and standing soon 
At glorious Neptune's side, him thus address'd. 

To thee, Neptune, azure-hair'd ! I come 
With tidings charged from segis-bearing Jove. 
He bids thee cease from battle, and retire 
Either to heaven, or to the boundless deep. 
But shouldst thou, disobedient, set at nought 
His words, he threatens that himself will haste 
To fight against thee ; but he bids thee shun 
That strife with one superior far to thee, 
And elder-born ; yet deem'st thou slight, he saith, 
The danger of comparison with him, 
Although the terror of all heaven beside. 

Her then the mighty shaker of the shores 
Answer'd indignant. Great as is his power, 
Yet he hath spoken proudly, threatening me 
With force, high-born and glorious as himself. 
We are three brothers ; Saturn is our sire, 
And Rhea brought us forth ; first, Jove she bore ; 
Me next ; then, Pluto, sovereign of the shades. 

1 To tempest — KvhoipL-'qowv — Milton uses tempest as a 
verb. Speaking of the fishes, he says 

part, huge of bulk 

Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait, 
Tempest the ocean. 


By distribution tripart we received 
Each his peculiar honours ; me the lots 
Made ruler of the hoary floods, and there 
I dwell for ever. Pluto, for his part, 
The regions took of darkness ; and the heavens, 
The clouds, and boundless ether, fell to Jove. 
The earth and the Olympian heights alike 
Are common to the three. My life and being 
I hold not, therefore, at his will, whose best 
And safest course, with all his boasted power, 
Were to possess in peace his proper third. 
Let him not seek to terrify with force 
Me like a dastard ; let him rather chide 
His own-begotten ; with big-sounding words 
His sons and daughters govern, who perforce ' 
Obey his voice, and shrink at his commands. 

To whom thus Iris tempest-wing'd replied. 
Coerulean-tressed sovereign of the deep 1 
Shall I report to Jove, harsh as it is, 
Thy speech, or wilt thou soften it ? The wise 
Are flexible, and on the elder-born 
Erinnys, with her vengeful sisters, waits. 

Her answer'd then the shaker of the shores. 
Prudent is thy advice, Iris divine ! 
Discretion in a messenger is good 
At all times. But the cause that fires me thus, 
And with resentment my whole heart and mind 
Possesses, is the license that he claims 
To vex with provocation rude of speech 
Me his compeer, and by decree of fate 
Illustrious as himself ; yet, though incensed, 
And with just cause, I will not now persist. 
But hear — for it is treasured in my heart 
The threat that my lips utter. If he still 
Resolve to spare proud Ilium in despite 
Of me, of Pallas, goddess of the spoils, 
Of Juno, Mercury, and the king of fire, 
And will not overturn her lofty towers, 
Nor grant immortal glory to the Greeks, 
Then tell him thus — Hostility shall burn, 
And wrath between us never to be quench'd. 

So saying, the shaker of the shores forsook 
The Greecian host, and plunged into the deep, 
Miss'd by Achaia's heroes. Then, the cloud- 
Assembler god thus to Apollo spake. 

Hence, my Apollo ! to the Trojan chief 
Hector ; for earth-encircler Neptune, awed 
By fear of my displeasure imminent, 
Hath sought the sacred deep. Else, all the gods 
Who compass Saturn in the nether realms, 
Had even there our contest heard, I ween, 
And heard it loudly. But that he retreats 
Although at first incensed, shunning my wrath, 
Is salutary both for him and me, [ease. 

Whose difference else had not been heal'd with 
Take thou my shaggy aegis, and with force 
Smiting it, terrify the chiefs of Greece. 
As for illustrious Hector, him I give 
To thy peculiar care ; fail not to rouse 
His fiercest courage, till he push the Greeks 
To Hellespont, and to their ships again ; 
Thenceforth to yield to their afflicted host 
Some pause from toil, shall be my own concern. 

He ended, nor Apollo disobey'd 
His father's voice ; from the Idsean heights, 
Swift as the swiftest of the fowls of air, 
The dove-destroying falcon, down he flew. 
The noble Hector, valiant Priam's son 
He found, not now extended on the plain, 
But seated ; newly, as from death, awaked, 


THE ILIAD. 


.339 


And conscious of his friends ; freely he breathed 
Nor sweated more, by Jove himself revived. 
Apollo stood beside him, and began. 

Say, Hector, Priam's son ! why sittest here 
Feeble and spiritless, and from thy host 
Apart ? what new disaster hath befallen ? 

To whom with difficulty thus replied 
The warlike chief. — But tell me who art thou, 
Divine enquirer ! best of powers above ! 
Know'st not that dauntless Ajax me his friends 
Slaughtering at yonder ships, hath with a stone 
Surceased from fight, smiting me on the breast ? 
I thought to have beheld, this day, the dead 
In Ades, every breath so seem'd my last. 

Then answer thus the archer god return'd; 
Courage this moment ! such a helper Jove 
From Ida sends thee at thy side to war 
Continual, Phoebus of the golden sword, 
Whose guardian aid both thee and lofty Troy 
Hath succour'd many a time. Therefore arise ! 
Instant bid drive thy numerous charioteers 
Their rapid steeds full on the Greecian fleet ; 
I, marching at their head, will smooth, myself, 
The way before them, and will turn again 
To flight the heroes of the host of Greece. 

He said and with new strength the chief inspired. 
As some stall'd horse high -pamper'd, snapping short 
His cord, beats under foot the sounding soil, 
Accustom'd in smooth-sliding streams to lave 
Exulting ; high he bears his head, his mane 
Wantons around his shoulders ; pleased, he eyes 
His glossy sides, and borne on pliant knees 
Soon finds the haunts where all his fellows graze ; 
So bounded Hector, and his agile joints 
Plied lightly, quicken'd by the voice divine, 
And gather'd fast his charioteers to battle. 
But as when hounds and hunters through the woods 
Rush in pursuit of stag or of wild goat, 
He, in some cave with tangled boughs o'erhung, 
Lies safe conceal' d, no destined prey of theirs, 
Till by their clamours roused, a lion grim 
Starts forth to meet them ; then, the boldest fly ; 
Such hot pursuit the Dana'i, with swords 
And spears of double edge long time maintain'd, 
But seeing Hector in his ranks again 
Occupied, felt at once their courage fallen. 

Then, Thoas them, Andraemon's son, address'd, 
Foremost of the ^Etolians, at the spear 
Skilful, in stationary combat bold, 
And when the sons of Greece held in dispute 
The prize of eloquence, excell'd by few. 
Prudent advising them, he thus began. 

Ye gods ! what prodigy do I behold ? 
Hath Hector, 'scaping death, risen again ? 
For him, with confident persuasion all 
Believed by Telamonian Ajax slain. 
But some divinity hath interposed 
To rescue and save Hector, who the joints 
Hath stiffen'd of full many a valiant Greek, 
As surely now he shall ; for, not without 
The Thunderer's aid, he flames in front again. 
But take ye all my counsel. Send we back 
The multitude into the fleet, and first 
Let us, who boast ourselves bravest in fight, 
Stand, that encountering him with lifted spears, 
We may attempt to give his rage a check. 
To thrust himself into a band like ours 
Will, doubtless, even in Hector move a fear. 

He ceased, with whose advice all, glad, complied. 
Then Ajax with Idomeneus of Crete. 


Teucer, Meriones, and Meges fierce 

As Mars in battle, summoning aloud 

The noblest Greeks, in opposition firm 

To Hector and his host their bands prepared, 

While others all into the fleet retired. 

Troy's crowded host' struck first. With awful 

Came Hector foremost ; him Apollo led, [strides 

His shoulders wrapt in clouds, and, on his arm, 

The segis shagg'd terrific all around, 

Tempestuous, dazzling-bright ; it was a gift 

To Jove from Vulcan, and design'd to appal, 

And drive to flight the armies of the earth. 

Arm'd with that shield Apollo led them on. 

Firm stood the embodied Greeks ; from either host 

Shrill cries arose ; the arrows from the nerve 

Leap'd, and, by vigorous arms dismiss'd, the spears 

Flew frequent ; in the flesh some stood infix'd 

Of warlike youths, but many, ere they reach'd 

The mark they coveted, unsated fell 

Between the hosts, and rested in the soil. 

Long as the god unagitated held 

The dreadful disk, so long the vollied darts 

Made mutual slaughter, and the people fell ; 

But when he look'd the Greecian charioteers 

Full in the face and shook it, raising high 

Himself the shout of battle, then he quell'd 

Their spirits, then he struck from every mind 

At once all memory of their might in arms. 

As when two lions in the still dark night 

A herd of beeves scatter or numerous flock 

Suddenly, in the absence of the guard, 

So fled the heartless Greeks, for Phoebus sent 

Terrours among them, but renown conferr'd 

And triumph proud on Hector and his host. 

Then, in that foul disorder of the field, 

Man singled man* Arcesilaiis died 

By Hector's arm, and Stichius ; one, a chief 2 

Of the Boeotians brazen-mail'd, and one, 

Menestheus' faithful follower to the fight. 

./Eneas Medon and Iiisus slew. 

Medon was spurious offspring of divine 

O'fleus Ajax' father, and abode 

In Phylace ; for he had slain a chief 

Brother of Eriopis the espoused 

Of brave Oileus ; but Lisus led 

A phalanx of Athenians, and the son 

Of Sphelus, son of Bucolus was deem'd. 

Pierced by Polydamas Mecisteus fell. 

Polites, in the van of battle, slew 

Echion, and Agenor Clonius ; 

But Paris, while De'iochus to flight 

Turn'd with the routed van, pierced him beneath 

His shoulder-blade, and urged the weapon through. 

While them the Trojans spoil'd, meantime the J 
Entangled in the piles of the deep foss, [Greeks, 
Fled every way, and through necessity 
Repass'd the wall. Then Hector with a voice 
Of loud command bade every Trojan cease 
From spoil, and rush impetuous on the fleet. 
3 And whom I find far lingering from the ships 
Wherever, there he dies ; no funeral fires 
Brother on him, or sister, shall bestow, 
But dogs shall rend him in the sight of Troy. 

So saying, he lash'd the shoulders of his steeds, 

1 TpcDe? Se ■7rpovrv\pav doAAees. The translation is 
literal, and affords one of many instances in which the 
Greek and English idiom correspond exactly. 

2 Arcesilaus. 

3 This abruptness of transition from the third person to 
the first, follows the original. 

z2 


340 


THE ILIAD. 


And through the ranks vociferating, call'd 

His Trojans on ; they, clamorous as he, 

All lash'd their steeds, and menacing, advanced. 

Before them with his feet Apollo push'd 

The banks into the loss, bridging the gulf 

With pass commodious, both in length and breadth 

A lance's flight, for proof of vigour hurl'd. 

There, phalanx after phalanx, they their host 

Pour'd dense along, while Phoebus in the van 

Display'd the awful aegis, and the wall 

Level'd with ease divine. As, on the shore 

Some wanton boy with sand builds plaything walls, 

Then, sportive, spreads them with his feet abroad, 

So thou, shaft-arm'd Apollo ! that huge work 

Laborious of the Greeks didst turn with ease 

To ruin, and themselves drovest all to flight. 

They, thus enforced into the fleet, again 

Stood fast, with mutual exhortation each 

His friend encouraging, and all the gods 

With lifted hands soliciting aloud. 

But, more than all, Gerenian Nestor pray'd 

Fervent, Achaia's guardian, and with arms 

Outstretch'd toward the starry skies, exclaim'd. 

Jove, father ! if in corn-clad Argos, one, 
One Greek hath ever, burning at thy shrine 
Fat thighs of sheep or oxen, ask'd from thee 
A safe return, whom thou hast gracious heard, 
Olympian king ; and promised what he sought, 
Now, in remembrance of it, give us help 
In this disastrous day, nor thus permit 
Their Trojan foes to tread the Greecians down ! 

So Nestor pray'd, and Jove thunder'd aloud 
Responsive to the old NeleVan's prayer. 
But when that voice of aegis-bearing Jove 
The Trojans heard, more furious on the Greeks 
They sprang, all mindful of the fight. As when 
A turgid billow of some spacious sea, 
While the wind blows that heaves its highest, borne 
Sheer o'er the vessel's side, rolls into her, 
With such loud roar the Trojans pass'd the wall ; 
In rush'd the steeds, and at the ships they waged 
Fierce battle hand to hand, from chariots, these, 
With spears of double edge, those, from the decks 
Of many a sable bark, with naval poles 
Long, ponderous, shod with steel ; for every ship 
Had such, for conflict maritime prepared. 

While yet the battle raged only without 
The wall, and from the ships apart, so long 
Patroclus quiet in the tent and calm 
Sat of Eurypylus, his generous friend 
Consoling with sweet converse, and his wound 
Sprinkling with drugs assuasive of his pains. 
But soon as through the broken rampart borne 
He saw the Trojans, and the clamour heard 
And tumult of the flying Greeks, a voice 
Of loud lament uttering, with open palms 
His thighs he smote, and sorrowful exclaim'd. 

Eurypylus ! although thy need be great, 
No longer may I now sit at thy side, 
Such contest hath arisen ; thy servant's voice 
Must soothe thee now, for I will to the tent 
Haste of Achilles, and exhort him forth ; 
Who knows ? if such the pleasure of the gods, 
I may prevail ; friends rarely plead in vain. 

So saying, he went. Meantime the Greeks 
endured 
The Trojan onset, firm, yet from the ships 
Repulsed them not, though fewer than themselves, 
Nor could the host of Troy, breaking the ranks 
Of Greece, mix either with the camp or fleet ; 


But as the line divides the plank aright, 
Stretch'd by some naval architect, whose hand 
Minerva hath accomplish'd in his art, 
So stretch'd on them the cord of battle lay. 
Others at other ships the conflict waged, 
But Hector to the ship advanced direct 
Of glorious Ajax ; for one ship they strove ; 
Nor Hector, him dislodging thence, could fire 
The fleet, nor Ajax from the fleet repulse 
Hector, conducted thither by the gods. 
Then, noble Ajax with a spear the breast 
Pierced of Caletor, son of Clytius, arm'd 
With fire to burn his bark ; sounding he fell, 
And from his loosen'd grasp down dropp'd the 
But Hector seeing his own kinsman fallen [brand. 
Beneath the sable bark, with mighty voice 
Call'd on the hosts of Lycia and of Troy. 

Trojans and Lycians, and close-fighting sons 
Of Dardanus, within this narrow pass 
Stand firm, retreat not, but redeem the son 
Of Clytius, lest the Greecians of his arms 
Despoil him slain in battle at the ships. 

So saying, at Ajax his bright spear he cast. 
Him pierced he not, but Lycophron the son 
Of Mastor, a Cytherian, who had left 
Cytherae, fugitive for blood, and dwelt 
With Ajax. Him standing at Ajax' side, 
He pierced above his ear ; down from the stern 
Supine he fell, and in the dust expired. 
Then, shuddering, Ajax to his brother spake. 

Alas, my Teucer ! we have lost our friend ; 
Mastorides is slain, whom we received 
An inmate from Cytherae, and with love 
And reverence even filial, entertain'd ; 
By Hector pierced, he dies. Where are thy shafts 
Death-wing'd, and bow, by gift from Phoebus thine ? 

He said, whom Teucer hearing, instant ran 
With bow and well-stored quiver to his side, 
Whence soon his arrows sought the Trojan host. 
He struck Pisenor's son Clytus, the friend 
And charioteer of brave Polydamas, 
Offspring of Panthus, toiling with both hands 
To rule his fiery steeds ; for more to please 
The Trojans and their chief, where stormy most 
He saw the battle, thither he had driven. 
But sudden mischief, valiant as he was, 
Found him, and such as none could waft aside. 
For right into his neck the arrow plunged, 
And down he fell ; his startled coursers shook 
Their trappings, and the empty chariot rang. 
That sound alarm'd Polydamas ; he turn'd, 
And flying to their heads, consign'd them o'er 
To Protiadn's son, Astynoiis, 
Whom he enjoin'd to keep them in his view, 
Then, turning, mingled with the van again. 
But Teucer still another shaft produced 
Design'd for valiant Hector, whose exploits 
(Had that shaft reach'd him) at the ships of Greece 
Had ceased for ever. But the eye of Jove, 
Guardian of Hector's life, slept not ; he took 
From Telamonian Teucer that renown, 
And while he stood straining the twisted nerve 
Against the Trojan, snapp'd it. Devious flew 
The steel-charged ' arrow, and he dropp'd his bow. 
Then, shuddering, to his brother thus he spake. 


1 The translator hopes that his learned readers will par- 
don him, if sometimes, to avoid an irksome cacophony, 
lie turns brass into steel. In fact, the arrow had not a 
point of steel, but a brazen one. 


THE ILIAD. 


341 


Ah ! it is evident. Some power divine 
Makes fruitless all our efforts, who hath struck 
My bow out of my hand, and snapt the cord 
With which I strung it new at dawn of day, 
That it might bear the bound of many a shaft.. 

To whom the towering son of Telamon. 
Leave then thy bow,, and let thine arrows rest, 
Which, envious of the Greeks, some god confounds, 
That thou may'st fight with spear and buckler arm'd, 
And animate the rest. Such be our deeds 
That, should they conquer us, our foes may find 
Our ships, at least a prize not lightly won. 

So Ajax spake: then Teucer, in his tent 
The bow replacing, slung his fourfold shield, 
Settled on his illustrious brows his casque 
With hair high-crested, waving, as he moved, 
Terrible from above, took forth a spear 
Tough-grain'd acuminated sharp with brass, 
And stood, incontinent, at Ajax' side. 
Hector perceived the change, and of the cause 
Conscious, with echoing voice call'd to his host. 

Trojans and Lycians and close-fighting sons 
Of Dardanus, oh now, my friends, be men,. 
Now, wheresoever through the fleet dispersed, 
Call into mind the fury of your might ! 
For I have seen, myself, Jove rendering vain 
The arrows of their mightiest. Man may know 
With ease the hand of interposing Jove, 
Both whom to glory he ordains, and whom 
He weakens and aids not ; so now he leaves 
The Greecians, but propitious smiles on us. 
Therefore stand fast, and whosoever gall'd 
By arrow or by spear, dies — Let him die ; 
It shall not shame him that he died to serve 
His country, but his children, wife and home, 
With all his heritage, shall be secure, 
Drive but the Greecians from the shores of Troy. 
So saying, he animated each. Meantime,. 
Ajax his fellow-warriors thus address'd. 

Shame on you all ! Now, Greecians, either die, 
Or save at once your galley and yourselves. 
Hope ye, that should your ships become the prize 
Of warlike Hector, ye shall yet return 
On foot ? Or hear ye not the chief aloud 
Summoning all his host, and publishing 
His own heart's wish to burn your fleet with fire % 
Not to a dance, believe me, but to fight 
He calls them ; therefore wiser course for us 
Is none, than that we mingle hands with hands 
In contest obstinate, and force with force. 
Better at. once to perish, or at once 
To rescue life, than to consume the time 
Hour after hour in lingering conflict vain 
Here at the ships, with an inferior foe. 

He said, and by his words into all hearts 
Fresh confidence infused. Then Hector smote 
Schedius, a chief of the Phocensian powers 
And son of Perimedes ; Ajax slew, 
Meantime, a chief of Trojan infantry, 
Laodamas, Antenor's noble son, 
While by Polydamas, a leader bold 
Of the Epeans, and Phylides' 1 friend, 
Cyllenian Otus died. Meges that sight 
Viewing indignant on the conqueror sprang, 
But, starting wide, Polydamas escaped, 
Saved by Apollo, and his spear transpierced 
The breast of Croesmus ; on his sounding shield 
Prostrate he fell, and Meges stripp'd his arms. 

» Meges. 


Him so employ'd Dolops assail'd, brave son 

Of Lampus, best of men and bold in fight, 

Offspring of king Laomedon ; he stood 

Full near, and through his middle buckler struck 

The son of Phyleus, but his corslet thick 

With plates of scaly brass his life secured. 

That corslet Phyleus on a time brought home 

From Ephyre, where the Selleis winds, 

And it was given him for his life's defence 

In furious battle by the king of men, 

Euphetes. Many a time had it preserved 

Unharm'd the sire, and now it saved the son. 

Then Meges, rising, with his pointed lance 

The bushy crest of Dolops' helmet drove 

Sheer from its base ; new tinged with purple bright 

Entire it fell and mingled with the dust. 

While thus they strove, each hoping victory, 

Came martial Menelaus to the aid 

Of Meges ; spear in hand apart he stood 

By Dolops unperceived, through his back drove 

And through his breast the spear, and far beyond, 

And down fell Dolops, forehead to the ground. 

At once both flew to strip his radiant arms. 

Then, Hector summoning his kindred, call'd 

Each to his aid, and Melanippus first, 

Illustrious Hicetaon's son, reproved. 

Ere yet the enemies of Troy arrived 

He in Percote fed his wandering beeves, 

But when the Dana'i with all their fleet 

Came thither, then returning, he outshone 

The noblest Trojans, and at Priam's side 

Dwelling, was honour'd by him as a son. 

Him Hector reprimanding, stern began. 

Are we thus slack \ Can Melanippus view 
Unmoved a kinsman slain ? Seest not the Greeks 
How busy there with Dolops and his arms \ 
Come on. It is no time for distant war, 
But either our Achaian foes must bleed, 
Or Ilium taken, from her topmost height 
Must stoop, and all her citizens be slain. 

So saying he went, whose steps the godlike chief 
Attended, and the Telamonian, next, 
Huge Ajax, animated thus the Greeks. 

Oh friends, be men ! Deep treasure in your hearts 
An honest shame, and, fighting bravely, fear 
Each to incur the censure of the rest. 
Of men so minded more survive than die, 
While dastards forfeit life and glory both. 

So moved he them, themselves already bent 
To chase the Trojans ; yet his word they bore 
Faithful in mind, and with a wall of brass 
Fenced firm the fleet, while Jove impell'd the foe. 
Then Menelaus, brave in fight, approach'd 
Antilochus, and thus his courage roused. 

Antilochus ! in all the host is none 
Younger, or swifter, or of stronger limb 
Than thou. Make trial, therefore, of thy might, 
Spring forth and prove it on some chief of Troy. 

He ended and retired, but him his praise 
Effectual animated ; from the van 
Starting, he cast a wistful eye around, 
And hurl'd his glittering spear ; back fell the ranks 
Of Troy appall' d ; nor vain his weapon flew, 
But Melanippus pierced heroic son 
Of Hicetaon, coming forth to fight, 
Full in the bosom, and with dreadful sound 
Of all his batter'd armour down he fell. 
Swift flew Antilochus as flies the hound 
Some fawn to seize, which issuing from her lair 
The hunter with his lance hath stricken dead, 


342 


THE ILIAD. 


So thee, Melanippus ! to despoil 

Of thy bright arms valiant Antilochus 

Sprang forth, but not unnoticed by the eye 

Of noble Hector, who through all the war 

Ran to encounter him ; his dread approach 

Antilochus, although expert in arms, 

Stood not, but as some prowler of the wilds, 

Conscious of injury that he hath done, 

Slaying the watchful herdsman or his dog, 

Escapes, ere yet the peasantry arise, 

So fled the son of Nestor, after whom 

The Trojans clamouring and Hector pour'd 

Darts numberless ; but at the front arrived 

Of his own phalanx, there he turn'd and stood. 

Then, eager as voi'acious lions, rush'd 

The Trojans on the fleet of Greece, the mind 

Of Jove accomplishing who them impell'd 

Continual, calling all their courage forth, 

While every Greecian heart he tamed, and took 

Their glory from them, strengthening Ilium's host 

For Jove's unalter'd purpose was to give 

Success to Priameian Hector's arms, 

That he might cast into the fleet of Greece 

Devouring flames, and that no part might fail 

Of Thetis' ruthless prayer ; that sight alone 

He watch'd to see, one galley in a blaze, 

Ordaining foul repulse, thenceforth, and flight 

To Ilium's host, but glory to the Greeks. 

Such was the cause for which, at first, he moved 

To that assault Hector himself, prepared 

And ardent for the task ; nor less he raged 

Than Mars while fighting, or than flames that seize 

Some forest on the mountain-tops ; the foam 

Hung at his lips, beneath his awful front 

His keen eyes glisten'd, and his helmet mark'd 

The agitation wild with which he fought. 

For Jove omnipotent, himself, from heaven 

Assisted Hector, and, although alone 

With multitudes he strove, gave him to reach 

The heights of glory, for that now his life 

Waned fast, and, urged by Pallas on, his hour 

To die by Peleus' mighty son approach'd. 

He then, wherever richest arms he saw 

And thickest throng, the warrior-ranks essay'd 

To break, but broke them not, though fierce resolved, 

In even square compact so firm they stood. 

As some vast rock beside the hoary deep 

The stress endures of many a hollow wind, 

And the huge billows tumbling at his base, 

So stood the DanaV, nor fled nor fear'd. 

But he, all-fiery bright in arms, the host 

Assail'd on every side, and on the van 

Fell, as a wave by wintery blasts upheaved 

Falls ponderous on the ship ; white clings the foam 

Around her, in her sail shrill howls the storm, 

And every seaman trembles at the view 

Of thousand deaths from which he scarce escapes, 

Such anguish rent the bosom of the Greeks. 

1 But he, as leaps a famish'd lion fell 

On beeves that graze some marshy meadow's breadth 

A countless herd, tended by one unskill'd 

To cope with savage beasts in their defence, 

Beside the foremost kino or with the last 

He paces heedless, but the lion, borne 

Impetuous on the midmost, one devours 

And scatters all the rest 1 , so fled the Greeks, 


1 This termination of the period, so little consonant 
to the beginning of it, follows the original, where it is 
esteemed by commentators a great beauty. 


Terrified from above, before the arm 
Of Hector, and before the frown of Jove. 
All fled, but of them all alone he slew 
The Mycensean Periphetes, sou 
Of Copreus custom 'd messenger of king 
Eurystheus to the might of Hercules. 
From such a sire inglorious had arisen 
A son far worthier, with all virtue graced, 
Swift -footed, valiant, and by none excell'd 
In Avisdom of the Mycenaean name ; 
Yet all but served to ennoble Hector more. 
For Periphetes, with a backward step 
Retiring, on his buckler's border trod, 
Which swept his heels ; so check'd, he fell supine, 
And dreadful rang the helmet on his brows. 
Him Hector quick noticing, to his side 
Hasted, and, planting in his breast a spear, 
Slew him before the phalanx of his friends. 
But they, although their fellow- warrior's fate 
They mourn'd, no succour interposed, or could, 
Themselves by noble Hector sore appall'd. 
And now behind the ships (all that updrawn 
Above the shore, stood foremost of the fleet) 
The Greeks retired ; in rush'd a flood of foes ; 
Then, through necessity, the ships in front 
Abandoning, amid the tents they stood 
Compact, not disarray' d, for shame and fear 
Fast held them, and vociferating each 
Aloud, call'd ceaseless on the rest to stand. 
But earnest more than all, guardian of all, 
Gerenian Nestor in their parent's name 
Implored them, falling at the knees of each. 

Oh friends ! be men. Now dearly prize your place 
Each in the estimation of the rest. 
Now call to memory your children, wives, 
Possessions, parents ; ye whose parents live, 
And ye whose parents are not, all alike ! 
By them as if here present, I entreat 
That ye stand fast,— Oh be not turn'd to flight ! 

So. saying he roused the courage of the Greeks; 
Then, Pallas chased the cloud fallen from above 
On every eye ; great light the plain illumed 
On all sides, both toward the fleet, and where 
The undiscriminating battle raged. 
Then might be seen Hector and Hector's host 
Distinct, as well the rearmost who the fight 
Shared not, as those who waged it at the ships. 
To stand aloof where other Greecians stood 
No longer now would satisfy the mind 
Of Ajax, but from deck to deck with strides 
Enormous marching, to and fro he swung 
With iron studs emboss'd a battle-pole 
Unwieldy, twenty and two cubits long. 
As one, expert to spring from horse to horse, 
From many steeds selecting four, toward 
Some noble city drives them from the plain 
Along the populous road : him many a youth 
And many a maiden eyes, while still secure 
From steed to steed he vaults ; they rapid fly ; 
So Ajax o'er the decks of numerous ships 
Stalk' d striding large, and sent his voice to heaven. 
Thus, ever clamouring, he bade the Greeks 
Stand both for camp and fleet. Nor could himself 
Hector, contented, now, the battle wage 
Lost in the multitude of Trojans more, 
But as the tawny eagle on full wing 
Assails the feather' d nations, geese or cranes 
Or swans lithe-neck'd grazing the river's verge, 
So Hector at a galley sable-prow'd 
Darted ; for, from behind, Jove urged him on 


THE ILIAD. 


343 


With mighty hand, and his host after him. 

And now again the battle at the ships 

Grew furious ; thou hadst deem'd them of a kind 

By toil untameable, so fierce they strove, 

And, striving, thus they thought. The Greecians 

judged 
Hope vain, and the whole host's destruction sure ; 
But nought expected every Trojan less 
Than to consume the fleet with fire, and leave 
Achaia's heroes lifeless on the field. 
With such persuasion occupied, they fought. 

Then Hector seized the stern of a brave bark 
Well-built, sharp-keel'd, and of the swiftest sail, 
Which had to Troy Protesiliius brought, 
But bore him never thence. For that same ship 
Contending, Greeks and Trojans hand to hand 
Dealt slaughter mutual. Javelins now no more 
Might serve them, or the arrow-starting bow, 
But close conflicting and of one mind all 
With bill and battle-axe, with ponderous swords 
And with long lances double-edged they fought. 
Many a black-hilted falchion huge of haft 
Fell to the ground, some from the grasp, and some 
From shoulders of embattled warriors hewn, 
And pools of blood soak'd all the sable glebe. 
Hector that ship once grappled by the stern 
Left not, but griping fast her upper edge 
With both hands, to his Trojans call'd aloud. 

Fire ! Bring me fire ! Stand fast and shout to 
heaven ! 
Jove gives us now a day worth all the past ; 
The ships are ours which, in the gods' despite 
Steer'd hither, such calamities to us 
Have caused, for which our seniors most I blame 
Who me withheld from battle at the fleet 
And check'd the people ; but if then the hand 
Of Thunderer Jove our better judgment marr'd, 
Himself now urges and commands us — On. 

He ceased ; they still more violent assail'd 
The Greecians. Even Ajax could endure, 
Whelm'd under weapons numberless, that storm 
No longer, but expecting death retired 
Down from the decks to an inferior stand, 
Where still he watch'd, and if a Trojan bore 
Fire thither, he repulsed him with his spear, 
Roaring continual to the host of Greece. 

Friends ! Greecian heroes ! ministers of Mars ! 
Be men, my friends ! now summon all your might ! 
Think we that we have thousands at our backs 
To succour us, or yet some stronger wall 
To guard our warriors from the battle's force ? 
Not so. No towered city is at hand, 
None that presents us with a safe retreat 
While others occupy our station here, 
But from the shores of Argos far remote 
Our camp is, where the Trojans arm'd complete 
Swarm on the plain, and ocean shuts us in. 
Our hands must therefore save us, not our heels. 

He said, and furious with his spear again 
Press'd them, and whatsoever Trojan came, 
Obsequious to the will of Hector, arm'd 
With fire to burn the fleet, on his spear's point 
Ajax receiving pierced him, till at length 
Twelve in close fight fell by his single arm. 


BOOK XVI. 

ARGUMENT. 

Achilles, at the suit of Patroclus, grants him his own 
armour, and permission to lead the Myrmidons to battle. 
They, sallying, repulse the Trojans. Patroclus slays 
Sarpedon, and Hector, when Apollo had first stripped 
off his armour and Euphorbus wounded him, slays 
Patroclus. 


Such contest for that gallant bark they waged. 

Meantime Patroclus, standing at the side 

Of the illustrious chief Achilles, wept 

Fast as a crystal fountain from the height 

Of some rude rock pours down its rapid x stream. 

Divine Achilles with compassion moved 

Mark'd him, and in wing'd accents thus began. 

Why weeps Patroclus like an infant girl 
Who, running at her mother's side, entreats 
To be uplifted in her arms ? She grasps 
Her mantle, checks her haste, and looking up 
With tearful eyes, pleads earnest to be borne ; 
So fall, Patroclus ! thy unceasing tears. 
Bring'st thou to me or to my people aught 
Afflictive ? Hast thou mournful tidings learn' d 
From Phthia, trusted to thine ear alone ? 
Menoetius, son of Actor, as they say, 
Still lives ; still lives his Myrmidons among 
Peleus JEacides ; whom, were they dead, 
With cause sufficient we should both deplore. 
Or weep'st thou the Achaians at the ships 
Perishing, for their outrage done to me ? 
Speak. Name thy trouble. I would learn the cause. 

To whom, deep-sorrowing, thou didst reply, 
Patroclus ! Oh Achilles, Peleus' son ! 
Noblest of all our host ! bear with my grief, 
Since such distress hath on the Greecians fallen. 
The bravest in their ships disabled lie, 
Some wounded from afar, some hand to hand. 
Diomede, warlike son of Tydeus, bleeds, 
Gall'd by a shaft ; Ulysses, glorious chief, 
And Agamemnon suffer by the spear, 
And brave Eurypylus an arrow-point 
Bears in his thigh. These all are now the care 
Of healing hands. Oh thou aii; pity-proof, 
Achilles ! be my bosom ever free 
From anger such as harbour finds in thine, 
Scorning all limits ! whom, of men unborn, 
Hereafter wilt thou save, from whom avert 
Disgrace, if not from the Achaians now t 
Ah ruthless ! neither Peleus thee begat, 
Nor Thetis bore, but rugged rocks sublime,. 
And roaring billows blue gave birth to thee, 
Who bear'st a mind that knows not to relent. 
But, if some prophecy alarm thy fears, 
If from thy goddess-mother thou have aught 
Received, and with authority of Jove, 
Me send at least, me quickly, and with me 
The Myrmidons. A dawn of cheerful hope 
Shall thence, it may be, on the Greeks arise. 
Grant me thine armour also, that the foe 
Thyself supposing present, may abstain 
From battle, and the weary Greeks enjoy 
Short respite ; it is all that war allows. 
We, fresh and vigorous, by our shouts alone 

i This translation of hvocpepbv is warranted by the 
Scholiast, who paraphrases it thus : — 

Herb SovTjcews <pep6[isvov. Iliad, per Vill. 


344 


THE ILIAD. 


May easily repulse an array spent 

With labour, from the camp, and from the fleet. 

Such suit he made, alas ! all unforewarn'd 
That his own death should be the bitter fruit, 
And thus Achilles, sorrowful, replied. 

Patroclus, noble friend ! what hast thou spoken ? 
Me neither prophecy that I have heard 
Holds in suspense, nor aught that I have learn'd 
From Thetis with authority of Jove ! 
Hence springs, and hence alone my grief of heart ; 
If one, in nought superior to myself 
Save in his office only, should by force 
Amerce me of ray well-earn'd recompense — 
How then \ There lies the grief that stings my 
The virgin chosen for me by the sons [soul. 

Of Greece, my just reward, by my own spear 
Obtain'd when I Eetion's city took, 
Her, Agamemnon, leader of the host 
From my possession wrung, as I had been 
Some alien wretch, unhonour'd and unknown. 
But let it pass ; anger is not a flame 
To feed for ever ; I affirm'd, indeed, 
Mine inextinguishable till the shout 
Of battle should invade my proper barks ; 
But thou put on my glorious arms, lead forth 
My valiant Myrmidons, since such a cloud, 
So dark, of dire hostility surrounds 
The fleet, and the Achaians, by the waves 
Hemm'd in, are prison'd now in narrow space. 
Because the Trojans meet not in the field 
My dazzling helmet, therefore bolder grown 
All Ilium comes abroad ; but had I found 
Kindness at royal Agamemnon's hands, 
Soon had they fled, and with their bodies choked 
The streams, from whom ourselves now suffer siege. 
For in the hands of Diomede his spear 
No longer rages rescuing from death 
The afflicted Danai, nor hear I more 
The voice of Agamemnon issuing harsh 
From his detested throat, but all around 
The burst l of homicidal Hector's cries, 
Calling his Trojans on ; they loud insult 
The vanquished Greeks, and claim the field their 
Go therefore, my Patroclus ; fimous fall [own. 
On these assailants, even now preserve 
From fire the only hope of our return. 
But hear the sura of all ; mark well my word ; 
So shalt thou glorify me in the eyes 
Of all the DanaV, and they shall yield 
Briseis mine, with many a gift beside. 
The Trojans from the fleet expell'd, return. 
Should Juno's awful spouse give thee to win 
Victory, be content ; seek not to press 
The Trojans without me, for thou shalt add 
Still more to the disgrace already mine. 
Much less, by martial ardour urged, conduct 
Thy slaughtering legions to the walls of Troy, 
Lest some immortal power on her behalf 
Descend, for much the archer of the skies 
Loves Ilium. No — the fleet once saved, lead back 
Thy band, and leave the battle to themselves. 
For oh, by all the powers of heaven I would 
That not one Trojan might escape of all, 
Nor yet a Greecian, but that we, from death 
Ourselves escaping, might survive to spread 
Troy's sacred bulwarks on the ground, alone. 
Thus they conferred. But Ajax overwhehn'd 


1 TTepid-ypuTai. A word of incomparable force, and 
that defies translation. 


Meantime with darts, no longer could endure, 

Q,uelPd both by Jupiter and by the spears 

Of many a noble Trojan ; hideous rang 

His batter'd helmet bright, stroke after stroke 

Sustaining on all sides, and his left arm 

That had so long shifted from side to side 

His restless shield, now fail'd ; yet could not all 

Displace him with united force, or move. 

Quick pantings heaved his chest, copious the sweat 

Ti'ickled from all his limbs, nor found he time, 

However short, to breathe again, so close 

Evil on evil heap'd hemm'd him around. 

Olympian Muses ! now declare, how first 
The fire was kindled in Achaia's fleet ? 

Hector the ashen lance of Ajax smote 
With his broad falchion, at the nether end, 
And lopp'd it sheer. The Telamonian chief 
His mutilated beam brandish'd in vain, 
And the bright point shrill-sounding fell remote. 
Then Ajax in his noble mind perceived, 
Shuddering with awe, the interposing power 
Of heaven, and that, propitious to the arms 
Of Troy, the Thunderer had ordain' d to mar 
And frustrate all the counsels of the Greeks. 
He left his stand ; they fired the gallant bark ; 
Through all her length the conflagration ran 
Incontinent, and wrapp'd her stern in flames. 
Achilles saw them, smote his thighs, and said, 

Patroclus, noble charioteer, arise 1 
I see the rapid run of hostile fires 
Already in the fleet — lest all be lost, 
And our return impossible, arm, arm 
This moment ; I will call, myself, the band. 

Then put Patroclus on his radiant arms. 
Around his legs his polish'd greaves he clasp'd, 
With argent studs secured ; the hauberk rich 
Star-spangled to his breast he bound of swift 
yEacides ; he slung his brazen sword 
With silver bright emboss'd, and his broad shield 
Ponderous ; on his noble head his casque 
He settled elegant, whose lofty crest 
Waved dreadful o'er his brows, and last he seized 
Well fitted to his gripe two sturdy spears. 
Of all Achilles' arms his spear alone 
He took not ; that huge beam, of bulk and length 
Enormous, none, yEacides except, 
In all Achaia's host had power to wield. 
It was that Pelian ash which from the top 
Of Pelion hewn that it might prove the death 
Of heroes, Chiron had to Peleus given. 
He bade Automedon his coursers bind 
Speedily to the yoke, for him he loved 
Next to Achilles most, as worthiest found 
Of trust, what time the battle loudest roar'd. 
Then led Automedon the fiery steeds 
Swift as wing'd tempests to the chariot-yoke, 
Xanthus and Balius. Them the harpy bore 
Podarge, while in meadows green she fed 
On ocean's side, to Zephyrus the wind. 
To these he added, at their side, a third 
The noble Pedasus ; him Peleus' son, 
Eetion's city taken, thence had brought, 
Though mortal, yet a match for steeds divine. 
Meantime from every tent Achilles call'd 
And arm'd his Myrmidons. As wolves that gorge 
The prey yet panting, terrible in force, 
When on the mountains wild they have devour'd 
An antler'd stag new-slain, with bloody jaws 
Troop all at once to some clear fountain, there 
To lap with slender tongues the brimming wave ; 


THE ILIAD. 


345 


No fears have they, but at their ease eject 
From full maws flatulent the clotted gore ; 
Such seem'd the Myrmidon heroic chief's 
Assembling fast around the valiant friend 
Of swift iEacides. Amid them stood 
Warlike Achilles, the well-shielded ranks 
Exhorting, and the steeds, to glorious war. 

The galleys by Achilles dear to Jove 
Commanded, when to Ilium's coast he steer'd, 
Were fifty ; fifty rowers sat in each, 
And five, in whom he trusted, o'er the rest 
He captains named, but ruled, himself, supreme. 
One band Menestheus swift in battle led, 
Offspring of Sperchius heaven-descended stream. 
Him Polydora, Peleus' daughter, bore 
To ever-flowing Sperchius, compress'd, 
Although a mortal woman, by a god. • 
But his reputed father was the son 
Of Perieres, Borus, who with dower 
Enrich'd, and made her openly his bride. 
Warlike Eudorus led the second band. 
Him Polymela, graceful in the dance, 
And daughter beautiful of Phylas, bore, 
A mother unsuspected of a child. 
Her worshiping the golden-shafted queen 
Diana, in full choir, with song and dance, 
The valiant Argicide beheld and loved. 
Ascending with her to an upper room, 
All-bounteous Mercury clandestine there 
Embraced her, who a noble son produced 
Eudorus, swift to run, and bold in fight. 
No sooner Ilithya, arbitress 
Of pangs puerperal, had given him birth, 
And he beheld the beaming sun, than her 
Echechleus, Actor's mighty son, enrich'd 
With countless dower, and led her to his home ; 
While ancient Phylas, cherishing her boy 
With fond affection, rear'd him as his own. 
The third brave troop warlike Pisander led, 
Offspring of Maimalus ; he far excell'd 
In spear-fight every Myrmidon, the friend 
Of Peleus' dauntless son alone except. 
The hoary Phoenix of equestrian fame 
The fourth band led to battle, and the fifth 
Laerceus' offspring, bold Alcimedon. 
Thus, all his bands beneath their proper chiefs 
Marshal'd, Achilles gave them strict command — 

Myrmidons ! all that vengeance now inflict, 
Which in this fleet ye ceased not to denounce 
Against the Trojans while my wrath endured. 
Me censuring, ye have proclaim 'd me oft 
Obdurate. Oh Achilles ! ye have said, 
Thee not with milk thy mother but with bile 
Suckled, who hold'st thy people here in camp 
Thus long imprison'd. Unrelenting chief ! 
Even let us hence in our sea-skimming barks 
To Phthia, since thou canst not be appeased — 
Thus in full council have ye spoken oft. 
Now, therefore, since a day of glorious toil 
At last appears, such as ye have desired, 
There lies the field — go — give your courage proof. 

So them he roused, and they, their leader's voice 
Hearing elate, to closest order drew. 
As when an architect some palace wall 
With shapely stones upbuilds, cementing close 
A barrier against all the winds of heaven, 
So wedged, the helmets and boss'd bucklers stood ; 
Shield, helmet, man, press'd helmet, man, and shield, 
And every bright- arm'd warrior's bushy crest 
Its fellow swept, so dense was their array. 


In front of all, two chiefs their station took, 

Patroclus and Automedon ; one mind 

In both prevail'd, to combat in the van 

Of all the Myrmidons. Achilles, then, 

Retiring to his tent, displaced the lid 

Of a capacious chest magnificent 

By silver-footed Thetis stow'd on board 

His bark, and fill'd with tunics, mantles warm, 

And gorgeous arras ; there he also kept 

Secure a goblet exquisitely wrought, 

Which never lip touch'd save his own, and whence 

He offer'd only to the sire of all. 

That cup producing from the chest, he first 

With sulphur fumed it, then with water rinsed 

Pellucid of the running stream, and, last 

(His hands clean laved) he charged it high with 

And now, advancing to his middle court, [wine. 

He pour'd libation, and with eyes to heaven 

Uplifted pray'd, of Jove not unobserved. 

Pelasgian, Dodonsean Jove supreme, 
Dwelling remote, who on Dodona's heights ' 
Snow-clad reign'st sovereign, by thy seers around 
Compass'd the Selli, prophets vow-constrain'd 
To unwash'd feet and slumbers on the ground ! 
Plain I behold my former prayer perform'd, 
Myself exalted, and the Greeks abased. 
Now also grant me, Jove, this my desire ! 
Here, in my fleet, I shall myself abide, 
But lo ! with all these Myrmidons I send 
My friend to battle. Thunder-rolling Jove, 
Send glory with him, make his courage firm ! 
That even Hector may himself be taught, 
If my companion have a valiant heart 
When he goes forth alone, or only then 
The noble frenzy feels that Mars inspires 
When I rush also to the glorious field. 
But when he shall have driven the battle-shout 
Once from the fleet, grant him with all his arms, 
None lost, himself unhurt, and my whole band 
Of dauntless warriors with him, safe return ! 

Such prayer Achilles offer'd, and his suit 
Jove hearing, part confirm'd, and part refused ; 
To chase the dreadful battle from the fleet 
He gave him, but vouchsafed him no return. 
Prayer and libation thus perform'd to Jove 
The sire of all, Achilles to his tent 
Return'd, replaced the goblet in his chest, 
And anxious still that conflict to behold 
Between the hosts, stood forth before his tent. 

Then rush'd the bands by brave Patroclus led, 
Full on the Trojan host. As wasps forsake 
Their home by the Avay-side, provoked by boys 
Disturbing inconsiderate their abode, 
Not without nuisance sore to all who pass, 
For if, thenceforth, some traveller unaware 
Annoy them, issuing one and all they swarm 
Around him, fearless in their broods' defence, 
So issued from their feet the Myrmidons 
Undaunted ; clamour infinite arose, 
And thus Patroclus loud his host address'd. 

Oh Myrmidons, attendants in the field 
On Peleus' son, now be ye men, my friends ! 
Call now to mind the fury of your might ; 
That we, close-fighting servants of the chief 
Most excellent in all the camp of Greece, 
May glory gain for him, and that the wide- ' 
Commanding Agamemnon, Atoeus' son, 
May learn his fault, that he dishonour' d foul 
The prince in whom Achaia glories most. 

So saying he fired their hearts, and on the van 


! 346 


THE ILIAD. 


Of Troy at once they fell ; loud shouted all 
The joyful Greecians, and the navy rang. 
Then, soon as Ilium's host the valiant son 
Saw of Mencetius and his charioteer 
In dazzling armour clad, all courage lost, 
Their closest ranks gave way, believing sure 
That, wrath renounced, and terms of friendship 

chosen, 
Achilles' self was there ; thus thinking, each 
Look'd every way for refuge from his fate. 

Patroclus first, where thickest throng he saw 
Gather' d tumultuous around the bark 
Of brave Protesilaiis, hurl'd direct 
At the whole multitude his glittering spear. 
He smote Pyrsechmes ; he his horseman band 
Poeonian led from Amydon, and from 
Broad-flowing Axius. In his shoulder stood 
The spear, and with loud groans supine he fell. 
At once fled all his followers, on all sides 
With consternation fill'd, seeing their chief 
And their best warrior, by Patroclus slain. 
Forth from the fleet he drove them, quench'd the 

flames, 
And rescued half the ship. Then scatter'd fled 
With infinite uproar the host of Troy, 
While from between their ships the Dana'i 
Pour'd after them, and hideous rout ensued. 
As when the king of lightnings, Jove, dispels 
From some huge eminence a gloomy cloud, 
The groves, the mountain-tops, the headland heights 
Shine all, illumined from the boundless heaven, 
So when the Dana'i those hostile fires 
Had from their fleet expell'd, awhile they breathed, 
Yet found short respite, for the battle yet 
Ceased not, nor fled the Trojans in all parts 
Alike, but still resisted, from the ships 
Retiring through necessity alone. 
Then, in that scatter'd warfare, every chief 
Slew one. While Are'ilochus his back 
Turn'd on Patroclus, sudden with a lance 
His thigh he pierced, and urged the weapon through, 
Shivering the bone ; he headlong smote the ground. 
The hero Menelaus, where he saw 
The breast of Thoas by his slanting shield 
Unguarded, struck and stretch'd him at his feet. 
Phylides 1 , meeting with preventive spear 
The furious onset of Amphiclus, gash'd 
His leg below the knee, where brawny most 
The muscles swell in man ; disparted wide 
The tendons shrank, and darkness veifd his eyes. 
The two Nestoridse slew each a chief. 
Of these, Antilochus Atymnius pierced 
Right through his flank, and at his feet he fell. 
With fierce resentment fired Maris beheld 
His brother's fall, and guarding, spear in hand, 
The slain, impetuous on the conqueror flew ; 
But godlike Thrasymedes 2 wounded first 
Maris, ere he Antilochus ; he pierced 
His upper arm, and with the lance's point 
Rent off and stript the muscles to the bone. 
Sounding he fell, and darkness veil'd his eyes. 
They thus, two brothers by two brothers slain, 
Went down to Erebus, associates both 
Of brave Sarpedon, and spear-practised sons 
Of Amisodarus ; of him who fed 
Chimsera 3 , monster, by whom many died. 


Meges. 


2 brother of Antilochus. 


3 afjLaiixaK€T7ju — is a word which I can find nowhere 
satisfactorily derived. Perhaps it is expressive of great 


Ajax the swift on Cleobulus sprang, 

Whom while he toil'd entangled in the crowd, 

He seized alive, but smote him where he stood 

With his huge-hafted sword full on the neck ; 

The blood warm'd all his blade, and ruthless fate 

Benighted dark the dying warrior's eyes. 

Peneleus into close contention rush'd 

And Lycon. Each had hurl'd his glittering spear, 

But each in vain, and now with swords they met. 

He smote Peneleus on the crested casque, 

But snapp'd his falchion ; him Peneleus smote 

Beneath his ear ; the whole blade entering sank 

Into his neck, and Lycon with his head 

Depending by the skin alone, expired. 

Meriones o'ertaking Acamas 

Ere yet he could ascend his chariot, thrust 

A lance into his shoulder; down he fell 

In dreary death's eternal darkness whelm'd. 

Idomeneus his ruthless spear enforced 

Into the mouth of Erymas. The point 

Stay'd not, but gliding close beneath the brain, 

Transpierced his spine 4, and started forth beyond. 

It wrench'd his teeth, and fill'd his eyes with blood; 

Blood also blowing through his open mouth 

And nostrils, to the realms of death he pass'd. 

Thus slew these Greecian leaders, each, a foe. 

Sudden as hungry wolves the kids purloin 
Or lambs, which haply some unheeding swain 
Hath left to roam at large the mountains wild ; 
They, seeing, snatch them from beside the dams, 
And rend incontinent the feeble prey : 
So swift the Dana'i the host assail'd 
Of Ilium ; they, into tumultuous flight 
Together driven, all hope, all courage lost. 

Huge Ajax ceaseless sought his spear to cast 
At Hector brazen-mail'd, who, not untaught 
The warrior's art, with bull-hide buckler stood 
Sheltering his ample shoulders, while he mark'd 
The hiss of flying shafts and crash of spears. 
Full sure he saw the shifting course of war 
Now turn'd, but scorning flight, bent all his thoughts 
To rescue yet the remnant of his friends. 

As when the Thunderer spreads a sable storm 
O'er ether, late serene, the cloud that wrapp'd 
Olympus' head escapes into the sides, 
So fled the Trojans from the fleet of Greece 
Clamouring in their flight, nor pass'd the trench 
In fair array ; the coursers fleet indeed 
Of Hector, him bore safe with all his arms 
Right through, but in the foss entangled foul 
He left his host, and struggling to escape. 
Then many a chariot-whirling steed, the pole 
Broken at its extremity, forsook 
His driver, while Patroclus with the shout 
Of battle calling his Achaians on, 
Destruction purposed to the powers of Troy. 
They, once dispersed, with clamour and with flight 
Fill'd all the ways, the dust beneath the clouds 
Hung like a tempest, and the steeds firm-hoof 'd 
WhirPd off at stretch the chariots to the town. 
He, wheresoe'er most troubled he perceived 


length, and I am the more inclined to that sense of it, he- 
cause it is the epithet given to the mast on which Ulysses 
floated to Charybdis. We must in that case derive it from 
a/xa and ju.t)kos Dorice, fianos— longitudo. 

In this uncertainty I thought myself free to translate it 
as I have, by the word — monster. 

4 Apollonius says that the oar 4a Aeu/ca here mean the 
avovSvAovs, or vertebrae of the neck — See Villoisson. 


THE ILIAD. 


347 


The routed host, loud-threatening thither drove, 
"While under his own axle many a chief 
Fell prone, and the o'ertumbled chariots rang. 
Right o'er the hollow foss the coursers leap'd 
Immortal, by the gods to Peleus given, 
Impatient for the plain, nor less desire 
Felt he who drove to smite the Trojan chief, 
But him his fiery steeds caught swift away. 
As when a tempest from autumnal skies 
Floats all the fields, what time Jove heaviest pours 
Impetuous rain, token of wrath divine 
Against perverters of the laws by force, 
Who drive forth justice, reckless of the gods ; 
The rivers and the torrents, where they dwell, 
Sweep many a green declivity away, 
And plunge at length, groaning, into the deep 
From the hills headlong, leaving where they pass'd 
No traces of the pleasant works of man, 
So, in their flight, loud groan'd the steeds of Troy. 
And now, their foremost intercepted all, 
Patroclus back again toward the fleet 
Drove them precipitate, nor the ascent 
Permitted them to Troy for which they strove, 
But in the midway space between the ships 
The river and the lofty Trojan wall 
Pursued them ardent, slaughtering whom he 

reach'd, 
And vengeance took for many a Greecian slain. 
First then, with glittering spear the breast he 

pierced 
Of Pronous, undefended by his shield, 
And stretch'd him dead ; loud rang his batter'd 

arms. 
The son of Enops, Thestor next he smote. 
He on his chariot-seat magnificent 
Low-cowering sat, a fear-distracted form, 
And from his palsied grasp the reins had fallen. 
Then came Patroclus nigh, and through his cheek 
His teeth transpiercing, drew him by his lance 
Sheer o'er the chariot front. As when a man 
On some projecting rock seated, with line 
And splendid hook draws forth a sea-fish huge, 
So him wide-gaping from his seat he drew 
At his spear-point, then shook him to the ground 
Prone on his face, where gasping he expired. 
At Eryalus, next, advancing swift 
He hurl'd a rock ; full on the middle front 
He smote him, and within the ponderous casque 
His whole head open'd into equal halves, 
With deadliest night surrounded, prone he fell. 
Epaltes, Erymas, Amphoterus, 
Echius, Tlepolemus Damastor's son, 
Evippus, Ipheus, Pyres, Polymelus, 
All these he on the champain, corse on corse 
Promiscuous flung. Sarpedon, when he saw 
Such havoc made of his uncinctured 1 friends 
By Menoetiades, with sharp rebuke 
His band of godlike Lycians loud address'd. 

Shame on you, Lycians ! whither would ye fly ? 
Now are ye swift indeed ! I will oppose 
Myself this conqueror, that I may learn 
Who thus afflicts the Trojan host, of life 
Bereaving numerous of their warriors bold. 

He said, and with his arms leap'd to the ground. 
On the other side, Patroclus at that sight 


1 'A/xirpoxiTcovas is a word, according to Clarke, de- 
scriptive of their peculiar habit. Their corslet, and the 
mail worn under it, were of a piece, and put on together. 
To them therefore the cincture or belt of the Greeks 
was unnecessary. 


Sprang from his chariot. As two vultures clash 
Bow-beak'd, crook-talon'd, on some lofty rock 
Clamouring both, so they together rush'd 
With clamours loud ; whom when the son observ'd 
Of wily Saturn, with compassion moved 
His sister and his spouse he thus bespake. 
Alas he falls ! my most beloved of men 
Sarpedon, vanquish'd by Patroclus falls ! 
So will the Fates. Yet, doubtful, much I muse 
Whether to place him, snatch'd from furious fight, 
In Lycia's wealthy realm, or to permit 
His death by valiant Menoetiades. 

To whom his awful spouse, displeased, replied. 
How speaks the terrible Saturnian Jove ? 
Wouldst thou again from pangs of death exempt 
A mortal man, destined long since to die % 
Do it. But small thy praise shall be in heaven. 
Mark thou my words, and in thy inmost breast 
Treasure them. If thou send Sarpedon safe 
To his own home, how many gods their sons 
May also send from battle ? Weigh it well. 
For under yon great city fight no few 
Sprung from immortals whom thou shalt provoke. 
But if thou love him, and thine heart his lot 
Commiserate, leave him by the hands to fall 
Of Menoetiades in conflict dire ; 
But give command to Death and gentle Sleep 
That him of life bereft at once they bear 
To Lycia's ample realm, where, with due rites 
Funereal, his next kindred and his friends 
Shall honour him, a pillar and a tomb 
(The dead man's portion) rearing to his name. 

She said, from whom the sire of gods and men 
Dissented not, but on the earth distill'd 
A sanguine shower in honour of a son 
Dear to him, whom Patroclus on the field 
Of fruitful Troy should slay, far from his home. " 

Opposite now, small interval between, 
Those heroes stood. Patroclus at his waist 
Pierced Thrasymelus the illustrious friend 
Of king Sarpedon, and his charioteer. 
Spear'd through the lower bowels, dead he fell. 
Then hurl'd Sarpedon in his turn a lance, 
But miss'd Patroclus and the shoulder pierced 
Of Pedasus the horse ; he groaning heaved 
His spirit forth, and fallen on the field 
In long loud moanings sorrowful expired. 
Wide started the immortal pair ; the yoke 
Creak'd, and entanglement of reins ensued 
To both, their fellow slaughter'd at their side. 
That mischief soon Automedon redress'd. 
He rose, and from beside his sturdy thigh 
Drawing his falchion, with effectual stroke 
Cut loose the side-horse ; then the pair reduced 
To order, in their traces stood composed, 
And the two heroes fierce engaged again. 

Again his radiant spear Sarpedon hurl'd, 
But miss'd Patroclus ; the innocuous point, 
O'erflying his left shoulder, pass'd beyond. 
Then with bright lance Patroclus in his turn 
Assail'd Sarpedon, nor with erring course 
The weapon sped or vain, but pierced profound 
His chest, enclosure of the guarded heart. 
As falls an oak, poplar, or lofty pine 
With new-edged axes on the mountains hewn 
Right through, for structure of some gallant bark, 
So fell Sarpedon stretch'd his steeds before 
And gnash'd his teeth and clutch'd the bloody dust. 
And as a lion slays a tawny bull 
Leader magnanimous of all the herd ; 


348 


THE ILIAD. 


Beneath the lion's jaws groaning he dies ; 
So, leader of the shielded Lycians groan'd. 
Indignant, by Patroclus slain, the bold 
Sarpedon, and his friend thus, sad, bespake. 

Glaucus, my friend, among these warring chiefs 
Thyself a chief illustrious ! thou hast need 
Of all thy valour now ; now strenuous fight, 
And, if thou bear within thee a brave mind, 
Now make the war's calamities thy joy. 
First, marching through the host of Lycia, rouse 
Our chiefs to combat for Sarpedon slain, 
Then haste, thyself, to battle for thy friend. 
For shame and foul dishonour which no time 
Shall e'er obliterate, I must prove to thee, 
Should the Achaians of my glorious arms 
Despoil me in full prospect 1 of the fleet. 
Fight, therefore, thou, and others urge to fight. 

He said, and cover' d by the night of death, 
Nor look'd nor breathed again ; for on his chest 
Implanting firm his heel, Patroclus drew 
The spear enfolded with his vitals forth, 
Weapon and life at once. Meantime his steeds 
Snorted by Myrmidons detain'd, and, loosed 
From their own master's chariot, foam'd to fly. 
Terrible was the grief by Glaucus felt 
Hearing that charge, and troubled was his heart 
That all power fail'd him to protect the dead. 
Compressing his own arm he stood, with pain 
Extreme tormented which the shaft had caused 
Of Teucer, who while Glaucus climb'd the wall, 
Had pierced him from it in the fleet's defence. 
Then, thus, to Phoebus, king shaft-arm'd, he pray'd. 

Hear now, king ! For whether in the land 
Of wealthy Lycia dwelling, or in Troy, 
Thou hear'st in every place alike the prayer 
Of the afflicted heart, and such is mine ; 
Behold my wound ; it fills my useless hand 
With anguish, neither can my blood be stay'd, 
And all my shoulder suffers. I can grasp 
A spear, or rush to conflict with the Greeks 
No longer now ; and we have also lost 
Our noblest chief, Sarpedon, son of Jove, 
Who guards not his own son. But thou, O king ! 
Heal me, assuage my anguish, give me strength, 
That I may animate the Lycian host 
To fight, and may, myself, defend the dead ! 

Such prayer he offer'd, whom Apollo heard ; 
He eased at once his pain, the sable blood 


' Sarpedon certainly was not slain in the fleet, neither 
can the Greek expression vecov ip aycavi be with propri- 
ety interpreted — in certamine de navibus — as Clarke and 
M me Dacier are inclined to render it. Juvenum in cer- 
tamine, seems equally an improbable sense of it. Eusta- 
thius, indeed, and Terrasson, supposing Sarpedon to assert 
that he dies in the middle of the fleet, (which was false in 
fact) are kind enough to vindicate Homer by pleading in 
his favour, that Sarpedon, being in the article of death, 
was delirious, and knew not, in reality, where he died. 
But Homer, however he may have been charged with now 
and then a nap, (a crime of which I am persuaded he is 
never guilty) certainly does not slumber here, nor needs 
to be so defended. y Ayct>v, in the 23rd Iliad, means the 
whole extensive area in which the games were exhibited, 
and may therefore here, without any strain of the expres- 
sion, be understood to signify the whole range of shore on 
which the ships were stationed. In which case Sarpedon 
represents the matter as it was, saying that he dies — 
vecov iu aywvi,— that is, in the neighbourhood of the 
ships, and in full prospect of tlicm. 

The translator assumes not to himself the honour of this 
judicious remark. It belongs to Mr. Fuseli. 


Stanch'd, and his soul with vigour new inspired. 
Then Glaucus in his heart that prayer perceived 
Granted, and joyful for the sudden aid 
Vouchsafed to him by Phoebus, first the lines 
Of Lycia ranged, summoning every chief 
To fight for slain Sarpedon ; striding next 
With eager haste into the ranks of Troy, 
Renown'd Agenor and the son he call'd 
Of Panthus, brave Polydamas, with whom 
iEneas also, and approaching last 
To Hector brazen-mail'd him thus bespake. 

Now, Hector ! now, thou hast indeed resign'd 
All care of thy allies, who, for thy sake, 
Lost both to friends and country, on these plains 
Perish, unaided and unmiss'd by thee. 
Sarpedon breathless lies, who led to fight 
Our shielded bands, and from whose just control 
And courage Lycia drew her chief defence. 
Him brazen Mars hath by the spear subdued 
Of Menoetiades. But stand ye firm ! 
Let indignation fire you, my friends ! 
Lest, stripping him of his resplendent arms, 
The Myrmidons with foul dishonour shame 
His body, through resentment of the deaths 
Of numerous Greecians slain by spears of ours. 

He ceased ; then sorrow every Trojan heart 
Seized insupportable and that disdain'd 
All bounds, for that, although a stranger born, 
Sarpedon ever had a bulwark proved 
To Troy, the leader of a numerous host, 
And of that host by none in fight excell'd. 
Right on toward the Danai they moved 
Ardent for battle all, and at their head 
Enraged for slain Sarpedon, Hector came. 
Meantime, stout-hearted 2 chief, Patroclus roused 
The Greecians, and exhorting first (themselves 
Already prompt) the Ajaces, thus began. 

Heroic pair ! now make it all your joy 
To chase the Trojan host, and such to prove 
As erst, or even bolder, if ye may. 
The chief lies breathless who ascended first 
Our wall, Sarpedon. Let us bear him hence, 
Strip and dishonour him, and in the blood 
Of his protectors drench the ruthless spear. 

So Menoetiades his warriors urged, 
Themselves courageous. Then the Lycian host 
And Trojan here^ and there the Myrmidons 
With all the host of Greece, closing the ranks 
Rush'd into furious contest for the dead, 
Shouting tremendous ; clang'd their brazen arms, 
And Jove with night's pernicious shades o'erhung 
The bloody field, so to enhance the more 
Their toilsome strife for his own son. First then 
The Trojans from their place and order shock'd 
The bright-eyed Greecians, slaying not the least 
Nor worst among the Myrmidons, the brave 
Epigeus, from renown'd Agacles sprung. 
He, erst, in populous Budeum ruled, 
But for a valiant kinsman of his own 
Whom there he slew, had thence to Peleus fled 
And to his silver-footed spouse divine, 
Who with Achilles, phalanx-breaker chief, 
Sent him to fight beneath the walls of Troy. 
Him seizing fast the body, with a stone 
Illustrious Hector smote full on the front, 
And his whole scull within the ponderous casque 
Split sheer ; he prostrate on the body fell 
In shades of soul-divorcing death involved. 

2 Aacriou fcrjp. 


THE ILIAD. 


349 


Patroclus, grieving for his slaughter'd friend, 
Rush'd through the foremost warriors. As the 

hawk 
Swift -wing'd before him starlings drives or daws, 
So thou, Patroclus, of equestrian fame ! 
Full on the Lycian ranks and Trojan drovest 
Resentful of thy fellow-warrior's fall. 
At Sthenelaus an huge stone he cast 
Son of Itheemenes, whom on the neck 
He smote and burst the tendons ; then the van 
Of Ilium's host, with Hector, all retired. 
Far as a slender javelin cuts the air 
Hurl'd with collected force, or in the games, 
Or even in battle at a desperate foe, 
So far the Greeks repulsed the host of Troy. 
Then Glaucus first, chief of the shielded bands 
Of Lycia, slew Bathycles, valiant son 
Of Calchon ; Hellas was his home, and far 
He pass'd in riches all the Myrmidons. 
Him chasing Glaucus whom he now attain'd, 
The Lycian, turning sudden, with his lance 
Pierced through the breast, and, sounding, down he 

_ fell. 
Grief fill'd Achaia's sons for such a chief 
So slain, but joy the Trojans ; thick they throng'd 
The conqueror around, nor yet the Greeks 
Forgat their force, but resolute advanced. 
Then by Meriones a Trojan died 
Of noble rank, Laogonus, the son 
Undaunted of Onetor great in Troy, 
Priest of Idtean Jove. The ear and jaw 
Between, he pierced him with a mortal force ; 
Swift flew the life, and darkness veil'd his eyes. 
iEneas, in return, his brazen spear 
Hurl'd at Meriones with ardent hope 
To pierce him, while, with nimble 1 steps and short 
Behind his buckler made, he paced the field ; 
But, warn'd of its approach, Meriones 
Bow'd low his head, shunning it, and the spear 
Behind him pierced the soil ; there quivering stood 
The weapon, vain, though from a vigorous arm, 
Till spent by slow degrees its fury slept. 


Indignant then iEneas thus exclaim'd. 

Meriones ! I sent thee such a spear 
As, reaching thee, should have for ever marr'd 
Thy step, accomplish'd dancer as thou art. 

To whom Meriones spear-famed replied. 
iEneas ! thou wilt find the labour hard 
How great soe'er thy might, to quell the force 
Of all opposers. Thou art also doom'd 
Thyself to die ; and may but spear of mine 

1 'T^ctcrm'Sia irpo3i^wvros. A similar expression oc- 
curs in Book xiii. 158. There we read inraaniSia irpoiro- 
SlftoU. Which is explained hy the Scholiast in Villoisson 
to signify advancing with quick short steps, and at the 
same time covering the feet with a shield. A practice 
which, unless they bore the a/.Mpif}p6T7}v acnrida, must 
necessarily leave the upper parts exposed. 

It is not improbable, though the translation is not 
accommodated to that conjecture, that JEneas, in his fol- 
lowing speech to Meriones, calls him, opxyvrriv, with a 
view to the agility with which he performed this particu- 
lar step in battle. 

2 Two lines occurring here in the original which contain 
only the same matter as the two preceding, and which 
are found neither in the MSS. used by Barnes nor in the 
Harleian, the translator has omitted them in his version 
as interpolated and superfluous. 


Well-aim'd once strike thee full, what strength 
Or magnanimity be thine to boast, [soe'er 

Thy glory in that moment thou resign'st 
To me, thy soul to Pluto steed-renown'd. 

He said, but him Patroclus sharp reproved. 
Why speaks Meriones, although in fight 
Approved, thus proudly ? Nay, my gallant friend ! 
The Trojans will not for reproach of ours 
Renounce the body. Blood must first be spilt. 
Tongues in debate, but hands in war decide ; 
Deeds therefore now, not wordy vaunts, we need. 

So saying he led the way, whom follow'd close 
Godlike Meriones. As from the depth 
Of some lone wood that clothes the mountain's side 
The fellers at their toil are heard remote, 
So, from the face of Ilium's ample plain 
Reverberated, was the din of brass 
And of tough targets heard by falchions huge 
Hard- smitten, and by spears of double-edge. 
None then, no, not the quickest to discern, 
Had known divine Sarpedon, from his head 
To his foot-sole with mingled blood and dust 
Polluted, and o'erwhelm'd with weapons. They 
Around the body swarm'd. As hovel-flies 
In spring-time buzz around the brimming pails 
With milk bedew'd, so they around the dead, 
Nor Jove averted once his glorious eyes 
From that dread contest, but with watchful note 
Mark'd all, the future death in battle deep 
Pondering of Patroclus, whether him 
Hector should even now slay on divine 
Sarpedon, and despoil him of his arms, 
Or he should still that arduous strife prolong. 
This counsel gain'd as eligible most 
At length his preference : that the valiant friend 
Of Peleus' son should yet again compel 
The Trojan host with Hector brazen-mail'd 
To Ilium, slaughtering numerous by the way. 
First then, with fears unmanly he possess'd 
The heart of Hector ; mounting to his seat 
He turn'd to flight himself, and bade his host 
Fly also ; for he knew Jove's purpose 3 changed. 
Thenceforth, no longer even Lycia's host 
Endured, but all fled scatter'd, seeing pierced 
Their sovereign through his heart, and heap'd with 

dead ; 
For numerous, while Saturnian Jove the fight 
Held in suspense, had on his body fallen. 
At once the Greecians of his dazzling arms 
Despoil'd Sarpedon, which the Myrmidons 
By order of Menoetius' valiant son 
Bore thence into the fleet. Meantime his will 
The Thunderer to Apollo thus express'd. 

Phoebus, my son, delay not ; from beneath 
Yon hill of weapons drawn cleanse from his blood 
Sarpedon's corse ; then, bearing him remote, 
Lave him in waters of the running stream, 
With oils divine anoint, and in attire 
Immortal clothe him. Last, to Death and Sleep, 
Swift bearers both, twin-boi'n, deliver him ; 
For hence to Lycia's opulent abodes 
They shall transport him quickly, where, with rites 
Funereal, his next kindred and his friends 
Shall honour him, a pillar and a tomb 
(The dead man's portion) rearing to his name. 

He ceased ; nor was Apollo slow to hear 

3 '\pa TaXavra—Voluntatem Jovis cut cedendum. So 
it is interpreted in the Scholium MSS, Lipsiensis. Vide 
Schaufelbergerus. 


350 


THE ILIAD. 


His father's will, but from the Idaean heights 
Descending swift into the dreadful field, 
Godlike Sarpedon's body from beneath 
The hill of weapons drew, which, borne remote, 
He laved in waters of the running stream, 
With oils ambrosial bathed, and clothed in robes 
Immortal. Then to Death and gentle Sleep, 
Swift-bearers both, twin-born, he gave the charge, 
Who placed it soon in Lycia's wealthy realm. 

Meantime Patroclus, calling to his steeds, 
And to Automedon, the Trojans chased 
And Lycians, on his own destruction bent 
Infatuate ; heedless of his charge received 
From Peleus' son, which, well-perform'd,had saved 
The hero from his miserable doom. 
But Jove's high purpose evermore prevails 
Against the thoughts of man; he turns to flight 
The bravest, and the victory takes with ease 
Even from the chief whom he impels himself 
To battle, as he now this chief impell'd. 
Who, then, Patroclus ! first, who last by thee 
Fell slain, what time thyself wast call'd to die ? 
Adrastus first, then Perimus he slew, 
Offspring of Megas, then Autonoiis, 
Echechlus, Melanippus, and Epistor, 
Pylartes, Mulius, Elasus. All these 
He slew, and from the field chased all beside. 
Then, doubtless, had Achaia's sons prevail'd 
To take proud-gated Troy, such havoc made 
He with his spear, but that the son of Jove 
Apollo, on a tower's conspicuous height 
Station'd, devoted him for Ilium's sake, 
Thrice on a buttress of the lofty wall 
Patroclus mounted, and him thrice the god 
With hands immortal his resplendent shield 
Smiting, struck down again ; but when he rush'd 
A fourth time, daemon-like, to the assault, 
The king of radiant shafts him, stern, rebuked. 

Patroclus, warrior of renown, retire ! 
The fates ordain not that imperial Troy 
Stoop to thy spear, nor to the spear itself 
Of Peleus' son, though mightier far than thou. 

He said, and Menoetiades the wrath 
Of shaft-arm'd Phoebus shunning, far retired. 
But in the Scaean gate Hector his steeds 
Detain 'd, uncertain whether thence to drive 
Amid the warring multitude again, 
Or, loud commandment issuing, to collect 
His host within the walls. Him musing long 
Apollo, clad in semblance of a chief 
Youthful and valiant, join'd. Asius he seem'd 
Equestrian Hector's uncle, brother born 
Of Hecuba the queen, and Dymas' son, 
Who on the Sangar's banks in Phrygia dwelt. 
Apollo, so disguised, him thus bespake. 

Why, Hector, hast thou left the fight? this sloth 
Not well befits thee. Oh that I as far 
Thee pass'd in force as thou transcendest me, 
Then, not unpunish'd long, should'st thou retire ; 
But haste, and with thy coursers solid-hoof d 
Seek out Patroclus, him perchance to slay, 
Should Phoebus have decreed the glory thine. 

So saying, Apollo join'd the host again. 
Then noble Hector bade his charioteer 
Valiant Cebriones his coursers lash 
Back into battle, while the god himself 
Entering the multitude confounded sore 
The Argives, victory conferring proud 
And glory on Hector and the host of Troy. 
But Hector, leaving all beside unslain, 


Furious impell'd his coursers solid-hoof 'd 
Against Patroclus ; on the other side 
Patroclus from his chariot to the ground 
Leap'd ardent ; in his left a spear he bore, 
And in his right a marble fragment rough, 
Large as his grasp. With full collected might 
He hurl'd it ; neither was the weapon slow 
To find whom he had mark'd, or sent in vain. 
He smote the charioteer of Hector, bold 
Cebriones, king Priam's spurious son, 
Full on the forehead, while he sway'd the reins. 
The bone that force withstood not, but the rock 
With ragged points beset dash'd both his brows 
In pieces, and his eyes fell at his feet. 
He, diver-like, from his exalted stand 
Behind the steeds pitch'd headlong, and expired ; 
O'er whom, Patroclus of equestrian fame ! 
Thou didst exult with taunting speech severe. 

Ye gods, with what agility he dives ! 
Ah ! it were well if in the fishy deep 
This man were occupied ; he might no few 
With oysters satisfy, although the waves 
Were churlish, plunging headlong from his bark 
As easily as from his chariot here. 
So then — in Troy, it seems, are divers too ! 

So saying, on bold Cebriones he sprang 
With all a lion's force, who while the folds 
He ravages, is wounded in the breast, 
And, victim of his own fierce courage, dies. 
So didst thou spring, Patroclus ! to despoil 
Cebriones, and Hector opposite 
Leap'd also to the ground. Then contest such 
For dead Cebriones those two between 
Arose, as in the lofty mountain-tops 
Two lions wage, contending for a deer 
New-slain, both hunger-pinch'd and haughty both. 
So for Cebriones, alike in arms 
Expert, brave Hector and Patroclus strove 
To pierce each other with the ruthless spear. 
First, Hector seized his head, nor loosed his hold, 
Patroclus next, his feet, while all beside 
Of either host in furious battle join'd. 

As when the east wind and the south contend 
To shake some deep wood on the mountain's side, 
Or beech, or ash, or rugged cornel old, 
With stormy violence the mingled boughs 
Smite and snap short each other, crashing loud ; 
So, Trojans and Achaians, mingling, 'slew 
Mutual, while neither felt a wish to fly. 
Around Cebriones stood many a spear, 
And many a shaft sent smartly from the nerve 
Implanted deep, and many a stone of grasp 
Enorcnous sounded on their batter'd shields 
Who fought to gain him. He, in eddies lost 
Of sable dust, with his huge trunk huge space 
O'erspread, nor steeds nor chariots heeded more. 

While yet the sun ascending climb'd the heavens, 
Their darts flew equal, and the people fell ; 
But when he westward journey 'd, by a change 
Surpassing hope the Greecians then prevail'd. , 
They drew Cebriones the hero forth 
From all those weapons, and his armour stripp'd 
At leism^e, distant from the battle's roar. 
Then sprang Patroclus on the Trojan host; 
Thrice, like another Mars, he sprang with shouts 
Tremendous, and nine warriors thrice he slew. 
But when the fourth time, daemon-like, he rush'd 
Against them, then, oh then, too manifest 
The consummation of thy days approach'd 
Patroclus ! whom Apollo terror-clad 


THE ILIAD. 


351 


Met then in battle. He the coming god 
Through all that multitude knew not, such gloom 
Impenetrable him involved around. 
Behind him close he stood, and with his palms 
Expanded on the spine and shoulders broad 
Smote him ; his eyes swam dizzy at the stroke. 
Then Phoebus from his head his helmet dash'd 
To earth ; sonorous at the feet it roll'd 
Of many a prancing steed, and all the crest 
Defilement gather' d gross of dust and blood, 
Then first ; till then, impossible ; for how 
Should dust the tresses of that helmet shame 
With which Achilles fighting fenced his head 
Illustrious, and his graceful brows divine ? 
But Jove now made it Hector's ; he awhile 
Bore it, himself to swift perdition doom'd. 
His spear brass-mounted, ponderous, huge and long, 
Fell shiver'd from his grasp. His shield that swept 
His ancle, with its belt dropp'd from his arm, 
And Phoebus loosed the corslet from his breast. 
Confusion seized his brain ; his noble limbs 
Quaked under him, and panic-stunn'd he stood. 
Then came a Dardan chief, who from behind 
Enforced a pointed lance into his back 
Between the shoulders ; Panthus' son was he, 
Euphorbus, famous for equestrian skill, 
For spearmanship, and in the rapid race 
Past all of equal age. He twenty men 
(Although a learner yet of martial feats, 
And by his steeds then first to battle borne) 
Dismounted. He, Patroclus, mighty chief ! 
First threw a lance at thee, which yet thy life 
Quell'd not ; then snatching hasty from the wound 
His ashen beam, he ran into the crowd, 
Nor dared confront in fight even the unarm'd 
Patroclus. But Patroclus, by the lance, 
And by the stroke of an immortal hand 
Subdued, fell back toAvard his ranks again. 
Then, soon as Hector the retreat perceived 
Of brave Patroclus wounded, issuing forth 
From his own phalanx, he approach'd and drove 
A spear right through his body at the waist. 
Sounding he fell. Loud groan'd Achaia's host. 
As when the lion and the sturdy boar 
Contend in battle on the mountain-tops 
For some scant rivulet, thirst-parch'd alike, 
Ere long the lion quells the panting boar ; 
So Priameian Hector, spear in hand, 
Slew Mencetiades the valiant slayer 
Of multitudes, and thus in accents wing'd 
With fierce delight exulted in his fall. 

It Avas thy thought, Patroclus, to have laid 
Our city waste, and to have wafted hence 
Our wives and daughters to thy native land, 
Their day of liberty for ever set. 
Fool ! for their sakes the feet of Hector's steeds 
Fly into battle, and myself excel, 
For their sakes, all our bravest of the spear, 
That I may turn from them that evil hour 
Necessitous. But thou art vulture's food. 
Unhappy youth ! all valiant as he is, 
Achilles hath no succour given to thee, 
Who when he sent thee forth whither himself 
Would not, thus doubtless gave thee oft in charge: 
Ah, well beware, Patroclus, glorious chief ! 
That thou revisit not these ships again, 
Till first on hero-slaughterer Hector's breast 
Thou cleave his bloody corslet. So he spake, 
And with vain words thee credulous beguiled^ 

To whom Patroclus, mighty chief, with breath 


Drawn faintly, and dying, thou didst thus reply. 
Now, Hector, boast ! now glory"! for the son 
Of Saturn and Apollo, me with ease 
Vanquishing, whom they had themselves disarm' d, 
Have made the victory thine ; else, twenty such 
As thou, had fallen by my victorious spear. 
Me Phoebus and my ruthless fate combined 
To slay ; these foremost ; but of mortal men" 
Euphorbus, and thy praise is only third. 
I tell thee also, and within thy heart 
Repose it deep — Thou shalt not long survive ; 
But, even now, fate, and a violent death 
Attend thee by Achilles' hands ordain'd 
To perish, by iEacides the brave. 

So saying, the shades of death him wrapp'd around. 
Down into Ades from his limbs dismiss'd, 
His spirit fled sorrowful, of youth's prime 
And vigorous manhood suddenly bereft. 
Then, him though dead, Hector again bespake. 

Patroclus ! these prophetic strains of death 
At hand, and fate, why hast thou sung to roe ? 
May not the son of Thetis azure-hair'd, 
Achilles, perish first by spear of mine ? 

He said ; then pressing with his heel the trunk 
Supine, and backward thrusting it, he drew 
His glittering weapon from the wound, nor stay'd, 
But, lance in hand, the godlike charioteer 
Pursued of swift iEacides, on fire 
To smite Automedon ; but him the steeds 
Immortal, rapid, by the gods conferr'd" 
(A glorious gift) on Peleus, snatch'd away. 


BOOK XVII. 

ARGUMENT. 

Sharp contest ensues around the body of Patroclus. Hector 
puts on the armour of Achilles. Menelaus, having dis- 
patched Antilochus to Achilles with news of the death 
of Patroclus, returns to the battle, and, together with 
Meriones, bears Patroclus off the field, while the Ajaces 
cover their retreat. 


Nob Menelaus, Atreus' valiant son, 

Knew not how Menoetiades had fallen 

By Trojan hands in battle ; forth he rush'd 

All bright in burnish'd armour through his van, 

And as some heifer with maternal fears 

Now first acquainted, compasses around 

Her young one, murmuring with tender moan, 

So moved the hero of the amber locks 

Around Patroclus, before whom his spear 

Advancing and broad shield, he death denounced 

On all opposers ; neither stood the son 

Spear-famed of Panthus inattentive long 

To slain Patroclus, but approach'd the dead, 

And warlike Menelaus thus bespake. 

Prince ! Menelaus ! Atreus' mighty son ! 
Yield. Leave the body and these gory spoils ; 
For of the Trojans or allies of Troy 
None sooner made Patroclus bleed than I. 
Seek not to rob me, therefore, of my praise 
Among the Trojans, lest my spear assail 
Thee also, and thou perish premature. 

To whom, indignant, Atreus' son replied. 
Self-praise, the gods do know, is little worth. 
But neither lion may in pride compare 
Nor panther, nor the savage boar whose heart's 
High temper flashes in his eyes, with these 


352 


THE ILIAD. 


The spear-accomplisli'd youths of Panthus' house. 

Yet Hyperenor of equestrian fame 

Lived not his lusty manhood to enjoy, 

Who scoffingly defied my force in arms, 

And call'd me most contemptible in fight 

Of all the Dana'i. But him, I ween, 

His feet bore never hence to cheer at home 

His wife and parents with his glad return. 

So also shall thy courage fierce be tamed, 

If thou oppose me. I command thee, go — 

Mix with the multitude ; withstand not me, 

Lest evil overtake thee ! To be taught 

By sufferings only, is the part of fools. 

He said, but him sway'd not, who thus replied. 
Now, even now, Atrides ! thou shalt rue 
My brother's blood which thou hast shed, and 

makest 
His death thy boast. Thou hast his blooming bride 
Widow'd, and thou hast fill'd his parents' hearts 
"With anguish of unutterable woe ; 
But bearing hence thy armour and thy head 
To Troy, and casting them at Panthus' feet, 
And at the feet of Phrontis, his espoused, 
I shall console the miserable pair. 
Nor will I leave that service unessay'd 
Longer, nor will I fail through want of force, 
Of courage, or of terrible address. 

He ceased, and smote his shield, nor pierced 

the disk, 
But bent his point against the stubborn brass. 
Then Menelaus, prayer preferring first 
To Jove, assail'd Euphorbus in his turn, 
Whom pacing backward in the throat he struck, 
And with both hands and his full force the spear 
Impelling, urged it through his neck behind. 
Sounding he fell ; loud rang his batter'd arms. 
His locks, which even the Graces might have own'd, 
Blood-sullied, and his ringlets wound about 
With twine of gold and silver, swept the dust. 
As the luxuriant olive by a swain 
Rear'd in some solitude where rills abound, 
Puts forth her buds, and fann'd by genial airs 
On all sides, hangs her boughs with whitest flowers, 
But by a sudden whirlwind from its trench 
Uptorn, it lies extended on the field ; 
Such, Panthus' warlike son Euphorbus seem'd, 
By Menelaus, son of Atreus, slain 
Suddenly, and of all his arms despoil'd. 
But as the lion on the mountains bred, 
Glorious in strength, when he hath seized the best 
And fairest of the herd, with savage fangs 
First breaks her neck, then laps the bloody paunch 
Torn wide ; meantime, around him, but remote, 
Dogs stand and swains clamouring, yet by fear 
Repress'd, annoy him not or dare approach ; 
So there all wanted courage to oppose 
The force of Menelaus, glorious chief. 
Then, easily had Menelaus borne 
The armour of the son of Panthus thence, 
But that Apollo the illustrious prize 
Denied him, who in semblance of the chief 
Of the Ciconians, Mentes, prompted forth 
Against him Hector terrible as Mars, 
Whose spirit thus in accents wing'd he roused. 

Hector ! the chase is vain ; here thou pursuest 
The horses of yEacides the brave, 
Which thou shalt never win, for they are steeds 
Of fiery nature, such as ill endure 
To draw or carry mortal man, himself 
Except, whom an immortal mother bore. 


Meantime, bold Menelaus, in defence 
Of dead Patroclus, hath a Trojan slain 
Of highest note, Euphorbus, Panthus' son, 
And hath his might in arms for ever quell'd. 

So spake the god and to the fight return'd. 
But grief intolerable at that word 
Seized Hector ; darting through the ranks his eye, 
He knew at once who stripp'd Euphorbus' arms, 
And him knew also lying on the field, 
And from his wide wound bleeding copious still. 
Then dazzling-bright in arms, through all the van 
He flew, shrill-shouting, fierce as Vulcan's fire 
Unquenchable ; nor were his shouts unheard 
By Atreus' son, who with his noble mind 
Conferring sad, thus to himself began. 

Alas ! if I forsake these gorgeous spoils, 
And leave Patroclus for my glory slain, 
I fear lest the Achaians at that sight 
Incensed, reproach me ; and if, urged by shame, 
I fight with Hector and his host, alone, 
Lest, hemm'd around by multitudes, I fall ; 
For Hector, by his whole imbattled force 
Attended, comes. But whither tend my thoughts ? 
No man may combat with another fenced 
By power divine and whom the gods exalt, 
But he must draw down woe on his own head. 
Me, therefore, none of all Achaia's host 
Will blame indignant, seeing my retreat 
From Hector, whom themselves the gods assist. 
But might the battle-shout of Ajax once 
Reach me, with force united we would strive, 
Even in opposition to a god, 
To rescue for Achilles' sake, his friend. 
Task arduous ! but less arduous than this. 

While he thus meditated, swift advanced 
The Trojan ranks, with Hector at their head. 
He then, retiring slow, and turning oft, 
Forsook the body. As by dogs and swains 
With clamours loud and spears driven from the stalls 
A bearded lion goes, his noble heart 
Abhors retreat, and slow he quits the prey, 
So Menelaus with slow steps forsook 
Patroclus, and arrived in front, at length, 
Of his own phalanx, stood, with sharpen'd eyes 
Seeking vast Ajax, son of Telamon. 
Him leftward, soon, of all the field he mark'd 
Encouraging aloud his band, whose hearts 
With terrors irresistible himself 
Phoebus had fill'd. He ran, and at his side 
Standing, incontinent him thus bespake. 

My gallant Ajax, haste — come quickly — strive 
With me to rescue for Achilles' sake 
His friend, though bare, for Hector hath his arms. 

He said, and by his words the noble mind 
Of Ajax roused ; issuing through the van 
He went, and Menelaus at his side. 
Hector the body of Patroclus dragg'd, 
Stripp'd of his arms, with falchion keen erelong 
Purposing to strike off his head, and cast 
His trunk, drawn distant, to the dogs of Troy. 
But Ajax, with broad shield tower-like, approach'd. 
Then Hector, to his bands retreating, sprang 
Into his chariot, and to others gave 
The splendid arms in charge, who into Troy 
Should bear the destined trophy of his praise. 
But Ajax with his broad shield guarding stood 
Slain Meneetiades, as for his whelps 
The lion stands ; him through some forest drear 
Leading his little ones, the hunters meet ; 
Fire glimmers in his looks, and down he draws 


THE ILIAD. 


353 


His whole brow into frowns, covering his eyes ; 
So, guarding slain Patroclus, Ajax lour'd. 
On the other side, with tender grief oppress'd 
Unspeakable, brave Menelaus stood. 
But Glaucus, leader of the Lycian band, 
Son of Hippolochus, in bitter terms 
Indignant, reprimanded Hector thus. 

Ah, Hector, chieftain of excelling form, 
But all unfurnish'd with a warrior's heart ! 
Unwarranted I deem thy great renown 
Who art to flight addicted. Think, henceforth, 
How ye shall save city and citadel 
Thou and thy people born in Troy, alone. 
No Lycian shall, at least, in your defence 
Fight with the Greecians, for our ceaseless toil 
In arms, hath ever been a thankless task. 
Inglorious chief ! how wilt thou save a worse 
From warring crowds, who hast Sarpedon left 
Thy guest, thy friend, to be a spoil, a prey 
To yonder Argives \ While he lived he much 
Thee and thy city profited, whom dead 
Thou fear'st to rescue even from the dogs. 
Now, therefore, may but my advice prevail, 
Back to your country, Lycians ! so, at once, 
Shall remediless ruin fall on Troy. 
For had the Trojans now a daring heart 
Intrepid, such as in the breast resides 
Of labourers in their country's dear behalf, 
We soon should drag Patroclus into Troy ; 
And were his body, from the battle drawn, 
In Priam's royal city once secured, 
As soon, the Argives would in ransom give 
Sarpedon's body with his splendid arms 
To be conducted safe into the town. 
For when Patroclus fell, the friend was slain 
Of such a chief as is not in the fleet 
For valour, and his bands are dauntless all. 
But thou, at the first glimpse of Ajax' eye 
Confounded, hast not dared in arms to face 
That warrior bold, superior far to thee. 

To whom brave Hector, frowning stern, replied. 
Why, Glaucus ! should a chief like thee his tongue 
Presume to employ thus haughtily ? My friend ! 
I thee accounted wisest, once, of all 
Who dwell in fruitful Lycia, but thy speech 
Now utter'd altogether merits blame, 
In which thou tell'st me that I fear to stand 
Against vast Ajax. Know that I from fight 
Shrink not, nor yet from sound of prancing steeds ; 
But Jove's high purpose evermore prevails 
Against the thoughts of man ; he turns to flight 
The bravest, and the victory takes with ease 
Even from those whom once he favour'd most. 
But hither, friend ! stand with me ; mark my deed ; 
Prove me, if I be found, as thou hast said, 
An idler all the day, or if by force 
I not compel some Greecian to renounce 
Patroclus, even the boldest of them all. 

He ceased, and to his host exclaim'd aloud. 
Trojans, and Lycians, and close-fighting sons 
Of Dardanus, oh be ye men, my friends ! 
Now summon all your fortitude, while I 
Put on the armour of Achilles, won 
From the renown'd Patroclus slain by me. 

So saying, illustrious Hector from the clash 
Of spears withdrew, and with his swiftest pace 
Departing, overtook, not far remote, 
The bearers of Achilles' arms to Troy. 
Apart from all the horrors of the field 
Standing, he changed his armour ; gave his own 


To be by them to sacred Ilium borne, 

And the immortal arms of Peleus' son 

Achilles, by the ever- living gods , 

To Peleus given, put on. Tlaose arms the sire, 

Now old himself, had on his son conferr'd, 

But in those arms his son grew never old. 

Him, therefore, soon as cloud-assembler Jove 
Saw glittering in divine Achilles' arms, 
Contemplative he shook his brows, and said. 

Ah hapless chief! thy death, although at hand, 
Nought troubles thee. Thou wear'st his heav'nly 
Who all excels, terror of Ilium's host. [arms, 
His friend, though bold yet gentle, thou hast slain, 
And hast the brows and bosom of the dead 
Unseemly bared : yet, bright success awhile 
I give thee ; so compensating thy lot 
From whom Andromache shall ne'er' receive 
Those glorious arms, for thou shalt ne'er return. 

So spake the Thunderer, and his sable brows 
Shaking, confirm'd the word. But Hector found 
The armour apt ; the god of war his soul 
With fury fill'd, he felt his limbs afresh 
Invigorated, and with loudest shouts 
Return'd to his illustrious allies. 
To them he seem'd, clad in those radiant arms, 
Himself Achilles ; rank by rank he pass'd 
Through all the host, exhorting every chief, 
Asteropseus, Mesthles, Phorcys, Me don, 
Thersilochus, Deisenor, augur Ennomus, 
Chromius, Hippothoiis ; all these he roused 
To battle, and in accents wing'd began. 

Hear me, ye myriads, neighbours and allies ! 
For not through fond desire to fill the plain 
With multitudes, have I convened you here 
Each from his city, but that well-inclined 
To Ilium, ye might help to guard our wives 
And little ones against the host of Greece. 
Therefore it is that forage large and gifts 
Providing for you, I exhaust the stores 
Of Troy, and drain our people for your sake. 
Turn then direct against them, and his life 
Save each, or lose ; it is the course of war. 
Him who shall drag, though dead, Patroclus home 
Into the host of Troy, and shall repulse 
Ajax, I will reward Avith half the spoils, 
And half shall be my own ; glory and praise 
Shall also be his meed, equal to mine. 

He ended ; they compact with lifted spears 
Bore on the DanaV, conceiving each 
Warm expectation in his heart to wrest 
From Ajax son of Telamon, the dead. 
Vain hope ! he many a lifeless Trojan heap'd 
On slain Patroclus, but at length his speech 
To warlike Menelaus thus address'd. 

Ah, Menelaus, valiant friend ! I hope 
No longer, now, that even we shall 'scape 
Ourselves from fight ; nor fear I so the loss 
Of dead Patroclus, who shall soon the dogs 
Of Ilium, and the fowls sate with his flesh, 
As for my life I tremble and for thine, 
That cloud of battle, Hector, such a gloom 
Sheds all around ; death manifest impends. 
Haste— call our best, if even they can hear. 

He spake, nor Menelaus not complied, 
But call'd aloud on all the chiefs of Greece. 

Friends, senators, and leaders of the powers 
Of Argos ! who with Agamemnon drink 
And Menelaus at the public feast, 
Each bearing rule o'er many, by the will 
Of Jove advanced to honour and renown ! 


354 


THE ILIAD. 


The task were difficult to single out 
Chief after chief by name amid the blaze 
Of such contention ; but oh come yourselves 
Indignant forth, nor let the dogs of Troy 
Patroclus rend, and gambol with his bones I 

He ceased, whom Oiliades the swift 
Hearing incontinent, of all the chiefs 
Ran foremost, after whom Idomeneus 
Approach'd, and dread as homicidal Mars 
Meriones. But never mind of man 
Could even in silent recollection name 
The whole vast multitude who, following these, 
Renew'd the battle on the part of Greece. 
The Trojans first, with Hector at their head, 
Wedged in close phalanx, rush'd to the assault. 

As when within some rapid river's mouth 
The billows and stream clash, on either shore l 
Loud sounds the roar 1 of waves ejected wide, 
Such seem'd the clamours of the Trojan host. 
But the Achaians, one in heart, around 
Patroclus stood, bulwai'k'd with shields of brass, 
And over all their glittering helmets Jove 
Darkness diffused, for he had loved Patroclus 
While yet he lived friend of iEacides, 
And, now, abhorring that the dogs of Troy 
Should eat him, urged the Greeks to his defence. 
The host of Troy first shook the Greecian host ; 
The body left, they fled ; yet of them all, 
The Trojan powers, determined as they were, 
Slew none, but dragg'd the body. Neither stood 
The Greeks long time aloof, soon as repulsed 
Again led on by Ajax, who in form 
And in exploits all others far excell'd, 
Peerless JEacides alone except. 
Right through the foremost combatants he rush'd, 
In force resembling most some savage boar 
That in the mountains bursting through the brakes, 
The swains disperses and their hounds with ease ; 
Like him, illustrious Ajax, mighty son 
Of Telamon, at his assault dispersed 
With ease the close-imbattled ranks, who fought 
Around Patroclus' body, strong in hope 
To achieve it, and to make the glory theirs. 
Hippothous, a youth of high renown, 
Son of Pelasgian Lethus, by a noose 
Around his ancle cast dragg'd through the fight 
Patroclus, so to gratify the host 
Of Ilium and their chief ; but evil him 
Reach'd suddenly, by none of all his friends 
(Though numerous wish'd to save him) turn'd 

aside. 
For swift advancing on him through the crowd 
The son of Telamon pierced, spear in hand, 
His helmet brazen-cheek'd ; the crested casque, 
So smitten, open'd wide, for huge the hand 
And ponderous was the spear that gave the blow, 
And all around its neck, mingled with blood 
Gush'd forth the brain. There, lifeless, down he 
Let fall the hero's foot, and fell himself [sank, 
Prone on the dead, never to see again 
Deep-soil'd Larissa, never to requite 
Their kind solicitudes who gave him birth, 
In bloom of life by dauntless Ajax slain. 
Then, Hector hurl'd at Ajax his bright spear, 
But he, forewarn 'd of its approach, escaped 

1 There is no word in our language expressive of loud 
sound at all comparable in effect to the Greek Bo-o-osin. 
I have therefore endeavoured by the juxtaposition of two 
words similar in sound, to palliate in some degree a defect 
which it was not in my power to cure. 


Narrowly, and it pierced Schedius instead, 
Brave son of Iphitus ; he, noblest chief 
Of the Phocensians, over many reign'd, 
Dwelling in Panopeus the far-renown'd. 
Entering beneath the clavicle 2 the point 
Right through his shoulder's summit pass'd behind, 
And on his loud-resounding arms he fell. 
But Ajax at his waist wounded the son 
Of Phoenops, valiant Phorcys, while he stood 
Guarding Hippothous ; through his hollow mail 
Enforced the weapon drank his inmost life, 
And in his palm, supine, he clench'd the dust. 
Then, Hector with the foremost chiefs of Troy 
Pell back ; the Argives sent a shout to heaven, 
And dragging Phorcys and Hippothous thence 
Stripp'd both. In that bright moment Ilium's host 
Fear-quell'd before Achaia's warlike sons 
Had Troy re-enter'd, and the host of Greece 
By matchless might and fortitude their own 
Had snatch'd a victory from the grasp of fate, 
But that, himself, the king of radiant shafts 
JSneas roused ; Epytis' son he seem'd 
Periphas, ancient in the service grown 
Of old Anchises whom he dearly loved ; 
His form assumed, Apollo thus began. 

How could ye save, ^Eneas, were the gods 
Your enemies, the towers of lofty Troy ? 
As I have others seen, warriors who would, 
Men fill'd with might and valour, firm themselves 
And chiefs of multitudes disdaining fear. 
But Jove to us the victory far more 
Than to the Greecians wills ; therefore the fault 
Is yours, who tremble and refuse the fight. 

He ended, whom iEneas marking, knew 
At once the glorious archer of the skies, 
And thus to distant Hector call'd aloud. 

Oh, Hector, and ye other chiefs of Troy 
And of her brave confederates ! Shame it were 
Should we re-enter Ilium, driven to flight 
By dastard fear before the host of Greece. 
A god assured me even now, that Jove, 
Supreme in battle, gives his aid to Troy. 
Rush, therefore, on the Danai' direct, 
Nor let them, safe at least and unannoy'd, 
Bear hence Patroclus' body to the fleet. 

He spake, and starting far into the van 
Stood foremost forth; they, wheeling, faced the 

Greeks. 
Then, spear in hand, iEneas smote the friend 
Of Lycomedes, brave Leocritus, 
Son of Arisbas. Lycomedes saw 
Compassionate his death, and drawing nigh 
First stood, then hurling his resplendent lance, 
Right through the liver Apisaon pierced 
Offspring of Hippasus, his chest beneath, 
And, lifeless, instant, on the field he fell. 
He from Pseonia the deep-soil'd to Troy 
Came forth, Asteropseus sole except, 
Bravest of all Pseonia's band in arms. 
Asteropseus saw, and to the van 
Sprang forth for furious combat well prepared, 
But room for fight found none, so thick a fence 
Of shields and ported spears fronted secure 
The phalanx guarding Mencetiades. 
For Ajax ranging all the ranks, aloud 
Admonish' d them that no man yielding ground 
Should leave Patroclus, or advance before 
The rest, but all alike fight and stand fast. 

2 Or collar-bone. 




THE ILIAD. 


355 


Such order gave huge Ajax ; purple gore 
Drench' d all the ground; in slaughter 'd heaps 

they fell 
Trojans and Trojan aids of dauntless hearts 
And Greecians ; for not even they the fight 
Waged bloodless, though with far less cost of blood, 
Each mindful to avert his fellow's fate. 

Thus burn 'd the battle ; neither hadstthou deem'd 
The sun himself in heaven unquench'd, or moon, 
Beneath a cope so dense of darkness strove 
Unceasing all the most renown'd in arms 
For Menoetiades. Meantime the war, 
Wherever else, the bright-arm'd Greecians waged 
And Trojans under skies serene. The sun 
On them his radiance darted ; not a cloud, 
From mountain or from vale rising, allay'd 
His fervour ; there at distance due they fought 
And paused by turns, and shunn'd the cruel dart. 
But in the middle field not war alone 
They suffer'd, but night also ; ruthless raged 
The iron storm, and all the mightiest bled. 
Two glorious chiefs, the while, Antilochus 
And Thrasymedes, had no tidings heard 
Of brave Patroclus slain, but deem'd him still 
Living, and troubling still the host of Troy ; 
For watchful ' only to prevent the flight 
Or slaughter of their fellow-warriors, they 
Maintain'd a distant station, so enjoin'd 
By Nestor when he sent them to the field. 
But fiery conflict arduous employ'd 
The rest all day continual ; knees and legs, 
Feet, hands, and eyes of those who fought to guard 
The valiant friend of swift iEacides 
Sweat gather'd foul and dust. As when a man 
An huge ox-hide drunken with slippery lard 
Gives to be stretch'd, his servants all around 
Disposed, just intervals between, the task 
Ply strenuous, and while many straining hard 
Extend it equal on all sides, it sweats 
The moisture out, and drinks the unction in, 
So they, in narrow space struggling, the dead 
Dragg'd every way, warm hope conceiving, these 
To drag him thence to Troy, those to the ships. 
Wild tumult raged around him ; neither Mars, 
Gatherer of hosts to battle, nor herself 
Pallas, however angry, had beheld 
That conflict with disdain, Jove to such length 
Protracted on that day the bloody toil 
Of steeds and men for Menoetiades. 
Nor knew divine Achilles or had aught 
Heard of Patroclus slain, for from the ships 
Remote they fought, beneath the walls of Troy. 
He, therefore, fear'd not for his death, but hope 
Indulged much rather, that, the battle push'd 
To Ilium's gates, he should return alive. 
For that his friend, unaided by himself 
Or even aided, should prevail to lay 
Troy waste, he nought supposed ; by Thetis warn'd 
In secret conference oft, he better knew 
Jove's purpose ; yet not even she had borne 
Those dreadful tidings to his ear, the loss 
Immeasurable of his dearest friend. 

i The proper meaning of imoaao jxho), is not simply 
looking on, but providing against. And thus their igno- 
rance of the death of Patroclus is accounted for. They 
were ordered by Nestor to a post in which they should 
have little to do themselves, except to superintend others, 
and were consequently too remote from Patroclus to see 
him fall, or even to hear that he had fallen.— See Vil- 
loisson. 


They all around the dead fought spear in hand 
With mutual slaughter ceaseless, and amid 
Achaia's host thus spake a chief mail-arm'd. 

Shame were it, Greecians ! should we seek by 
flight 
Our galleys now ; yawn earth our feet beneath 
And here ingulf us rather ! Better far 
Than to permit the steed-famed host of Troy 
To drag Patroclus hence into the town, 
And make the glory of this conflict theirs. 

Thus also of the dauntless Trojans spake 
A certain warrior. Oh, my friends ! although 
The Fates ordain us, one and all, to die 
Around this body, stand ! quit not the field. 

So spake the warrior prompting into act 
The courage of his friends, and such they strove 
On both sides ; high into the vault of heaven 
The iron din pass'd through the desert air. 
Meantime the horses of JEacides 
From fight withdrawn, soon as they undei'stood 
Their charioteer fallen in the dust beneath 
The arm of homicidal Hector, wept. 
Them oft with hasty lash Diores' son 
Automedon impatient smote, full oft 
He stroked them gently, and as oft he chode 1 ; 
Yet neither to the fleet ranged on the shore 
Of spacious Hellespont would they return, 
Nor with the Greecians seek the fight, but stood 
As a sepulchral pillar stands, unmoved 
Between their traces ; to the earth they hung 
Their heads, with plenteous tears their driver 

mourn'd, 
And mingled their dishevel'd manes with dust. 
Jove saw their grief with pity, and his brows 
Shaking, within himself thus, pensive, said. 

Ah hapless pair ! Wherefore by gift divine 
Were ye to Peleus given, a mortal king, 
Yourselves immortal and from age exempt ? 
Was it that ye might share in human woes ? 
For, of all things that breathe or creep the earth, 
No creature lives so mere a wretch as man. 
Yet shall not Priameian Hector ride 
Triumphant, drawn by you. Myself forbid. 
Suffice it that he boasts vain-gloriously 
Those arms his own. Your spirit and your limbs 
I will invigorate, that ye may bear 
Safe hence Automedon into the fleet. 
For I ordain the Trojans still to spread 
Carnage around victorious, till they reach 
The gallant barks, and till the sun at length 
Descending, sacred darkness cover all. 

He said, and with new might the steeds inspired. 
They, shaking from their hair profuse the dust, 
Between the van of either army whirl'd 
The rapid chariot. Fighting as he pass'd, 
Though fill'd with sorrow for his slaughter'd friend, 
Automedon high -mounted swept the field 
Impetuous as a vulture scattering geese ; 
Now would he vanish, and now, turn'd again, 
Chase through a multitude his trembling foe ; 
But whomsoe'er he follow'd, none he slew, 
Nor was the task possible to a chief 
Sole in the sacred chariot, both to aim 
The spear aright and guide the fiery steeds. 
At length Alcimedon, his friend in arms, 
Son of Laerceus son of ^Emon, him 


1 This is the proper imperfect of the verb chide, though 
modern usage has substituted chid, a word of mean and 
awkward sound, in the place of it. 


356 


THE ILIAD. 


Observing, from behind the chariot hail'cl 
The flying warrior, whom he thus bespake. 

What power, Automedon ! hath ta'en away 
Thy better judgment, and thy breast inspired 
With this vain purpose to assail alone 
The Trojan van ? Thy partner in the fight 
Is slain, and Hector on his shoulders bears. 
Elate, the armour of iEacides. 

Then, answer thus Automedon return'd, 
Son of Diores. Who of all our host 
Was ever skill'd, Alcimedon ! as thou 
To rule the fire of these immortal steeds, 
Save only while he lived, peer of the gods 
In that great art, Patroclus, now no more ? 
Thou, therefore, the resplendent reins receive 
And scourge, while I, dismounting, wage the fight. 

He ceased ; Alcimedon without delay 
The battle-chariot mounting, seized at once 
The lash and reins, and from his seat down leap'd 
Automedon. Them noble Hector mark'd, 
And to ^Eneas at his side began. 

Illustrious chief of Trojans brazen-mail'd 
-Eneas ! I have noticed yonder steeds 
Of swift Achilles rushing into fight 
Conspicuous, but under sway of hands 
Unskilful ; whence arises a fair hope 
That we might seize them, wert thou so inclined ; 
For never would those two dare to oppose 
In battle an assault dreadful as ours. 

He ended, nor the valiant son refused 
Of old Anchises, but with targets firm 
Of season'd hide brass-plated thrown athwart 
Their shoulders, both advanced direct, with whom 
Of godlike form Aretus also went 
And Chromius. Ardent hope they all conceived 
To slay those chiefs, and from the field to drive 
Achilles' lofty steeds. Vain hope ! for them 
No bloodless strife awaited with the force 
Of brave Automedon ; he, prayer to Jove 
First offering, felt his angry soul with might 
Heroic filPd, and thus his faithful friend 
Alcimedon, incontinent, address'd. 

Alcimedon ! hold not the steeds remote 
But breathing en my back ; for I expect 
That never Priam eian Hector's rage 
Shall limit know, or pause, till, slaying us, 
He shall himself the coursers ample-maned 
Mount of Achilles, and to flight compel 
The Argive host, or perish in the van. 

So saying, he call'd aloud on Menelaus 
With either Ajax. Oh, illustrious chiefs 
Of Argos, Menelaus, and ye bold 
A j aces ' ! leaving all your best to cope 
With Ilium's powers and to protect the dead, 
From friends still living ward the bitter day. 
For hither borne, two chiefs, bravest of all 
The Trojans, Hector and ^Eneas rush 
Right through the battle. The events of war 
Heaven orders ; therefore even I will give 
My spear its flight, and Jove dispose the rest ! 

He said, and brandishing his massy spear 
Dismiss'd it at Aretus ; full he smote 
His ample shield, nor stay'd the pointed brass, 
But penetrating sheer the disk, his belt 
Pierced also, and stood planted in his waist. 
As when some vigorous youth with sharpen'd axe 


i The Latin plural of Ajax is sometimes necessary, 
because the English plural— A j axes— would be insupport- 
able. 


A pastured bullock smites behind the horns 
And hews the muscle through ; he, at the stroke 
Springs forth and falls, so sprang Aretus forth, 
1 hen fell supine, and in his bowels stood 
The keen-edged lance still quivering till he died. 
Then Hector, in return, his radiant spear 
Hurl'd at Automedon, who of its flight 
Forewarn'd, his body bowing prone, the stroke 
Eluded, and the spear piercing the soil 
Behind him, shook to its superior end, 
Till, spent by slow degrees, its fury slept. 
And now, with hand to hilt, for closer war 
Both stood prepared, when through the multitude 
Advancing at their fellow-warrior's call, 
The Ajaces suddenly their combat fierce 
Prevented. Awed at once by their approach 
Hector retired, with whom iEneas went 
Also and godlike Chromius, leaving there 
Aretus with his vitals torn, whose arms, 
Fierce as the god of -war Automedon 
Stripp'd oft', and thus exulted o'er the slain. 

My soul some portion of her grief resigns 
Consoled, although by slaughter of a worse, 
For (loss of valiant Menoetiades. 

So saying, within his chariot he disposed 
The gory spoils, then mounted it himself 
With hands and feet purpled, as from a bull 
His bloody prey, some lion newly-gorged. 

And now around Patroclus raged again 
Dread strife deplorable ; for from the skies 
Descending at the Thunderer's command 
Whose purpose now was to assist the Greeks, 
Pallas enhanced the fury of the fight. 
As when from heaven, in view of mortals, JoA r e 
Exhibits bright his bow, a sign ordain'd 
Of war, or numbing frost which all the works 
Suspends of man and saddens all the flocks ; 
So she, all mantled with a radiant cloud 
Entering Achaia's host, fired every breast. 
But meeting Menelaus first, brave son 
Of Atreus, in the form and with the voice 
Robust of Phoenix, him she thus bespake. 

Shame, Menelaus, shall to thee redound 
For ever, and reproach, should clogs devour 
The faithful friend of Peleus' noble son 
Under Troy's battlements ; but stand, thyself, 
Undaunted, and encourage all the host. 

To whom the son of Atreus bold in arms. 
Ah, Phoenix, friend revered, ancient and sage ! 
Would Pallas give me might and from the dint 
Shield me of dart and spear, with willing mind 
I would defend Patroclus, for his death 
Hath touch'd me deep. But Hector with the rage 
Burns of consuming fire, nor to his spear 
Gives pause, for him Jove leads to victory. 

He ceased, whom Pallas, goddess azure-eyed 
Hearing, rejoiced that of the heavenly powers 
He had invoked her foremost to his aid. 
His shoulders with new might, and limbs she fill'd, 
And persevering boldness to his breast 
Imparted, such as prompts the fly, which oft 
From flesh of man repulsed, her purpose yet 
To bite holds fast, resolved on human blood. 
His stormy bosom with such courage fill'd 
By Pallas, to Patroclus he approach'd 
And hurl'd, incontinent, his glittering spear. 
There was a Trojan chief, Podes by name, 
Son of Eetion, valorous and rich ; 
Of all Troy's citizens him Hector most 
Respected, in convivial pleasures sweet 


THE ILIAD. 


357 


His chosen companion. As he sprang to night, 

The hero of the golden locks his belt 

Struck with full force and sent the weapon through. 

Sounding he fell, and from the Trojan ranks 

Atrides dragg'd the body to his own. 

Then drew Apollo near to Hector's side, 

And in the form of Phcenops, Asius' son, 

Of all the foreign guests at Hector's board 

His favourite most, the hero thus address'd. 

What chief of all the Greecians shall henceforth 
Fear Hector, who from Menelaus shrinks 
Once deem'd effeminate, but dragging now 
The body of thy valiant friend approved 
Whom he hath slain, Podes, Eetion's son ? 

He spake, and at his words grief like a cloud 
Involved the mind of Hector dark around ; 
Right through the foremost combatants he rush'd 
All clad in dazzling brass. Then, lifting high 
His tassel'd segis radiant, Jove with storms 
Enveloped Ida ; flash'd his lightnings, roar'd 
His thunders, and the mountain shook throughout. 
Troy's host he prosper'd, and the Greeks dispersed. 

First fled Peneleus, the Boeotian chief, 
Whom facing firm the foe Polydamas 
Struck on his shoulder's summit with a lance 
Hurl'd nigh at hand, which slight inscribed the bone. 
1 Le'itus also, son of the renovvn'd 
Alectryon, pierced by Hector in the wrist, 
Disabled left the fight ; trembling he fled 
And peering narrowly around, nor hoped 
To lift a spear against the Trojans more. 
Hector, pursuing Le'itus, the point 
Encounter'd of the brave Idomeneus 
Full on his chest ; but in his mail the lance 
Snapp'd, and the Trojans shouted to the skies. 
He, in his turn, cast at Deucalion's son 
Idomeneus, who in that moment gain'd 2 
A chariot-seat ; but him the erring spear 
Attain'd not, piercing Cceranus instead 
The friend and follower of Meriones 
From wealthy Lyctus, and his charioteer. 
For when he left, that day, the gallant barks 
Idomeneus had sought the field, on- foot, 
And triumph proud, full sure, to Ilium's host 
Had yielded now, but that with rapid haste 
Coeranus drove to his relief, from-; him* 
The fate averting which himself incurr'd 
Victim of Hector's homicidal arm. 
Him Hector smiting between ear and jaw, 
Push'd from their sockets with the lance's point 
His firm-set teeth, and sever'd sheer his tongue. 
Dismounted down he fell, and from his hand 
Let slide the flowing reins, which, to the earth 
Stooping, Meriones in haste resumed, 
And briefly thus Idomeneus address'd. 

Now drive, and cease not, to the fleet of Greece ! 
Thyself seest victory no longer ours. 

He said ; Idomeneus whom, now, dismay 

1 Le'itus was another chief of the Boeotians. 

2 Ai(pp(f i^ecrraSros — Yet we learn soon after that he 
fought on foot. But the Scholiast explains the expression 
thus— vecaarl rcS S'uppcf) linfid.vros. The fact was that 
Idomeneus had left the camp on foot, and was on foot 
when Hector prepared to throw at him. But Cceranus, 
charioteer of Meriones, observing his danger, drove in- 
stantly to his aid. Idomeneus had just time to mount, 
and the spear designed for him, struck Coeranus. — For a 
right understanding of this very intricate and difficult 
passage, I am altogether indebted to the Scholiast as 
quoted by Villoisson. 


Seized also, with his lash plying severe 
The coursers ample-maned, flew to the fleet. 
Nor Ajax, dauntless hero, not perceived, 
Nor Menelaus, by the sway of Jove 
The victory inclining fast to Troy, 
And thus the Telamonian chief began. 

Ah ! who can be so blind as not to see 
The eternal Father, now, with his own hand 
Awarding glory to the Trojan host, 
Whose every spear flies, instant, to the mark 
Sent forth by brave or base ? Jove guides them all; 
While, ineffectual, ours fall to the ground. 
But haste, devise we of ourselves the means 
How likeliest we may bear Patroclus hence, 
And gladden, safe returning,, all our friends, 
Who, hither looking anxious, hope have none 
That we shall longer check the unconquer'd force 
Of hero-slaughtering Hector, but expect 
1 To see him soon amid the fleet of Greece. 
Oh for some Greecian now to carry swift 
The tidings to Achilles' ear, untaught, 
As I conjecture, yet, the doleful news 
Of his Patroclus slain ! but no such Greek 
May I discern, such universal gloom 
Both men and steeds envelops all around. 
Father of heaven and earth ! deliver thou 
Achaia's host from darkness ; clear the skies ; 
Give day ; and (since thy sovereign will is such) 
Destruction with it — but oh give us day ! 

He spake, whose teai's Jove saw with pity moved, 
And chased the untimely shades ;.. bright, beam'd 

the sun 
And the whole battle was display'd. Then spake 
The hero thus to Atreus' mighty son. 

Now noble Menelaus! looking forth,, 
See if Antilochus be yet alive, 
Brave son of Nestor, whom exhort to fly 
With tidings to Achilles, of the friend 
Whom most he loved, of his Patroclus slain. 

He ceased, nor Menelaus, dauntless chief, 
That task refused, but went ; yet neither swift 
Nor willing. As a lion leaves the stalls 
Wearied himself with harassing the guard, 
Who, interdicting him his purposed prey, 
Watch all the night ; he famish'd, yet again 
Comes furious on, but speeds not, kept aloof 
By spears from daring hands dismiss'd, but more 
By flash of torches which, though fierce, he dreads, 
Till at the dawn, sullen he stalks away j. 
So from Patroclus Menelaus went 
Heroic chief! reluctant; for he fear'd 
Lest the Achaians should resign the dead, 
Through consternation, to the host of Troy.. 
Departing, therefore, he admonish'd oft 
Meriones and the Ajaces, thus. 

Ye two brave leaders of the Argive host, 
And thou, Meriones ! now recollect 
The gentle manners of Patroclus fallen 
Hapless in battle, who by carriage mild 
Well understood, while yet he lived, to engage 
All hearts, though prisoner now of death and fate. 

So saying, the hero amber-hair'd his steps 
Turn'd thence, the field exploring with an eye 
Sharp as the eagle's, of all fowls beneath 
The azure heavens for keenest sight renown' d, 

i The translator here follows the interpretation preferred 
by the Scholiast. The original expression is ambiguous, 
and may signify, either, that we shall perish in the fleet 
ourselves, or that Hector will soon be in the midst of it. 
Vide Villoisson in loco. 


358 


THE ILIAD. 


Whom, though he soar sublime, the leveret 

By broadest leaves couceal'd 'scapes not, but swift 

Descending, even her he makes his prey ; 

So, noble Menelaus ! were thine eyes 

Turn'd into every quarter of the host 

In search of Nestor's son, if still he lived. 

Him, soon, encouraging his band to fight, 

He noticed on the left of all the field, 

And sudden standing at his side, began. 

Antilochus ! oh hear me, noble friend ! 
And thou shalt learn tidings of such a deed 
As best had never been. Thou know'st, I judge, 
And hast already seen, how Jove exalts 
To victory the Trojan host, and rolls 
Distress on ours ; but ah ! Patroclus lies, 
Our chief Achaian, slain, whose loss the Greeks 
Fills with regret. Haste, therefore, to the fleet, 
Inform Achilles ; bid him haste to save, 
If save he can, the body of his friend ; 
He can no more, for Hector hath his arms. 

He ceased. Antilochus with horror heard 
Those tidings ; mute long time he stood, his eyes 
Swam tearful, and his voice, sonorous erst, 
Found utterance none. Yet even so distress'd, 
He not the more neglected the command 
Of Menelaus. Setting forth to run, 
He gave his armour to his noble friend 
Laodocus, who thither turn'd his steeds, 
And, weeping as he went, on rapid feet 
Sped to Achilles with that tale of woe. 

Nor could the noble Menelaus stay 
To give the weary Pylian band, bereft 
Of their beloved Antilochus, his aid, 
But leaving them to Thrasymedes' care, 
He flew to Menoetiades again, 
And the Ajaces, thus, instant bespake. 

He goes. I have dispatch'd him to the fleet 
To seek Achilles ; but his coming nought 
Expect I now, although with rage he burn 
Against illustrious Hector ; for what fight 
Can he, unarm'd, against the Trojans wage ? 
Deliberating, therefore, frame we means 
How best to save Patroclus, and to 'scape 
Ourselves unslain from this disastrous field. 

Whom answer'd the vast son of Telamon. 
Most noble Menelaus ! good is all 
Which thou hast spoken. Lift ye from the earth 
Thou and Meriones, at once, and bear 
The dead Patroclus from the bloody field. 
To cope meantime with Hector and his host 
Shall be our task, who, one in name, nor less 
In spirit one, already have the brunt 
Of much sharp conflict side by side, sustain'd. 

He ended ; they enfolding in their arms 
The dead, upbore him high above the ground 
With force united ; after whom the host 
Of Troy, seeing the 'body borne away, 
Shouted, and with impetuous onset all 
Follow'd them. As the hounds, urged from behind 
By youthful hunters, on the wounded boar 
Make fierce assault ; awhile at utmost speed 
They stretch toward him, hungering for the prey, 
But oft as, turning sudden, the stout brawn 
Faces them, scatter'd on all sides escape ; 
The Trojans so, thick thronging in the rear, 
Ceaseless with faulchions and spears double-edged 
Annoy'd them sore, but oft as in retreat 
The dauntless heroes, the Ajaces turn'd 
To face them, deadly wan grew every cheek, 
And not a Trojan dared with onset rude 


Molest them more in conflict for the dead, 

Thus they, laborious, forth from battle bore 
Patroclus to the fleet, tempestuous war 
Their steps attending, rapid as the flames 
Which, kindled suddenly, some city waste ; 
Consumed amid the blaze house after house 
Sinks, and the wind, meantime, roars through the 
So them a deafening tumult as they went [fire ; 
Pursued, of horses and of men spear-arm'd. 
And as two mules with strength for toil endued, 
Draw through rough ways down from the distant 

hills 
Huge timber, beam or mast ; sweating they go, 
And overlabour' d to faint weariness ; 
So they the body bore, while turning oft, 
The Ajaces check'd the Trojans. As a mound 
Planted with trees and stretch'd athwart the mead 
Repels an overflow ; the torrents loud 
Baffling, it sends them far away to float 
The level land, nor can they with the force 
Of all their waters burst a passage through ; 
So the Ajaces, constant, in the rear 
Repress'd the Trojans ; but the Trojans them 
Attended still, of whom iEneas most 
Troubled them, and the glorious chief of Troy. 
They as a cloud of starlings or of daws 
Fly screaming shrill, warn'd timely of the kite 
Or hawk, devourers of the smaller kinds, 
So they shrill-clamouring toward the fleet, 
Hasted before uEneas and the might 
Of Hector, nor the battle heeded more. 
Much radiant armour round about the foss 
Fell of the flying Greecians, or within 
Lay scatter'd, and no pause of war they found. 


BOOK XVIII. 

ARGUMENT. 

Achilles, by command of Juno, shows himself to the 
Trojans, who fly at his appearance; Vulcan, at the 
instance of Thetis, forges for him a suit of armour. 

Thus burn'd the battle like devouring fire. 
Meantime, Antilochus with rapid steps 
Came to Achilles. Him he found before 
His lofty barks, occupied, as he stood, 
With boding fears of all that had befallen. 
He groan'd, and to his noble self he said, 

Ah ! woe is me — why falls Achaia's host, 
With such disorder foul, back on the fleet I 
I tremble lest the gods my anxious thoughts 
Accomplish and my mother's words, who erst 
Hath warn'd me, that the bravest and the best 
Of all my Myrmidons, while yet I live, 
Slain under Troy, must view the sun no more. 
Brave Menoetiades is, doubtless, slain. 
Unhappy friend ! I bade thee oft, our barks 
Deliver'd once from hostile fires, not seek 
To cope in arms with Hector, but return. 

While musing thus he stood, the son approach'd 
Of noble Nestor, and with tears his cheeks 
Bedewing copious, his sad message told. 

Oh son of warlike Peleus ! thou shalt hear 
Tidings of deeds which best had never been. 
Patroclus is no more. The Greecians fight 
For his bare corse, and Hector hath his arms. 

Then clouds of sorrow fell on Peleus' son, 


THE ILIAD. 


359 


And, grasping with both hands the ashes, down 

He pour'd them on his head, his graceful brows 

Dishonouring, and thick the sooty shower 

Descending settled on his fragrant vest. 

Then, stretch'd in ashes, at the vast extent 

Of his whole length he lay, disordering wild 

With his own hands, and rending off his hair. 

The maidens, captived by himself in war 

And by Patroclus, shrieking from the tent 

Ran forth, and hemm'd the glorious chief around. 

All smote their bosoms, and all, fainting, fell. 

On the other side, Antilochus the hands 

Held of Achilles, mourning and deep groans 

Uttering from his noble heart, through fear 

Lest Peleus' son should perish self- destroy 'd. 

Loud groan'd the hero, whose loud groans within 

The gulfs of ocean, where she sat beside 

Her ancient sire, his goddess-mother heard, 

And hearing shriek'd ; around her, at the voice 

Assembled all the Nereids of the deep. 

Cymodoce, Thalia, Glauca came, 

Nissea, Spio, Thoa, and with eyes 

Protuberant beauteous Halia ; came with these 

Cymothoe, and Actsea, and the nymph 

Of marshes, Limnorea, nor delay'd 

Agave, nor Amphithoe the swift, 

I sera, Doto, Melita, nor thence 

Was absent Proto or Dynamene, 

Callianira, Doris, Panope, 

Pherusa or Amphinome, or fair 

Dexamene, or Galatea praised 

For matchless form divine ; Nemertes pure 

Came also, with Apseudes crystal-bright, 

Callianassa, Msera, Clymene, 

Janeira and Janassa, sister pair, 

And Orithya, and with azure locks 

Luxuriant, Amafchea ; nor alone 

Came these, but every ocean- nymph beside. 

The silver cave was fill'd ; each smote her breast, 

And Thetis, loud lamenting, thus began. 

Ye sister Nereids, hear ! that ye may all 
From my own lips my boundless sorrow learn. 
Ah me forlorn ! ah me, parent in vain 
Of an illustrious birth ! who, having borne 
A noble son magnanimous, the chief 
Of heroes, saw him like a thriving plant 
Shoot vigorous under my maternal care, 
And sent him early in his gallant fleet 
Embark'd, to combat with the sons of Troy. 
But him from fight return'd I shall receive 
Beneath the roof of Peleus, never more ; 
And while he lives, and on the sun his eyes 
Opens, he mourns, nor, going, can I aught 
Assist him ; yet I go, that I may see 
My darling son, and from his lips be taught 
What grief hath now befallen him, who close 
Abiding in his tent shares not the war. 

So saying she left the cave, whom all her nymphs 
Attended weeping, and where'er they pass'd 
The breaking billows open'd wide a way. 
At fruitful Troy arrived, in order fair 
They climb'd the beach, where by his numerous 
Encompass'd, swift Achilles sighing lay. [barks 
Then, drawing nigh to her afflicted son, 
The goddess-mother press'd between her palms 
His temples, and in accents wing'd inquired. 

Why weeps my son % what sorrow wrings thy soul \ 
Speak, hide it not, Jove hath fulfill 'd the prayer 
Which erst with lifted hands thou didst prefer, 
That all Achaia's host, wanting thy aid, 


Might be compell'd into the fleet, and foul 
Disgrace incur, there prison'd for thy sake. 

To whom Achilles, groaning deep, replied. 
My mother ! it is true ; Olympian Jove 
That prayer fulfils ; but thence, what joy to me, 
Patroclus slain ? the friend of all my friends 
Whom most I loved, dear to me as my life — 
Him I have lost. Slain and despoil'd he lies 
By Hector of his glorious armour bright 
The wonder of all eyes, a matchless gift, 
Given by the gods to Peleus on that day 
When thee they doom'd into a mortal's arms. 
Oh that with these thy deathless ocean-nymphs 
Dwelling content, thou hadst my father left 
To espouse a mortal bride, so hadst thou 'scaped 
Pangs numberless which thou must now endure 
For thy son's death, whom thou shalt never meet 
From Troy return'd, in Peleus' mansion more ! 
For life I covet not, nor longer wish 
To mix with human kind, unless my spear 
May find out Hector, and atonement take 
By slaying him, for my Patroclus slain. 

To whom, with streaming tears, Thetis replied. 
Swift comes thy destiny as thou hast said, 
For after Hector's death thine next ensues. 

Then answer, thus, indignant he return'd. 
Death seize me now ! since when my friend was 

slain, 
My doom was, not to succour him. He died 
From home remote, and wanting me to save him. 
Now, therefore, since I neither visit more 
My native land, nor, present here, have aught 
Avail'd Patroclus or my many friends 
Whom noble Hector hath in battle slain, 
But here I sit unprofitable grown, 
Earth's burden, though of such heroic note, 
If not in council foremost (for I yield 
That prize to others) yet in feats of arms, 
Such as none other in Achaia's host, 
May fierce contention from among the gods 
Perish, and from among the human race, 
With wrath, which sets the wisest hearts on fire ; 
Sweeter than dropping honey to the taste, 
But in the bosom of mankind, a smoke ! 
Such was my wrath which Agamemnon roused, 
The king of men. But since the past is fled 
Irrevocable, howsoe'er distress'd, 
Renounce we now vain musings on the past, 
Content through sad necessity. I go 
In quest of noble Hector, who hath slain 
My loved Patroclus, and such death will take, 
As Jove ordains me and the powers of heaven 
At their own season, send it when they may. 
For neither might the force of Hercules, 
Although high-favour'd of Saturnian Jove, 
From death escape, but fate and the revenge 
Restless of Juno vanquish'd even him. 
I also, if a destiny like his 
Await me, shall, like him, find rest in death ; 
But glory calls me now ; now will I make 
Some Trojan wife or Dardan with both hands 
Wipe her soft cheeks, and utter many a groan. 
Long time have I been absent from the field, 
And they shall know it. Love me as thou may'st, 
Yet thwart me not, for I am fixt to go. 

Whom Thetis answer'd, goddess of the deep. 
Thou hast well said, my son ! it is no blame 
To save from threaten' d death our suffering friends. 
But thy magnificent and dazzling arms 
Are now in Trojan hands ; them Hector wears 


360 


THE ILIAD. 


Exulting, but ordain'd not long to exult, 
So habited ; his death is also nigh. 
But thou with yonder warring multitudes 
Mix not, till thou behold me here again ; 
For with the rising sun I will return 
To-morrow, and will bring thee glorious arms, 
By Vulcan forged himself, the king of fire. 

She said, and turning from her son aside, 
The sisterhood of ocean thus address' d. 

Plunge ye again into the briny deep, 
And to the hoary sovereign of the floods 
Report as ye have heard. I to the heights 
Olympian haste, that I may there obtain 
From Vulcan, glorious artist of the skies, 
Arms of excelling beauty for my son. 

She said ; they plunged into the waves again, 
And silver-footed Thetis, to the heights 
Olympian soaring swiftly to obtain 
Arms for renown'd Achilles, disappear'd. 
Meantime, with infinite uproar the Greeks 
From Hector's hero-slaying arm had fled 
Home to their galleys station'd on the banks j 
Of Hellespont. Nor yet Achaia's sons 
Had borne the body of Patroclus clear 
From flight of darts away, but still again 
The multitude of warriors and of steeds 
Came on, by Priameian Hector led 
Rapid as fire. Thrice, noble Hector seized 
His ancles from behind, ardent to drag 
Patroclus, calling to his host the while ; 
But thrice, the two Ajaces, clothed with might, 
Shock'd and repulsed him reeling. He with force 
Fill'd indefatigable, through his ranks 
Issuing, by turns assail'd them, and by turns 
Stood clamouring, yet not a step retired ; 
But as the hinds deter not from his prey 
A tawny lion by keen hunger urged, 
So could not both Ajaces, warriors bold, 
Intimidate and from the body drive 
Hector ; and he had dragg'd him thence and won 
Immortal glory, but that Iris, sent 
Unseen by Jove and by the powers of heaven, 
From Juno to Achilles brought command 
That he should show himself. Full near she drew, 
And in wing'd accents thus the chief address'd. 

Hero ! most terrible of men, arise ! 
Protect Patroclus, for whose sake the war 
Stands at the fleet of Greece. Mutual prevails 
The slaughter, these the dead defending, those 
Resolute hence to drag him to the gates 
Of wind-swept Ilium. But beyond them all 
Illustrious Hector, obstinate is bent 
To win him, purposing to lop his head, 
And to exhibit it impaled on high. 
Thou then arise, nor longer on the ground 
Lie stretch'd inactive ; let the thought with shame 
Touch thee, of thy Patroclus made the sport 
Of Trojan dogs, whose corse, if it return 
Dishonour'd home, brings with it thy reproach. 

To whom Achilles matchless in the race. 
Iris divine ! of all the Gods who sent thee ? 

Then, thus, the swift ambassadress of heaven. 
By Juno sent I come, consort of Jove. 
Nor knows Saturnian Jove high-throned, himself, 
My flight, or any of the immortal powers, 
Tenants of the Olympian heights snow-crown'd. 

Her answer'd then Pelides, glorious chief. 
How shall I seek the fight ? they have my arms. 
My mother charged me also to abstain 
From battle, till she bring me armour new 


Which she hath promised me from Vulcan's hand. 
Meantime, whose armour else might serve my need 
I know not, save perhaps alone the shield 
Of Telamonian Ajax, whom I deem 
Himself now busied in the stormy van, 
Slaying the Trojans in my friend's defence. 

To whom the swift-wing'd messenger of heaven. 
Full well we know thine armour Hector's prize. 
Yet, issuing to the margin of the foss, 
Show thyself only. Panic-seized, perchance, 
The Trojans shall from fight desist, and yield 
To the o'ertoil'd though dauntless sons of Greece 
Short respite ; it is all that war allows. 

So saying, the storm-wing'd Iris disappear'd. 
Then rose at once Achilles dear to Jove, 
Athwart whose shoulders broad Minerva cast 
Her segis fringed terrific, and his brows 
Encircled with a golden cloud that shot 
Fires insupportable to sight abroad. 
As when some island, situate afar 
On the wide waves, invested all the day 
By cruel foes from their own city pour'd, 
Upsends a smoke to heaven, and torches shows 
On all her turrets at the close of eve 
Which flash against the clouds, kindled in hope 
Of aid from neighbour maritime allies, 
So from Achilles' head light flash'd to heaven. 
Issuing through the wall, beside the foss 
He stood, but mix'd not with Achaia's host, 
Obedient to his mother's wise command. 
He stood and shouted ; Pallas also raised 
A dreadful shout, and tumult infinite 
Excited throughout all the host of Troy. 
Clear as the trumpet's note when it proclaims 
A numerous host approaching to invest 
Some city close around, so clear the voice 
Rang of iEacides, and tumult-toss'd 
Was every soul that heard the brazen tone. 
With swift recoil the long-maned coursers thrust 
The chariots back, all boding woe at hand, 
And every charioteer astonish'd saw 
Fires, that fail'd not, illumining the brows 
Of Peleus' son, by Pallas kindled there. 
Thrice, o'er the trench Achilles sent his voice 
Sonorous, and confusion at the sound 
Thrice seized the Trojans, and their famed allies. 
Twelve, in that moment, of their noblest died 
By their own spears and chariots, and with joy 
The Greecians from beneath an hill of darts 
Dragging Patroclus, placed him on his bier. 
Around him throng'd his fellow-warriors bold, 
All weeping, after whom Achilles went 
Fast-weeping also at the doleful sight 
Of his true friend on his funereal bed 
Extended, gash'd with many a mortal wound, 
Whom he had sent into the fight with steeds 
And chariot, but received him thence no more. 

And now majestic Juno sent the sun, 
Unwearied minister of light, although 
Reluctant, down into the ocean stream. 
So the sun sank, and the Achaians ceased 
From the all-wasting labours of the war. 
On the other side, the Trojans, from the fight 
Retiring, loosed their steeds, but ere they took 
Thought of refreshment, in full council met. 
It was a council at which no man sat, 
Or dared ; all stood ; such terror had on all 
Fallen, for that Achilles had appear'd, 
After long pause from battle's arduous toil. 
First rose Polydamas the prudent son 


THE ILIAD. 


361 


Of Panthus, above all the Trojans skill'd 
Both in futurity and in the past. 
He was the friend of Hector, and one night 
Gave birth to both. In council one excell'd, 
And one still more in feats of high renown. 
Thus then, admonishing them, he began. 

My friends ! weigh well the occasion. Back to 
By my advice, nor wait the sacred morn [Troy 
Here, on the plain, from Ilium's walls remote. 
So long as yet the anger of this chief 
'Gainst noble Agamemnon burn'd, so long 
We found the Greeks less formidable foes, 
And I rejoiced, myself, spending the night 
Beside their oary barks, for that I hoped 
To seize them ; but I now tremble at thought 
Of Peleus' rapid son again in arms. 
A spirit proud as his will scorn to fight 
Here, on the plain, where Greeks and Trojans take 
Their Common share of danger and of toil, 
And will at once strike at your citadel, 
Impatient till he make your wives his prey. 
Haste — let us home — else thus shall it befal ; 
Night's balmy influence in his tent detains 
Achilles now, but rushing arm'd abroad 
To-morrow, should he find us lingering here, 
None shall mistake him then ; happy the man 
Who soonest, then, shall 'scape to sacred Troy ! 
Then, dogs shall make and vultures on our flesh 
Plenteous repast. Oh spare mine ears the tale ! 
But if, though troubled, ye can yet receive 
My counsel, thus assembled we will keep 
Strict guard to-night ; meantime, her gates and 

towers 
With all their mass of solid timbers, smooth 
And cramp'd with bolts of steel, will keep the town. 
But early on the morrow we will stand 
All arm'd on Ilium's towers. Then, if he chuse, 
His galleys left, to compass Troy about, 
He shall be task'd enough ; his lofty steeds 
Shall have their fill of coursing to and fro 
Beneath, and gladly shall to camp return. 
But waste the town he shall not, nor attempt 
With all the utmost valour that he boasts 
To force a pass ; dogs shall devour him first. 

To whom brave Hector louring, and in wrath. 
Polydamas, I like not thy advice 
Who bidd'st us in our city skulk, again 
Imprison'd there. Are ye not yet content ? 
Wish ye for durance still in your own towers ? 
Time was, when in all regions under heaven 
Men praised the wealth of Priam's city stored 
With gold and brass ; but all our houses now 
Stand emptied of their hidden treasures rare. 
Jove in his wrath hath scatter 'd them ; our wealth 
Is marketed, and Phrygia hath a part 
Purchased, and part Mseonia's lovely land. 
But since the son of wily Saturn old 
Hath given me glory now, and to inclose 
The Greecians in their fleet hemm'd by the sea, 
Fool ! taint not with such talk the public mind. 
For not a Trojan here will thy advice 
Follow, or shall ; it hath not my consent. 
But thus I counsel. Let us, band by band, 
Throughout the host take supper, and let each, 
Guarded against nocturnal danger, watch. 
And if a Trojan here be rack'd in mind 
Lest his possessions perish, let him cast 
His golden heaps into the public maw l , 

1 KaTaSritxofSopricrai. 


Far better so consumed than by the Greeks. 
Then, with the morrow's dawn, all fair array'd 
In battle, we will give them at their fleet 
Sharp onset, and if Peleus' noble son 
Have risen indeed to conflict for the ships, 
The worse for him. I shall not for his sake 
Avoid the deep-toned battle, but will firm 
Oppose his utmost. Either he shall gain 
Or I, great glory. Mars his favours deals 
Impartial, and the slayer oft is slain. 

So counsel'd Hector, whom with shouts of praise 
The Trojans answer'd : — fools, and by the power 
Of Pallas of all sober thought bereft ! 
For all applauded Hector, who had given 
Advice pernicious, and Polydamas, 
Whose counsel was discreet and wholesome, none. 
So then they took repast. But all night long 
The Greecians o'er Patroclus wept aloud, 
While, standing in the midst, Pelides led 
The lamentation, heaving many a groan, 
And on the bosom of his breathless friend 
Imposing, sad, his homicidal hands. 
As the grim lion, from whose gloomy lair 
Among thick trees the hunter hath his whelps 
Purloin'd, too late returning mourns his loss, 
Then, up and down, the length of many a vale 
Courses, exploring fierce the robber's foot, 
Incensed as he, and with a sigh deep-drawn 
Thus to his Myrmidons Achilles spake. 

How vain, alas ! my word spoken that day 
At random, when to soothe the hero's fears 
Mencetius, then our guest, I promised him 
His noble son at Opoeis again, 
Living and laden with the spoils of Troy ! 
But Jove performs not all the thoughts of man, 
For we were both destined to tinge the soil 
Of Ilium with our blood, nor I shall see, 
Myself, my father in his mansion more 
Or Thetis, but must find my burial here. 
Yet, my Patroclus ! since the earth expects 
Me next, I will not thy funereal rites 
Finish, till I shall bring both head and arms 
Of that bold chief who slew thee, to my tent. 
I also will smite off, before thy pile, 
The heads of twelve illustrious sons of Troy, 
Resentful of thy death. Meantime, among 
My lofty galleys thou shalt lie, with tears 
Mourn'd day and night by Trojan captives fair 
And Dardan compassing thy bier around, 
Whom we, at price of labour hard, ourselves 
With massy spears toiling in battle took 
From many an opulent city, now no more. 

So saying, he bade his train surround with fire 
A tripod huge, that they might quickly cleanse 
Patroclus from all stain of clotted gore. 
They on the blazing hearth a tripod placed 
Capacious, fill'd with water its wide womb, 
And thrust dry wood beneath, till, fierce, the flames 
Embraced it round, and warm'd the flood within. 
Soon as the water in the singing brass 
Simmer'd, they bathed him, and with limpid oil 
Anointed ; filling, next, his ruddy wounds 
With unguent mellow'd by nine circling years, 
They stretch'd him on his bed, then cover'd him 
From head to foot with linen texture light, 
And with a wide unsullied mantle, last. 
All night the Myrmidons around the swift 
Achilles stood, deploring loud his friend, 
And Jove his spouse and sister thus bespake. 

So then, imperial Juno ! not in vain 


I 36: 


THE ILIAD. 


Thou hast the swift Achilles sought to rouse 

Again to battle ; the Achaians, sure, 

Are thy own children, thou hast borne them all. 

To whom the awful goddess ample-eyed. 
What word hath pass'd thy lips, Jove most severe ? 
A man, though mortal merely, and to me 
Inferior in device, might have achieved 
That labour easily. Can I who boast 
Myself the chief of goddesses, and such 
Not by birth only, but as thine espoused, 
Who art thyself sovereign of all the gods, 
Can I with anger burn against the house 
Of Priam, and want means of just revenge ? 

Thus they in heaven their mutual conference held. 
Meantime, the silver-footed Thetis reach'd 
The starr'd abode eternal, brazen-wall'd 
Of Vulcan, by the builder lame himself 
Uprear'd, a wonder even in eyes divine. 
She found him sweating, at his bellows huge 
Toiling industrious ; tripods bright he form'd 
Twenty at once, his palace-wall to grace 
Ranged in harmonious order. Under each 
Two golden wheels he set, on which (a sight 
Marvellous !) into council they should roll 
Self-moved, and to his house, self-moved, return. 
Thus far the work was finish'd, but not yet 
Their ears of exquisite design affixt, 
For them he stood fashioning, and prepared 
The rivets. While he thus his matchless skill 
Employ'd laborious, to his palace-gate 
The silver-footed Thetis now advanced, 
Whom Charis, Vulcan's well-attired spouse, 
Beholding from the palace portal, flew 
To seize the goddess' hand, and thus inquired. 

Why, Thetis ! worthy of all reverence 
And of all love, comest thou to our abode, 
Unfrequent here ! But enter, and accept 
Such welcome as to such a guest is due. 

So saying, she introduced and to a seat 
Led her with argent studs border'd around 
And foot-stool'd sumptuously ; then, calling forth 
Her spouse, the glorious artist, thus she said. 

Haste, Vulcan ! Thetis wants thee ; linger not. 
To whom the artist of the skies replied. 

A goddess then, whom with much cause I love 
And venerate is here, who when I fell 
Saved me, what time my shameless mother sought 
To cast me, because lame, out of all sight ; 
Then had I been indeed forlorn, had not 
Eurynome the daughter of the deep 
And Thetis in their laps received me fallen. 
Nine years with them residing, for their use 
I form'd nice trinkets, clasps, rings, pipes, and 

chains, 
While loud around our hollow cavern roar'd 
The surge of the vast deep, nor god nor man, 
Save Thetis and Eurynome, my life's 
Preservers, knew where I was kept conceal'd. 
Since, therefore, she is come, I cannot less 
Than recompense to Thetis amber-hair'd 
With readiness the boon of life preserved. 
Haste, then, and hospitably spread the board 
For her regale, while with my best dispatch 
I lay my bellows and my tools aside. 

He spake, and vast in bulk and hot with toil 
Rose limping from beside his anvil-stock 
Upborne with pain on legs tortuous and weak. 
First, from the forge dislodged he thrust apart 
His bellows, and his tools collecting all 
Bestow'd them, careful, in a silver chest, 


Then all around with a wet sponge he wiped 
His visage, and his arms and brawny neck 
Purified, and his shaggy breast from smutch ; 
Last, putting on his vest, he took in hand 
His sturdy staff, and shuffled through the door. 
Beside the king of fire two golden forms 
Majestic moved, that served him in the place 
Of handmaids ; young they seem'd, and seem'd 

alive, 
Nor want they intellect, or speech, or force, 
Or prompt dexterity by the gods inspired. 
These his supporters were, and at his side 
Attended diligent, while he, with gait 
Uncouth, approaching Thetis where she sat 
On a bright throne, seized fast her hand and said. 

Why, Thetis ! worthy as thou art of love 
And of all reverence, hast thou arrived, 
Unfrequent here ? Speak — tell me thy desire, 
Nor doubt my services, if thou demand. 
Things possible, and possible to me. 

Then Thetis, weeping plenteously, replied. 
Oh Vulcan ! Is there on Olympus' heights 
A goddess with such load of sorrow oppress' d 
As, in peculiar, Jove assigns to me ? 
Me only, of all ocean-nymphs, he made 
Spouse to a man, Peleus JEacides, 
Whose bed, although reluctant and perforce, 
I yet endured to share. He now, the prey 
Of cheerless age, decrepit lies, and Jove 
Still other woes heaps on my wretched head. 
He gave me to bring forth, gave me to rear 
A son illustrious, valiant, and the chief 
Of heroes ; he, like a luxuriant plant 
Upran ' to manhood, while his lusty growth 
I nourish 'd as the husbandman his vine 
Set in a fruitful field, and being grown 
I sent him early in his gallant fleet 
Embark'd, to combat with the sons of Troy ; 
But him from fight return'd I shall receive, 
Beneath the roof of Peleus, never more, 
And while he lives and on the sun his eyes 
Opens, affliction is his certain doom, 
Nor aid resides or remedy in me. 
The virgin, his own portion of the spoils, 
Allotted to him by the Greecians — her 
Atrides, king of men, resumed, and grief 
Devour'd Achilles' spirit for her sake. 
Meantime, the Trojans shutting close within 
Their camp the Greecians, have forbidden them 
All egress, and the senators of Greece 
Have sought with splendid gifts to soothe my son. 
He, indisposed to rescue them himself 
From ruin, sent, instead, Patroclus forth 
Clad in his own resplendent armour, chief 
Of the whole host of Myrmidons. Before 
The Scsean gate from morn to eve they fought, 
And on that self-same day had Ilium fallen, 
But that Apollo, to advance the fame 
Of Hector, slew Menoetius' noble son 
Full-flush'd with victory. Therefore at thy knees 
Suppliant I fall, imploring from thine art 
A shield and helmet, greaves of shapely form 
With clasps secured, and corslet for my son. 
For those, once his, his faithful friend hath lost, 
Slain by the Trojans, and Achilles lies, 
Himself, extended mournful on the ground. 

Her answer'd then the artist of the skies. 
Courage ! Perplex not with these cares thy soul. 

1 'Avedpa/J*. 


THE ILIAD. 


363 


I would that when his fatal hour shall come, 
I could as sure secrete him from the stroke 
Of destiny, as he shall soon have arms 
Illustrious, such as each particular man 
Of thousands, seeing them, shall wish his own. 

He said, and to his bellows quick repair'd, 
Which turning to the fire he hade them heave. 
Full twenty bellows working all at once 
Breathed on the furnace, blowing easy and free 
The managed winds, now forcible, as best 
Suited dispatch, now gentle, if the will 
Of Vulcan and his labour so required. 
Impenetrable brass, tin, silver, gold, 
He cast into the forge, then, settling firm 
His ponderous anvil on the block, one hand 
With his huge hammer fill'd, one with the tongs. 

He fashion'd first a shield massy and broad 
Of labour exquisite, for which he form'd 
A triple border beauteous, dazzling bright, 
And loop'd it with a silver brace behind. 
The shield itself with five strong folds he forged, 
And with devices multiform the disk 
Capacious charged, toiling with skill divine. 

There he described the earth, the heaven, the sea, 
The sun that rests not, and the moon full-orb'd. 
There also, all the stars which round about 
As with a radiant frontlet bind the skies, 
The Pleiads and the Hyads, and the might 
Of huge Orion, with him Ursa call'd, 
Known also by his popular name, the Wain, 
That spins around the pole looking toward 
Orion, only star of these denied 
To slake his beams in Ocean's briny baths. 

Two splendid cities also there he form'd 
Such as men build. In one were to be seen 
Rites matrimonial solemnized with pomp 
Of sumptuous banquets; from their chambers forth 
Leading the brides they usher'd them along 
With torches through the streets, and sweet was 
The voice around of hymeneal song. [heard 

Here striplings danced in circles to the sound 
Of pipe and harp, while in the portals stood 
Women, admiring, all, the gallant show. 
Elsewhere was to be seen in council met 
The close-throng'd multitude. There strife arose. 
Two citizens contended for a mulct 
The price of blood. This man aflirm'd the fine 
All paid, haranguing vehement the crowd, 
That man denied that he had aught received, 
And to the judges each made his appeal 
Eager for their award. Meantime the people, 
As favour sway'd them, clamour'd loud for each. 
The heralds quell'd the tumult ; reverend sat 
On polish'd stones the elders in a ring, 
Each with an herald's sceptre in his hand, 
Which holding they arose, and all in turn 
Gave sentence. In the midst two talents lay 
Of gold, his destined recompense whose voice 
Decisive should pronounce the best award. 
The other city by two glittering hosts 
Invested stood, and a dispute arose 
Between the hosts, whether to burn the town 
And lay all waste, or to divide the spoil. 
Meantime, the citizens, still undismay'd, 
Surrender'd not the town, but taking arms 
Secretly, set the ambush in array, 
And on the walls their wives and children kept 
Vigilant guard, with all the ancient men. 
They sallied ; at their head Pallas and Mars 
Both golden and in golden vests attired 


Advanced, proportion each showing divine, 
Large, prominent, and such as gods beseem'd. 
Not such the people, but of humbler size. 
Arriving at the spot for ambush chosen, 
A river's side, where cattle of each kind 
Drank, down they sat, all arm'd in dazzling brass. 
Apart from all the rest sat also down 
Two spies, both looking for the flocks and herds. 
Soon they appear' d, and at their side were seen 
Two shepherd swains, each playing on his pipe 
Careless, and of the danger nought apprised. 
Swift ran the spies, perceiving their approach, 
And intercepting suddenly the herds 
And flocks of silver fleece, slew also those 
Who fed them. The besiegers, at that time 
In council, by the sound alarm'd, their steeds 
Mounted, and hasted, instant, to the place ; 
Then, standing on the river's brink they fought 
And push'd each other with the brazen lance. 
There Discord raged, there Tumult, and the force 
Of ruthless Destiny ; she now a chief 
Seized newly wounded, and now captive held 
Another yet unhurt, and now a third 
Dragg'd breathless through the battle by his feet, 
And all her garb was dappled thick with blood. 
Like living men they traversed and they strove, 
And dragg'd by turns the bodies of the slain. 

He also graved on it a fallow field 
Rich, spacious, and well-till'd. Ploughers not few, 
There driving to and fro their sturdy teams, 
Labour'd the land ; and oft as in their course 
They came to the field's bourn, so oft a man 
Met them, who in their hands a goblet placed 
Charged with delicious wine. They, turning, 

wrought 
Each his own furrow, and impatient seem'd 
To reach the border of the tilth, which black 
Appear'd behind them as a glebe new-turn'd, 
Though golden. Sight to be admired by all ! 
There too he form'd the likeness of a field 
Crowded with corn, in which the reapers toil'd 
Each with a sharp-tooth' d sickle in his hand. 
Along the furrow here, the harvest fell 
In frequent handfuls, there, they bound the 

sheaves. 
Three binders of the sheaves their sultry task 
All plied industrious, and behind them boys 
Attended, filling with the corn their arms 
And offering still their bundles to be bound. 
Amid them, staff in hand, the master stood 
Silent exulting, while beneath an oak 
Apart, his heralds busily prepared 
The banquet, dressing a well-thriven ox 
New-slain, and the attendant maidens mix'd 
Large supper for the hinds of whitest flour. 
There also, laden with its fruit he form'd 
A vineyard all of gold ; purple he made 
The clusters, and the vines supported stood 
By poles of silver set in even rows. 
The trench he colour'd sable, and around 
Fenced it with tin. One only path it show'd 
By which the gatherers when they stripp'd the 

vines [blithe 

Pass'd and repass'd. There, youths and maidens 
In frails of wicker bore the luscious fruit, 
While, in the midst, a boy on his shrill harp 
Harmonious play'd, still as he struck the chord 
Caroling to it with a slender voice. 
They smote the ground together, and with song 
And sprightly reed came dancing on behind. 


364 


THE ILIAD. 


There too an herd he fashion'd of tall beeves 
Part gold, part tin. They, lowing, from the stalls 
Rush'd forth to pasture by a river-side 
Rapid, sonorous, fringed with whispering reeds. 
Four golden herdsmen drove the kine a-field 
By nine swift dogs attended. Dreadful sprang. 
Two lions forth, and of the foremost herd 
Seized fast a bull. Him bellowing they dragg'd, 
While dogs and peasants all flew to his aid. 
The lions tore the hide of the huge prey 
And lapp'd his entrails and his blood. Meantime 
The herdsmen, troubling them in vain, their hounds 
Encouraged ; but no tooth for lions' flesh 
Found they, and, therefore, stood aside and bark'd. 

There also, the illustrious smith divine 
Amidst a pleasant grove a pasture form'd 
Spacious, and sprinkled o'er with silver sheep 
Numerous, and stalls and huts and shepherds' 
tents. 
To these the glorious artist added next, 
With various skill delineated exact, 
A labyrinth for the dance, such as of old 
In Crete's broad island Daedalus composed 
For bright-hailed Ariadne. There the youths 
And youth-alluring maidens, hand in hand, 
Danced jocund, every maiden, neat-attired 
In finest linen, and the youths in vests 
Well-woven, glossy as the glaze of oil. [those, 
These all wore garlands, and bright faulchions, 
Of burnish'd gold in silver trappings hung : — 
They with well-tutor'd step, now, nimbly ran 
The circle, swift, as when, before his wheel 
Seated, the potter twirls it with both hands 
For trial of its speed, now, crossing quick 
They pass'd at once into each other's place. 
On either side spectators numerous stood 
Delighted, and two tumblers roll'd themselves 
Between the dancers, singing as they roll'd. 

Last, with the might of ocean's boundless flood 
He fill'd the border of the wondrous shield. 
When thus the massy shield magnificent 
He had accomplish'd, for the hero next 
He forged, more ardent than the blaze of fire, 
A corslet ; then, a ponderous helmet bright 
Well fitted to his brows, crested with gold, 
And with laborious art divine adorn'd. 
He also made him greaves of molten tin. 

The armour finish'd, bearing in his hand 
The whole, he set it down at Thetis' feet. 
She, like a falcon, from the snowy top 
Stoop'd of Olympus, bearing to the earth 
The dazzling wonder fresh from Vulcan's band. 


BOOK XIX. 

ARGUMENT. 

Achilles is reconciled to Agamemnon, and, clothed in 
new armour forged by Vulcan, leads out the Myrmidons 
to battle. 

Now rose the morn in saffron vest attired 
From ocean, with new day for gods and men, 
When Thetis at the fleet of Greece arrived, 
Bearing that gift divine. She found her son 
All tears, and close enfolding in his arms 
Patroclus, while his Myrmidons around 


Wept also ; she amid them, graceful, stood, 
And seizing fast his hand, him thus bespake. 
Although our loss be great, yet, oh my son I 
Leave we Patroclus lying on the bier 
To which the gods ordain'd him from the first. 
Receive from Vulcan's hands these glorious arms, 
Such as no mortal shoulders ever bore. 

So saying, she placed the armour on the ground 
Before him, and the whole bright treasure rang- 
A tremor shook the Myrmidons ; none dared 
Look on it, but all fled. Not so himself. 
In him fresh vengeance kindled at the view,. 
And, while he gazed, a splendour as of fire 
Flash 'd from his eyes. Delighted, in his hand 
He held the glorious bounty of the god, 
And, wondering at those strokes of art divine, 
His eager speech thus to his mother turn'd. 

The god, my mother ! hath bestow'd in truth 
Such armour on me as demanded skill 
Like his, surpassing far all power of man. 
Now, therefore, I will arm. But anxious fears 
Trouble me, lest intrusive flies, meantime, 
Breed worms within the spear-inflicted wounds 
Of Menoetiades, and fill with taint 
Of putrefaction his whole breathless form. 

But him the silver-footed goddess fair 
Thus answer'd. Oh, my son ! chase from thy mind 
All such concern. I will, myself, essay 
To drive the noisome swarms which on the slain 
In battle feed voracious. Should he 1 lie 
The year complete, his flesh shall yet be found 
Untainted, and, it may be, fragrant too. 
But thou the heroes of Achaia's host 
Convening, in their ears thy wrath renounce 
Against the king of men, then, instant, arm 
For battle, and put on thy glorious might. 

So saying, the goddess raised his courage high. 
Then, through the nostrils of the dead she pour'd 
Ambrosia, and the ruddy juice divine 
Of nectar, antidotes against decay. 

And now forth went Achilles by the side 
Of ocean, calling with a dreadful shout 
To council all the heroes of the host. 
Then, even they who in the fleet before 
Constant abode, helmsmen and those who held 
In stewardship the food and public stores, 
All flock'd to council, for that now at length 
After long abstinence from dread exploits 
Of war, Achilles had once more appear'd. 
Two went together, halting on the spear, 
(For still they felt the anguish of their wounds) 
Noble Ulysses and brave Diomede, 
And took an early seat ; whom follow'd last 
The king of men, by Coon in the field 
Of furious battle wounded with a lance. 
The Greecians all assembled, in the midst 
Upstood the swift Achilles, and began. 

Atrides ! we had doubtless better sped 
Both thou and I, thus doing, when at first 
With cruel rage we burn'd, a girl the cause. 
I would that Dian's shaft had in the fleet 
Slain her that self-same day when I destroy'd 
Lyrnessus, and by conquest made her mine ! 
Then had not many a Greecian, lifeless now, 
Clench'd with his teeth the ground, victim, alas ! 
Of my revenge ; whence triumph hath accrued 
To Hector and his host, while ours have cause 
For long remembrance of our mutual strife. 
But evils past let pass, yielding perforce 
To sad necessity. My wrath shall cease 


THE ILIAD. 


365 


Now ; I resign it ; it hath burn'd too long. 
Thou therefore summon forth the host to fight, 
That I may learn, meeting them in the field, 
If still the Trojans purpose at our fleet 
To watch us this night also. But I judge 
That driven by my spear to rapid flight, 
They shall escape with weary limbs l at least. 

He ended, and the Greecians brazen-greaved 
Rejoiced that Peleus' mighty son had cast 
His wrath aside. Then not into the midst 
Proceeding, but at his own seat, upstood 
King Agamemnon, and them thus bespake. 

Friends ! Greecian heroes ! Ministers of Mars ! 
Arise who may to speak, he claims your ear ; 
All interruption wrongs him, and distracts, 
Howe'er expert the speaker. Who can hear 
Amid the roar of tumult, or who speak ? 
The clearest voice, best utterance, both are vain. 
I shall address Achilles. Hear my speech 
Ye Argives, and with understanding mark. 
I hear not now the voice of your reproach 2 
First ; ye have oft condemn'd me. Yet the blame 
Rests not with me ; Jove, Destiny, and she 
Who roams the shades, Erinnys, caused the offence. 
She fill'd my soul with fury on that day 
In council, when I seized Achilles' prize. 
For what could I ? All things obey the gods. 
Ate, pernicious power, daughter of Jove, 
By whom all suffer, challenges from all 
Reverence and fear. Delicate are her feet 
Which scorn the ground, and over human heads 
She glides, injurious to the race of man, 
Of two who strive, at least entangling one. 
She injured, on a day, dread Jove himself 
Most excellent of all in earth or heaven, 
When Juno, although female, him deceived, 
What time Alcmena should have brought to light 
In bulwark'd Thebes the force of Hercules. 
Then Jove, among the gods glorying, spake. 

Hear all ! both gods and goddesses, attend ! 
That I may make my purpose known. This day 
Birth-pang-dispensing Ilithya brings 
An hero forth to light, who, sprung from those 
That sprang from me, his empire shall extend 
Over all kingdoms bordering on his own. 

To whom, designing fraud, Juno replied. 
Thou wilt be found false, and this word of thine 
Shall want performance. But Olympian Jove ! 
Swear now the inviolable oath, that he 
Who shall, this day, fall from between the feet 
Of woman, drawing his descent from thee, 
Shall rule all kingdoms bordering on his own. 

She said, and Jove, suspecting nought her wiles,. 
The great oath swore, to his own grief and wrong 
At once from the Olympian summit flew 
Juno, and to Achaian Argos borne, 
There sought the noble wife 3 of Sthenelus, 
Offspring of Perseus. Pregnant with a son 
Six months, she now the seventh saw at hand, 
But him the goddess premature produced, 
And check' d Alcmena's pangs already due. 
Then joyful to have so prevail'd, she bore 
Herself the tidings to Saturnian Jove. 


1 'Acriraalws yovv Ka/jLipuv — Shall be glad to bend their 
knee, i. e. to sit and repose themselves. 

2 Tovtov ixvQov. — He seems to intend the reproaches 
sounded in his ear from all quarters, and which he had 
repeatedly heard before. 

3 By some called Antibia, by others, Nicippe. 


Lord of the candent lightnings ! Sire of all! 
I bring thee tidings. The great prince, ordain'd 
To rule the Argive race, this day is born, 
Eurystheus, son of Sthenelus, the son 
Of Perseus ; therefore he derives from thee, 
Nor shall the throne of Argos shame his birth. 

She spake ; then anguish stung the heart of Jove 
Deeply, and seizing by her glossy locks 
The goddess Ate, in his wrath he swore 
That never to the starry skies again 
And the Olympian heights he would permit 
The universal mischief to return. 
Then, whirling her around, he cast her down 
To earth. She, mingling with all works of men, 
Caused many a pang to Jove, who saw his son 
Laborious tasks servile, and of his birth 
Unworthy, at Eurystheus' will enjoin'd. 

So when the hero Hector at our ships 
Slew us, I then regretted my offence 
Which Ate first impell'd me to commit. 
But since, infatuated by the gods 
I err'd, behold me ready to appease 
With gifts of price immense whom I have wrong'd. 
Thou, then, arise to battle, and the host 
Rouse also. Not a promise yesternight 
Was made thee by Ulysses in thy tent 
On my behalf, but shall be well perform'd. 
Or if it please thee, though impatient, wait 
Short season, and my train shall bring the gifts 
Even now ; that thou may'st understand and know 
That my peace-offerings are indeed sincere 

To whom Achilles, swiftest of the swift. 
Atrides ! Agamemnon ! passing all 
In glory ! king of men ! recompense just 
By gifts to make me, or to make me none, 
That rests with thee. But let us to the fight 
Incontinent. It is no time to play 
The game of rhetoric, and to waste the hours 
In speeches. Much remains yet unperform'd. 
Achilles must go forth. He must be seen 
Once more in front of battle, wasting wide 
With brazen spear the crowded ranks of Troy. 
Mark him — and as he fights, fight also ye. 

To whom Ulysses ever-wise replied. 
Nay — urge not, valiant as thou art thyself, 
Achaia's sons up to the battlements 
Of Ilium, by repast yet unrefresh'd, 
Godlike Achilles ! — For when phalanx once 
Shall clash with phalanx, and the gods with rage 
Both hosts inspire, the contest shall not then 
Prove short. Bid rather the Achaians take 
Both food and wine, for they are strength and 
To stand all day till sunset to a foe [might. 

Opposed in battle, fasting, were a task 
Might foil the best ; for though his will be prompt 
To combat, yet the power must by degrees 
Forsake him ; thirst and hunger he must feel, 
And his limbs failing him at every step. 
But he who hath his vigour to the full 
Fed with due nourishment, although he fight 
All day, yet feels his courage unimpair'd, 
Nor weariness perceives till all retire. 
Come then — dismiss the people with command 
That each prepare replenishment. Meantime 
Let Agamemnon, king of men, his gifts 
In presence here of the assembled Greeks 
Produce, that all may view them, and that thou 
May'st feel thine own heart gladden'd at the sight. 
Let the king also, standing in the midst, 
Swear to thee, that he renders back the maid 


366 


THE ILIAD. 


A virgin still, and strange to his embrace, 

And let thy own composure prove, the while, 

That thou art satisfied. Last, let him spread 

A princely banquet for thee in his tent, 

That thou may'st want no part of just amends. 

Thou too, Atrides, shalt hereafter prove 

More just to others ; for himself, a king, 

Stoops not too low, soothing whom he hath wrong'd. 

Him Agamemnon answer'd king of men. 
Thou hast arranged wisely the whole concern, 
Laertiades, and I have heard 
Thy speech, both words and method, with delight. 
Willing I am, yea more, I wish to swear 
As thou hast said, for by the gods I can 
Most truly. Let Achilles, though of pause 
Impatient, suffer yet a short delay 
With all assembled here, till from my tent 
The gifts arrive, and oaths of peace be sworn. 
To thee I give it in peculiar charge 
That ehusing forth the most illustrious youths 
Of all Achaia, thou produce the gifts 
From my own ship, all those which yesternight 
We promised, nor the women leave behind. 
And let Talthybius throughout all the camp 
Of the Achaians, instant, seek a boar 
For sacrifice to Jove and to the Sun. 

Then thus Achilles matchless in the race. 
Atrides ! most illustrious ! king of men ! 
Expedience bids us to these cares attend 
Hereafter, when some pause, perchance, of fight 
Shall happen, and the martial rage which fires 
My bosom now, shall somewhat less be felt. 
Our friends by Priameian Hector slain, 
Now strew the field mangled, for him hath Jove 
Exalted high, and given him great renown. 
But haste, now take refreshment ; though, in truth, 
Might I direct, the host should by all means 
Unfed to battle, and at set of sun 
All sup together, this affront revenged. 
But as for me, no drop shall pass my lips 
Or morsel, whose companion lies with feet 
Turn'd to the vestibule, pierced by the spear, 
And compass'd by my weeping train around. 
No want of food feel I. My wishes call 
For carnage, blood, and agonies and groans. 

But him, excelling in all wisdom, thus 
Ulysses answer'd. Oh Achilles ! son 
Of Peleus ! bravest far of all our host ! 
Me, in no scanty measure, thou excell'st 
Wielding the spear, and thee in prudence, I 
Not less. For I am elder, and have learn'd 
What thou hast yet to learn. Bid then thine heart 
Endure with patience to be taught by me. 
Men, satiate soon with battle, loath the field 
On which the most abundant harvest falls, 
Reap'd by the sword ; and when the hand of Jove, 
Dispenser of the great events of war, 
Turns once the scale, then, farewell every hope 
Of more than scanty gleanings. Shall the Greeks 
Abstain from sustenance for all who die ? 
That were indeed severe, since day by day 
No few expire, and respite could be none. 
The dead, die whoso may, should be inhumed. 
This, duty bids, but bids us also deem 
One day sufficient for our sighs and tears. 
Ourselves, all we who still survive the war, 
Have need of sustenance, that we may bear 
The lengthen 'd conflict with recruited might, 
Cased in enduring brass. — Ye all have heard 
Your call to battle ; let none lingering stand 


In expectation of a farther call, 
Which if it sound, shall thunder prove to him 
Who lurks among the ships. No. Rush we all 
Together forth, for contest sharp, prepared, 
And persevering with the host of Troy. 

So saying, the sons of Nestor, glorious chief, 
He chose, with Meges Phyleus' noble son, 
Thoas, Meriones, and Melanippus 
And Lycomedes. These, together, sought 
The tent of Agamemnon, king of men. 
They ask'd, and they received. Soon they produced 
The seven promised tripods from the tent, 
Twice ten bright cauldrons, twelve high-mettled 

steeds, 
Seven lovely captives skill'd alike in arts 
Domestic, of unblemish'd beauty rare, 
And last, Briseis with the blooming cheeks. 
Before them went Ulysses, bearing weigh'd 
Ten golden talents, whom the chosen Greeks 
Attended laden with the remnant gifts. 
Full in the midst they placed them. Then arose 
King Agamemnon, and Talthybius 
The herald, clear in utterance as a god, 
Beside him stood, holding the victim boar. 
Atrides, drawing forth his dagger bright, 
Appendant ever to his sword's huge sheath, 
Sever'd the bristly forelock of the boar, 
A previous offering. Next, with lifted hands 
To Jove he pray'd, while, all around, the Greeks 
Sat listening silent to the sovereign's voice. 
He looked to the wide heaven, and thus he pray'd. 

First, Jove be witness ! of all powers above 
Best and supreme ; Earth next, and next the Sun ! 
And last, who under earth the guilt avenge 
Of oaths sworn falsely, let the Furies hear ! 
For no respect of amorous desire 
Or other purpose, have I laid mine hand 
On fair Briseis, but within my tent 
Untouch'd, immaculate she hath remain'd. 
And if I falsely swear, then may the gods 
The many woes with which they mark the crime 
Of men forsworn, pour also down on me ! 

So saying, he pierced the victim in his throat, 
And, whirling him around, Talthybius, next, 
Cast him into the ocean, fishes' food. 
Then, in the centre of Achaia's sons 
Uprose Achilles, and thus spake again. 

Jove ! Father ! dire calamities, effects 
Of thy appointment, fall on human kind. 
Never had Agamemnon in my breast 
Such anger kindled, never had he seized, 
Blinded by wrath, and torn my prize away, 
But that the slaughter of our numerous friends 
Which thence ensued, thou hadst, thyself, ordain'd. 
Now go, ye Greecians, eat, and then to battle. 

So saying, Achilles suddenly dissolved 
The hasty council, and all flew dispersed 
To their own ships. Then took the Myrmidons 
Those splendid gifts which in the tent they lodged 
Of swift Achilles, and the damsels led 
Each to a seat, while others of his train 
Drove forth the steeds to pasture with his herd. 
But when Briseis, bright as Venus, saw 
Patroclus lying mangled by the spear, 
Enfolding him around, she shriek'd and tore 
Her bosom, her smooth neck and beauteous cheeks. 
Then thus, divinely fair, with tears she said. 

Ah, my Patroclus ! dearest friend of all 
To hapless me, departing from this tent 
I left thee living, and now, generous chief! 


THE ILIAD. 


367 


Restored to it again, here find thee dead. 
How rapid in succession are my woes ! 
I saw, myself, the valiant prince to whom 
My parents had betrothed me, slain before 
Our city walls ; and my three brothers, sons 
Of my own mother, whom with long regret 
I mourn, fell also in that dreadful field. 
But when the swift Achilles slew the prince 
Design'd my spouse, and the fair city sack'd 
Of noble Mynes, thou by every art 
Of tender friendship didst forbid my tears, 
Promising oft that thou would'st make me bride 
Of Peleus' godlike son, that thy own ship 
Should waft me hence to Phthia, and that thyself 
Would'st furnish forth among the Myrmidons 
Our nuptial feast. Therefore thy death I mourn 
Ceaseless, for thou wast ever kind to me. 

She spake, and all her fellow-captives heaved 
Responsive sighs, deploring each, in show, 
The dead Patroclus, but, in truth, herself, 
Then the Achaian chiefs gather' d around 
Achilles, wooing him to eat, but he 
Groan'd, and still resolute, their suit refused — 

If I have here a friend on whom by prayers 
I may prevail, I pray that ye desist, 
Nor longer press me, mourner as I am, 
To eat or drink, for till the sun go down 
I am inflexible, and will abstain. 

So saying, the other princes he dismiss'd 
Impatient, but the sons of Atreus both, 
Ulysses, Nestor, and Idomeneus, 
With Phoenix, hoary warrior, in his tent 
Abiding still, with cheerful converse kind 
Essay'd to soothe him, whose afflicted soul 
All soothing scorn' d till he should once again 
Rush on the ravening edge of bloody war. 
Then, mindful of his friend, groaning he said. 

Time was, unhappiest, dearest of my friends ! 
When even thou, with diligent dispatch, 
Thyself, hast spread a table in my tent, 
The hour of battle drawing nigh between 
The Greeks and warlike Trojans. But there lies 
Thy body now, gored by the ruthless steel, 
And for thy sake I neither eat nor drink, 
Though dearth be none, conscious that other woe 
Surpassing this I can have none to fear. 
No, not if tidings of my father's death 
Should reach me, who this moment weeps, perhaps, 
In Phthia tears of tenderest regret 
For such a son ; while I, remote from home, 
Fight for detested Helen under Troy. 
Nor even were he dead, whom, if he live, 
I rear in Scyros, my own darling son, 
My Neoptolemus of form divine. 
For still this hope I cherish'd in my breast 
Till now, that, of us two, myself alone 
Should fall at Ilium, and that thou, restored 
To Phthia, should'st have wafted o'er the waves 
My son from Scyros to his native home, 
That thou might'st show him all his heritage, 
My train of menials, and my fair abode. 
For either dead already I account 
Peleus, or doubt not that his residue 
Of miserable life shall soon be spent, 
Through stress of age and expectation sad 
That tidings of my death shall, next, arrive. 

So spake Achilles weeping, around whom 
The chiefs all sigh'd, each with remembrance 

pain'd 
Of some loved object left at home. Meantime 


Jove, with compassion moved, their sorrow saw, 
And in wing'd accents thus to Pallas spake. 

Daughter ! thou hast abandon'd as it seems, 
Yon virtuous chief for ever ; shall no care 
Thy mind engage of brave Achilles more ? 
Before his gallant fleet mourning he sits 
His friend, disconsolate ; the other Greeks 
Eat and are satisfied ; he only fasts. 
Go, then — instil nectar into his breast, 
And sweets ambrosial, that he hunger not. 

So saying, he urged Minerva prompt before. 
In form a shrill- voiced harpy of long wing 
Through ether down she darted, while the Greeks 
In all their camp for instant battle arm'd. 
Ambrosial sweets and nectar she instill'd 
Into his breast, lest he should suffer loss 
Of strength through abstinence, then soar'd again 
To her great sire's unperishing abode. 
And now the Greecians from their gallant fleet 
All pour'd themselves abroad. As when thick snow 
From Jove descends, driven by impetuous gusts 
Of the cloud-scattering north, so frequent shone 
Issuing from the fleet the dazzling casques, 
Boss'd bucklers, hauberks strong, and ashen spears. 
Upwent the flash to heaven ; wide all around 
The champain laugh'd with beamy brass illumed, 
And tramplings of the warriors on all sides 
Resounded, amidst whom Achilles arm'd. 
He gnash'd his teeth, fire glimmer'd in his eyes, 
Anguish intolerable wrung his heart 
And fury against Troy, while he put on 
His glorious arms, the labour of a god. 
First, to his legs his polish'd greaves he clasp'd 
Studded with silver, then his corslet bright 
Braced to his bosom, his huge sword of brass 
Athwart his shoulder slung, and his broad shield 
Uplifted last, luminous as the moon. 
Such as to mariners a fire appears, 
Kindled by shepherds on the distant top 
Of some lone hill ; they, driven by stormy winds, 
Reluctant roam far off the fishy deep, 
Such from Achilles' burning shield divine 
A lustre struck the skies ; his ponderous helm 
He lifted to his brows ; starlike it shone, 
And shook its curling crest of bushy gold, 
By Yulcan taught to wave profuse around. 
So clad, godlike Achilles trial made 
If his arms fitted him, and gave free scope 
To his proportion'd limbs ; buoyant they proved 
As wings, and high upbore his airy tread. 
He drew his father's spear forth from its case, 
Heavy and huge and long. That spear, of all 
Achaia's sons, none else had power to wield ; 
Achilles only could the Pelian spear 
Brandish, by Chiron for his father hewn 
From Pelion's top for slaughter of the brave. 
His coursers, then, Automedon prepared 
And Alcimus, adjusting diligent 
The fair caparisons ; they thrust the bits 
Into their mouths, and to the chariot seat 
Extended and made fast the reins behind. 
The splendid scourge commodious to the grasp 
Seizing, at once Automedon upsprang 
Into his place ; behind him, arm'd complete 
Achilles mounted, as the orient sun 
All dazzling, and with awful tone his speech 
Directed to the coursers of his sire. 

Xanthus, and Baiius of Podarges' blood 
Illustrious ! see ye that, the battle done, 
Ye bring whom now ye bear back to the host 


368 


THE ILIAD. 


Of the Achaians in far other sort, 

Nor leave him, as ye left Patroclus, dead. 

Him then his steed unconquer'd in the race, 
Xanthus, thus answer'd from beneath his yoke, 
But, hanging low his head, and with his mane 
Dishevel'd all, and streaming to the ground. 
Him Juno vocal made, goddess white-arm'd. 

And doubtless so we will. This day at least 
We bear thee safe from battle, stormy chief ! 
But thee the hour of thy destruction swift 
Approaches, hasten'd by no fault of ours, 
But by the force of fate and power divine. 
For not through sloth or tardiness on us 
Aught chargeable, have Ilium's sons thine arms 
Stript from Patroclus' shoulders, but a god 
Matchless in battle, offspring of bright-hair'd 
Latona, him contending in the van 
Slew, for the glory of the chief of Troy. 
We, Zephyrus himself, though by report 
Swiftest of all the winds of heaven, in speed 
Could equal, but the Fates thee also doom 
By human hands to fall, and hands divine. 

The interposing Furies at that word 
Suppress'd his utterance, and indignant, thus, 
Achilles, swiftest of the swift, replied. 

Why, Xanthus, prophesiest thou my death % 
It ill beseems thee. I already know 
That from my parents far remote my doom 
Appoints me here to die ; yet not the more 
Cease I from feats of arms, till Ilium's host 
Shall have received, at length, their fill of war. 

He said, and with a shout drove forth to battle. 


BOOK XX. 

ARGUMENT. 

By permission of Jupiter the gods descend into the battle, 
and range themselves on either side respectively. Nep- 
tune rescues iEneas from death by the hand of Achilles, 
from whom Apollo, soon after, rescues Hector. Achilles 
slays many Trojans. 

The Greecians, thus, before their lofty ships 
Stood arm'd around Achilles, glorious chief 
Insatiable with war, and opposite 
The Trojans on the rising ground appear'd. 
Meantime, Jove order'd Themis, from the head 
Of the deep-fork'd Olympian to convene 
The gods in council. She to every part 
Proceeding, bade them to the courts of Jove. 
Nor of the floods was any absent thence 
Oceanus except, or of the nymphs 
Who haunt the pleasant groves, or dwell beside 
Stream-feeding fountains, or in meadows green. 
Within the courts of cloud-assembler Jove 
Arrived, on pillar'd thrones radiant they sat, 
With ingenuity divine contrived 
By Vulcan for the mighty sire of all. 
Thus they within the Thunderer's palace sat 
Assembled ; nor was Neptune slow to hear 
The voice of Themis, but (the billows left) 
Came also ; in the midst his seat he took, 
And ask'd, incontinent, the mind of Jove, [call'd 
King of the lightnings ! wherefore hast thou 
The gods to council ? Hast thou aught at heart 
Important to the hosts of Greece and Troy ? 
For on the battle's fiery edge they stand. 


To whom replied Jove, sovereign of the storms. 
Thou know'st my counsel, shaker of the shores ! 
And wherefore ye are call'd. Although ordain'd 
So soon to die, they interest me still. 
Myself, here seated on Olympus' top, 
With contemplation will my mind indulge 
Of yon great spectacle ; but ye, the rest, 
Descend into the field, Trojan or Greek 
Each to assist, as each shall most incline. 
For should Achilles in the field no foe 
Find save the Trojans, quickly should they fly 
Before the rapid force of Peleus' son. 
They trembled ever at his look, and since 
Such fury for his friend hath fired his heart, 
I fear lest he anticipate the will 
Of fate, and Ilium perish premature. 

So spake the son of Saturn kindling war 
Inevitable, and the gods to fight 
'Gan move with minds discordant. Juno sought 
And Pallas, with the earth-encircling power 
Neptune, the Greecian fleet, with whom were join'd 
Mercury, teacher of all useful arts, 
And Vulcan, rolling on all sides his eyes 
Tremendous, but on disproportion' d legs, 
Not without labour hard, halting uncouth. 
Mars, warrior-god, on Ilium's part appear'd 
With Phoebus never-shorn, Dian shaft-arm' d, 
Xanthus, Latona, and the queen of smiles, 
Venus. So long as the immortal gods 
Mix'd not with either host, Achaia's sons 
Exulted, seeing, after tedious pause, 
Achilles in the field, and terror shook 
The knees of every Trojan, at the sight 
Of swift Achilles like another Mars 
Panting for blood, and bright in arms again. 
But when the Olympian powers had enter'd once 
The multitude, then Discord, at whose voice 
The million maddens, vehement arose ; 
Then, Pallas at the trench without the wall 
By turns stood shouting, and by turns a shout 
Sent terrible along the sounding shore, 
While, gloomy as a tempest, opposite, 
Mars from the lofty citadel of Troy 
Now yell'd aloud, now running o'er the hill 
Callicolone, on the Simois' side. 

Thus the immortals, ever-blest, impell'd 
Both hosts to battle, and dire inroad caused 
Of strife among them. Sudden from on high 
The sire of gods and men thunder'd ; meantime, 
Neptune the earth and the high mountains shook; 
Through all her base and to her topmost peak 
Ida spring-fed the agitation felt 
Reeling, all Ilium and the fleet of Greece. 
Upstarted from his throne, appall'd, the king 
Of Erebus, and with a cry his fears 
Through hell proclaim'd, lest Neptune, o'er his head 
Shattering the vaulted earth, should wide disclose 
To mortal and immortal eyes his realm 
Terrible, squalid, to the gods themselves 
A dreadful spectacle ; with such a sound 
The powers eternal into battle rush'd. 
Opposed to Neptune, king of the vast deep, 
Apollo stood with his wing'd arrows arm'd ; 
Pallas to Mars ; Diana shaft-expert, 
Sister of Phoebus, in her golden bow 
Rejoicing, with whose shouts the forests ring, 
To Juno ; Mercury, for useful arts 
Famed, to Latona ; and to Vulcan's force 
The eddied river broad, by mortal men 
Scamander call'd, but Xanthus by the gods. 


THE ILIAD. 


3G9 


So gods encounter'd gods. But most desire 
Achilles felt, breaking the ranks, to rush 
On Priameian Hector, with whose blood 
Chiefly his fury prompted him to sate 
The indefatigable god of war. 
But, the encourager of Ilium's host, 
Apollo, urged vEneas to assail 
The son of Peleus, with heroic might 
Inspiring his bold heart. He feign' d the voice 
Of Priam's son Lycaon, and his form 
Assuming, thus the Trojan chief address'd. 

iEneas ! Trojan leader ! where are now 
Thy vaunts, which, banqueting erewhile among 
Our princes, o'er thy brimming cups thou madest, 
That thou would'st fight, thyself, with Peleus' son ? 

To whom iEneas answer thus return'd. 
Offspring of Priam ! why enjoin'st thou me 
Not so inclined, that arduous task, to cope 
With the unmatch'd Achilles ? I have proved 
His force already, when he chased me down 
From Ida with his spear, what time he made 
Seizure of all our cattle, and destroy'd 
Pedasus and Lyrnessus ; but I 'scaped 
Unslain, by Jove himself empower'd to fly. 
Else had I fallen by Achilles' hand, 
And by the hand of Pallas, who his steps 
Conducted, and exhorted him to slay 
Us and the Leleges. Vain, therefore, proves 
All mortal force to Peleus' son opposed ; 
For one, at least, of the immortals stands 
Ever beside him, guardian of his life, 
And, of himself, he hath an arm that sends 
His rapid spear unerring to the mark. 
Yet, would the gods more equal sway the scales 
Of battle, not with ease should he subdue 
Me, though he boast a panoply of brass. 

Him, then, Apollo answer'd, son of Jove. 
Hero ! prefer to the immortal gods 
Thy prayer, for thee men rumour Venus' son, 
Daughter of Jove, and Peleus' son his birth 
Drew from a goddess of inferior note. 
Thy mother is from Jove ; the offspring, his, 
Less noble of the hoary Ocean old. 
Go, therefore, and thy conquering spear uplift 
Against him, nor let aught his sounding words 
Appal thee, or his threats turn thee away. 

So saying, with martial force the chief he fill'd, 
Who through the foremost combatants advanced 
Radiant in arms. Nor pass'd Anchises' son 
Unseen of Juno, through the crowded ranks 
Seeking Achilles, but the powers of heaven 
Convened by her command, she thus address'd. 

Neptune, and thou, Minerva ! with mature 
Deliberation, ponder the event. 
Yon chief, ^Eneas, dazzling bright in arms, 
Goes to withstand Achilles, and he goes 
Sent by Apollo ; in despite of whom 
Be it our task to give him quick repulse, 
Or, of ourselves, let some propitious power 
Strengthen Achilles with a mmd exempt 
From terror, and with force invincible. 
So shall he know that of the gods above 
The mightiest are his friends, with whom compared 
The favourers of Ilium in time past, 
Who stood her guardians in the bloody strife, 
Are empty boasters all, and nothing worth. 
For therefore came we down, that we may share 
This fight, and that Achilles suffer nought 
Fatal to-day, though suffer all he must 
Hereafter, with his thread of life entwined 


By Destiny, the day when he was born. 
But should Achilles unapprised remain 
Of such advantage by a voice divine, 
When he shall meet some deity in the field, 
Fear then will seize him, for celestial forms 
Unveil'd are terrible to mortal eyes. 

To whom replied the shaker of the shores. 
Juno ! thy hot impatience needs controul ; 
It ill befits thee. No desire I feel 
To force into contention with ourselves 
Gods, our inferiors. No. Let us, retired 
To yonder hill, distant from all resort, 
There sit, while these the battle wage alone. 
But if Apollo, or if Mars the fight 
Entering, begin, themselves, to interfere 
Against Achilles, then will we at once 
To battle also ; and, I much misdeem, 
Or glad they shall be soon to mix again 
Among the gods on the Olympian heights, 
By strong coercion of our arms subdued. 

So saying, the god of ocean azure-hair'd 
Moved foremost to the lofty mound earth-built 
Of noble Hercules, by Pallas raised 
And by the Trojans for his safe escape, 
What time the monster of the deep pursued 
The hero from the sea-bank o'er the plain. 
There Neptune sat, and his confederate gods, 
Their shoulders with impenetrable clouds 
O'ermantled, while the city-spoiler Mars 
Sat with Apollo opposite on the hill 
Callicolone, with then' aids divine. 
So, gods to gods in opposite aspect 
Sat ruminating, and alike the work 
All fearing to begin of arduous war, 
While from his seat sublime Jove urged them on. 
The champain all was fill'd, and with the blaze 
Illumined wide of men and steeds brass- arm'd, 
And the incumber'd earth jarr'd under foot 
Of the encountering hosts. Then, two, the rest 
Surpassing far, into the midst advanced 
Impatient for the fight, Anchises' son 
iEneas, and Achilles, glorious chief ! 
/Eneas first, under his ponderous casque 
Nodding and menacing, advanced ; before 
His breast he held the well-conducted orb 
Of his broad shield, and shook his brazen spear. 
On the other side, Achilles to the fight 
Flew like a ravening lion, on whose death 
Resolved the peasants from all quarters meet ; 
He, viewing with disdain the foremost, stalks 
Right on, but smitten by some dauntless youth 
Writhes himself, and discloses his huge fangs 
Hung with white foam ; then, growling for revenge, 
Lashes himself to battle with his tail, 
Till with a burning eye and a bold heart _ 
He springs to slaughter, or himself is slain ; 
So, by his valour and his noble mind 
Impell'd, renown'd Achilles moved toward 
/Eneas, and, small interval between, 
Thus spake the hero matchless in the race. 

Why stand'st thou here, /Eneas ! thy own band 
Left at such distance ? Is it that thine heart 
Glows with ambition to contend with me 
In hope of Priam's honours, and to fill 
His throne hereafter in Troy steed-renown'd ? 
But shouldst thou slay me, not for that exploit 
Would Priam such large recompense bestow, 
For he hath sons, and hath, beside, a mind 
And disposition not so lightly changed. 
Or have the Trojans of their richest soil 


370 


THE ILIAD. 


For vineyard apt or plough assign 'd thee part 

If thou shalt slay me ? Difficult, I hope, 

At least, thou shalt experience that emprize. 

For, as I think, I have already chased 

Thee with my spear. Forgettest thou the day 

When, finding thee alone, 1 drove thee down 

Headlong from Ida, and, thy cattle left 

Afar, thou didst not dare in all thy flight 

Turn once, till at Lyrnessus safe arrived, 

Which city by Jove's aid and by the aid 

Of Pallas I destroy'd, and captive led 

Their women ? Thee, indeed, the gods preserved, 

But they shall not preserve thee, as thou dream'st, 

Now also. Back into thy host again ; 

Hence, I command thee, nor oppose in fight 

My force, lest evil find thee. To be taught 

By sufferings only is the part of fools. 

To whom iEneas answer thus returned. 
Pelides ! hope not, as I were a boy, 
With words to scare me. I have also taunts 
At my command, and could be sharp as thou. 
By such report as from the lips of men 
We oft have heard, each other's birth we know 
And parents ; but my parents to behold 
Was ne'er thy lot, nor have I thine beheld. 
Thee men proclaim from noble Peleus sprung 
And Thetis, bright-hair'd goddess of the deep ; 
I boast myself of lovely Venus born 
To brave Anchises, and his son this day 
In battle slain thy sire shall mourn, or mine ; 
For I expect not that we shall depart 
Like children, satisfied with woi'ds alone. 
But if it please thee more at large to learn 
My lineage (thousands can attest it true) 
Know this. Jove, sovereign of the storms, begat 
Dardanus, and ere yet the sacred walls 
Of Ilium rose, the glory of this plain, 
He built Dardania ; for at Ida's foot 
Dwelt our progenitors in ancient days. 
Dardanus was the father of a son, 
King Ericthonius, wealthiest of mankind. 
Three thousand mares of his the marish grazed, 
Each suckling with delight her tender foal. 
Boreas, enamour'd of no few of these, 
The pasture sought, and cover'd them in form 
Of a steed azure-maned. They, pregnant thence, 
Twelve foals produced, and all so light of foot, 
That when they wanton'd in the fruitful field 
They swept, and snapp'd it not, the golden ear, 
And when they wanton'd on the boundless deep, 
They skimm'd the green wave's frothy ridge, 

secure. 
From Ericthonius sprang Tros, king of Troy, 
And Tros was father of three famous sons, 
Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymede 
Loveliest of human-kind, whom for his charms 
The gods caught up to heaven, there to abide 
With the immortals, cup-bearer of Jove. 
Ilus begat Laomedon, and he 
Five sons, Tithonus, Priam, Clytius, 
Lampus, and Hicetaon, branch of Mars. 
Assaracus a son begat, by name 
Capys, and Capys in due time his son 
Warlike Anchises, and Anchises me. 
But Priam is the noble Hector's sire. 
Such is my lineage, and such blood I boast ; 
But valour is from Jove ; he, as he wills, 
Increases or reduces it in man, 
For he is lord of all. Therefore enough — 
Too long like children we have stood, the time 


Consuming here, while battle roars around. 

Reproach is cheap. Easily might we cast 

Gibes at each other, till a ship that asks 

A hundred oars should sink beneath the load. 

The tongue of man is voluble, hath words 

For every theme, nor wants wide field and long, 

And as he speaks so shall he hear again. 

But we — why should we wrangle, and with taunts 

Assail each other, as the practice is 

Of women, who with heart-devouring strife 

On fire, start forth into the public way 

To mock each other, uttering, as may chance, 

Much truth, much falsehood, as their anger bids ? 

The ardour of my courage will not slack 

For all thy speeches ; we must combat first ; 

Now, therefore, without more delay, begin, 

That we may taste each other's force in arms. 

So spake iEneas, and his brazen lance 
Hurl'd with full force against the dreadful shield. 
Loud roar'd its ample concave at the blow. 
Not unalarm'd Pelides his broad disk 
Thrust farther from him, deeming that the force 
Of such an arm should pierce his guard with ease. 
Vain fear ! he recollected not that arms 
Glorious as his, gifts of the immortal gods, 
Yield not so quickly to the force of man. 
The stormy spear by brave iEneas sent, 
No passage found ; the golden plate divine 
Repress'd its vehemence ; two folds it pierced, 
But three were still behind, for with five folds 
Vulcan had fortified it ; two were brass ; 
The two interior, tin ; the midmost, gold ; 
And at the golden one the weapon stood l . 
Achilles, next, hurl'd his long shadow'd spear, 
And struck iEneas on the utmost verge 
Of his broad shield, where thinnest lay the brass, 
And thinnest the ox-hide. The Pelian ash 
Started right through the buckler, and it rang. 
^Eneas crouch'd terrified, and his shield 
Thrust farther from him ; but the rapid beam 
Bursting both borders of the ample disk, 
Glanced o'er his back, and plunged into the soil. 
He 'scaped it, and he stood ; but, as he stood, 
With horror infinite the weapon saw 
Planted so near him. Then, Achilles' drew 
His faulchion keen, and with a deafening shout 
Sprang on him ; but iEneas seized a stone 
Heavy and huge, a weight to overcharge 
Two men (such men as are accounted strong 
Now) but he wielded it with ease, alone. 
Then had iEneas, as Achilles came 
Impetuous on, smitten, although in vain, 
His helmet or his shield, and Peleus' son 
Had with his faulchion him stretch'd at his feet, 
But that the god of ocean quick perceived 
His peril, and the immortals thus bespake. 

I pity brave iEneas, who shall soon, 
Slain by Achilles, see the realms below, 
By smooth suggestions of Apollo lured 

i Some commentators, supposing the golden plate the 
outermost as the most ornamental, have perplexed them- 
selves much with this passage, for how, say they, could 
two folds he pierced and the spear be stopped by the gold, 
if the gold lay on the surface ? But to avoid the difficulty, 
we need only suppose that the gold was inserted between 
the two plates of brass and the two of tin ; Vulcan, in this 
particular, having attended less to ornament than to 
security. 

See the Scholiast in Villoisson, who argues at large in 
favour of this opinion. 


THE ILIAD. 


371 


To danger, such as he can ne'er avert. 

But wherefore should the chief, guiltless himself, 

Die for the fault of others % at no time 

His gifts have fail'd, grateful to all in heaven. 

Come, therefore, and let us from death ourselves 

Rescue him, lest if by Achilles' arm 

This hero perish, Jove himself be wroth; 

For he is destined to survive, lest all 

The house of Dardanus (whom Jove beyond 

All others loved, his sons of woman born) 

Fail with iEneas, and be found no more. 

Saturnian Jove hath hated now long time 

The family of Priam, and henceforth 

iEneas and his son, and his sons' sons, 

Shall sway the sceptre o'er the race of Troy. 

To whom, majestic thus the spouse of Jove. 
Neptune ! deliberate thyself, and chuse 
Whether to save iEneas, or to leave 
The hero victim of Achilles' ire. 
For Pallas and myself ofttimes have sworn 
In full assembly of the gods, to aid 
Troy never, never to avert the day 
Of her distress, not even when the flames 
Kindled by the heroic sons of Greece, 
Shall climb with fury to her topmost towers. 

She spake ; then Neptune, instant, through the 
throng 
Of battle flying, and the clash of spears, 
Came where Achilles and iEneas fought. 
At once with shadows dim he blurr'd the sight 
Of Peleus' son, and from the shield, himself, 
Of brave iEneas the bright-pointed ash 
Retracting, placed it at Achilles' feet. 
Then, lifting high iEneas from the ground, 
He heaved him far remote ; o'er many a rank 
Of heroes and of bounding steeds he flew, 
Launch'd into air from the expanded palm 
Of Neptune, and alighted in the rear 
Of all the battle where the Caucons stood. 
Neptune approach'd him there, and at his side 
Standing, in accents wing'd, him thus bespake. 

What god, iEneas ! tempted thee to cope 
Thus inconsiderately with the son 
Of Peleus, both more excellent in fight 
Than thou, and more the favourite of the skies ? 
From him retire hereafter, or expect 
A premature descent into the shades. 
But when Achilles shall have once fulfill'd 
His destiny, in battle slain, then fight 
Fearless, for thou canst fall by none beside. 

So saying, he left the well-admonish'd chief, 
And from Achilles' eyes scatter'd the gloom 
Shed o'er them by himself. The hero saw 
Clearly, and with his noble heart, incensed 
By disappointment, thus conferring, said. 

Gods ! I behold a prodigy. My spear 
Lies at my foot, and he at whom I cast 
The weapon with such deadly force, is gone ! 
iEneas therefore, as it seems, himself 
Interests the immortal gods, although 
I deem'd his boast of their protection vain. 
I reck not. Let him go. So gladly 'scaped 
From slaughter now, he shall not soon again 
Feel an ambition to contend with me. 
Now will I rouse the Danai, and prove 
The force in fight of many a Trojan more. 

He said, and sprang to battle with loud voice, 
Calling the Greecians after him. — Ye sons 
Of the Achaians ! stand not now aloof, 
My noble friends ! but foot to foot let each 


Fall on courageous, and desire the fight. 
The task were difficult for me alone, 
Brave as I boast myself, to chase a foe 
So numerous, and to combat with them all. 
Not Mars himself, immortal though he be, 
Nor Pallas, could with all the ranks contend 
Of this vast multitude, and drive the whole. 
With hands, with feet, with spirit and with might, 
All that I can I will ; right through I go, 
And not a Trojan who shall chance within 
Spear's reach of me, shall, as I judge, rejoice. 

Thus he the Greeks exhorted. Opposite, 
Meantime, illustrious Hector to his host 
Vociferated, his design to oppose 
Achilles publishing in every ear. 

Fear not, ye valiant men of Troy ! fear not 
The son of Peleus. In a war of words 
I could, myself, cope even with the gods ; 
But not with spears ; there they excel us all. 
Nor shall Achilles full performance give 
To all his vaunts, but, if he some fulfil, 
Shall others leave mutilate in the midst. 
I will encounter him, though his hands be fire, 
Though fire his hands, and his heart hammer'd 
steel. 

So spake he them exhorting. At his word 
Uprose the Trojan spears, thick intermixt 
The battle jom'd, and clamour loud began. 
Then thus, approaching Hector, Phoebus spake. 

Henceforth, advance not Hector ! in the front 
Seeking Achilles, but retired within 
The stormy multitude his coming wait, 
Lest his spear reach thee, or his glittering sword. 

He said, and Hector far into his host 
Withdrew, admonish' d by the voice divine. 
Then, shouting terrible, and clothed with might, 
Achilles sprang to battle. First, he slew 
The valiant chief Iphition, whom a band 
Numerous obey'd. Otrynteus was his sire; 
Him to Otrynteus, city-waster chief, 
A Naiad under snowy Tmolus bore 
In fruitful Hyda. Right into his front 
As he advanced, Achilles drove his spear, 
And rived his skull; with thundering sound he 

fell, 
And thus the conqueror gloried in his fall. 

Ah Otryntides ! thou art slain. Here lies 
The terrible in arms, who born beside 
The broad Gygsean lake, where Hyllus flows 
And Hermus, call'd the fertile soil his own. 

Thus gloried he. Meantime the shades of death 
Cover'd Iphition, and Achaian wheels 
And horses ground his body in the van. 
Demoleon next, Antenor's son, a brave 
Defender of the walls of Troy, he slew. 
Into his temples through his brazen casque 
He thrust the Pelian ash, nor could the brass 
Such force resist, but the huge weapon drove 
The shatter'd bone into his inmost brain, 
And his fierce onset at a stroke repress'd. 
Hippodamas his weapon next received 
Within his spine, while with a leap he left 
His steeds and fled. He, panting forth his life, 
Moan'd like a bull, by consecrated youths 
Dragg'd round the Heliconian king 1 , who views 
That victim with delight. So, with loud moans 


i Neptune. So called, either because he was worshiped 
on Helicon, a mountain of Bceotia ; or from Helice, an 
island of Achaia, where he had a temple. 
bb2 


372 


THE ILIAD. 


The noble warrior sigh'd his soul away. 

Then, spear in hand, against the godlike son 

Of Priam, Polydorus, he advanced. 

Not yet his father had to him indulged 

A warrior's place, for that of all his sons 

He was the youngest-horn, his hoary sire's 

Chief darling, and in speed surpass'd them all. 

Then also, in the vanity of youth, 

For show of nimbleness, he started oft 

Into the vaward, till at last he fell. 

Him gliding swiftly by, swifter than he 

Achilles with a javelin reach'd ; he struck 

His belt behind him, where the golden clasps 

Met, and the double hauberk interposed. 

The point transpierced his bowels, and sprang 

through 
His navel ; screaming, on his knees he fell, 
Death-shadows dimm'd his eyes, and with both 

hands, 
Stooping, he press'd his gather'd bowels back. 
But noble Hector, soon as he beheld 
His brother Polydorus to the earth 
Inclined, and with his bowels in his hands, 
Sightless well-nigh with anguish could endure 
No longer to remain aloof ; flame-like 
He burst abroad, and shaking his sharp spear, 
Advanced to meet Achilles, whose approach 
Seeing, Achilles bounded with delight, 
And thus, exulting, to himself he said. 

Ah ! he approaches, who hath stung my soul 
Deepest, the slayer of whom most I loved ! 
Behold, we meet ! Caution is at an end, 
And timid skulking in the walks of war. 

He ceased, and with a brow knit into frowns, 
Cali'd to illustrious Hector. Haste, approach, 
Tbat I may quick dispatch thee to the shades. 

Whom answer'd warlike Hector nought appall'd. 
Pelides ! hope not, as I were a boy, 
With words to scare me. I have also taunts 
At my command, and can be sharp as thou. 
I know thee valiant, and myself I know 
Inferior far ; yet, whether thou shalt slay 
Me, or, inferior as I am, be slain 
By me, is at the pleasure of the gods, 
For I wield also not a pointless beam. 

He said, and, brandishing it, hurl'd his spear, 
Which Pallas, breathing softly, wafted back 
From the renown'd Achilles, and it fell 
Successless at illustrious Hector's feet. 
Then, all on fire to slay him, with a shout 
That rent the air Achilles rapid flew 
Toward him ; but him wrapt in clouds opaque 
Apollo caught with ease divine away. 
Thrice, swift Achilles sprang to the assault 
Impetuous, thrice the pitchy cloud he smote, 
And at his fourth assault, godlike in act, 
And terrible in utterance, thus exclaim'd. 

Dog ! thou art safe, and hast escaped again ; 
But narrowly, and by the aid once more 
Of Phasbus, without previous suit to whom 
Thou venturest never where the javelin sings. 
But when we next encounter, then expect, 
If one of all in heaven aid also me, 


To close thy proud career. Meantime I seek 
Some other, and assail e'en whom I may. 

So saying,he pierced the neck of Dry ops through, 
And at his feet he fell. Him there he left, 
And turning on a valiant warrior huge, 
Philetor's son, Demuchus, in the knee 
Pierced, and detain'd him by the planted spear, 
Till with his sword he smote him, and he died. 
Laogonus and Dardanus he next 
Assaulted, sons of Bias ; to the ground 
Dismounting both, one with his spear he slew, 
The other with his faulchion at a blow. 
Tros too, Alastor's son — he suppliant clasp'd 
Achilles' knees, and for his pity sued, 
Pleading equality of years, in hope 
That he would spare, and send him thence alive. 
Ah dreamer ! ignorant how much in vain 
That suit he urged ; for not of milky mind, 
Or placable in temper was the chief 
To whom he sued, but fiery. With both hands 
His knees he clasp'd importunate, and he 
Fast by the liver gash'd him with his sword. 
His liver falling forth, with sable blood 
His bosom fill'd, and darkness veil'd his eyes. 
Then, drawing close to Mulius, in his ear 
He set the pointed brass, and at a thrust 
Sent it, next moment, through his ear beyond. 
Then, through the forehead of Agenor's son 
Echechlus, his huge-hafted blade he drove, 
And death and fate for ever veil'd his eyes. 
Next, where the tendons of the elbow meet, 
Striking Deucalion, through his wrist he urged 
The brazen point ; he all defenceless stood, 
Expecting death ; down came Achilles' blade 
Full on his neck ; away went head and casque 
Together ; from his spine the marrow sprang, 
And at his length outstretch'd he press'd the plain. 
From him to Pvhigmus, Pireus' noble son, 
He flew, a warrior from the fields of Thrace. 
Him through the loins he pierced, and with the 

beam 
Fixt in his bowels, to the earth he fell ; 
Then piercing, as he turn'd to flight, the spine 
Of Areithous his charioteer, 
He thrust him from his seat ; wild with dismay 
Back flew the fiery coursers at his fall. 
As a devouring fire within the glens 
Of some dry mountain ravages the trees, 
While, blown around, the flames roll to all sides, 
So, on all sides, terrible as a god, 
Achilles drove the death-devoted host 
Of Ilium, and the champain ran with blood. 
As when the peasant his yoked steers employs 
To tread his barley, the broad-fronted pair 
With ponderous hoofs trample it out with ease, 
So, by magnanimous Achilles driven, 
His coursers solid-hoofd stamp'd as they ran 
The shields, at once, and bodies of the slain ; 
Blood spatter'd all his axle, and with blood 
From the horse-hoofs and from the fellied wheels 
His chariot redden'd, while himself, athirst 
For glory, his unconquerable hands 
Defiled with mingled carnage, sweat, and dust. 


THE ILIAD. 


373 


BOOK XXI. 


ARGUMENT. 

Achilles having separated the Trojans, and driven one part 
of them to the city and the other into the Scamander, 
takes twelve young men alive, his intended victims to 
the manes of Patroclus. The river overflowing his 
hanks with purpose to overwhelm him, is opposed hy 
Vulcan, and gladly relinquishes the attempt. The 
hattle of the gods ensues. Apollo, in the form of 
Agenor, decoys Achilles from the town, which in the 
meantime the Trojans enter and shut the gates against 
him. 


But when they came, at length, where Xanthus 

His stream vortiginous from Jove derived, [winds 

There, separating Ilium's host, he drove 

Part o'er the plain to Troy in the same road 

By which the Greecians had so lately fled 

The fury of illustrious Hector's arm. 

That way they fled pouring themselves along 

Flood-like, and Juno, to retard them, threw 

Darkness as night before them. Other part, 

Push'd down the sides of Xanthus, headlong plunged 

With dashing sound into his dizzy stream, 

And all his banks re-echoed loud the roar. 

They, struggling, shriek'd in silver eddies whirl'd. 

As when, by violence of fire expell'd, 

Locusts uplifted on the wing escape 

To some broad river, swift the sudden blaze 

Pursues them, they, astonish'd, strew the flood, 

So, by Achilles driven, a mingled throng 

Of horses and of warriors overspread 

Xanthus, and glutted all his sounding course. 

He, chief of heroes, leaving on the bank 

His spear against a tamarisk reclined 

Plunged like a god, with faulchion arm'd alone, 

But fill'd with thoughts of havoc. On all sides 

Down came his edge ; groans follow'd dread to hear 

Of warriors smitten by the sword, and all 

The waters as they ran redden'd with blood. 

As smaller fishes, flying the pursuit 

Of some huge dolphin, terrified, the creeks 

And secret hollows of a haven fill, 

For none of all that he can seize he spares, 

So lurk'd the trembling Trojans in the caves 

Of Xanthus' awful flood. But he (his hands 

Wearied at length with slaughter) from the rest 

Twelve youths selected whom to death he doom'd, 

In vengeance for his loved Patroclus slain. 

Them stupified with dread like fawns he drove 

Forth from- the river, manacling their hands 

Behind them fast with their own tunic-strings, 

And gave them to his warrior train in charge. 

Then, ardent still for blood, rushing again 

Toward the stream, Dardanian Priam's son 

He met, Lycaon, as he climb'd the bank. 

Him erst by night, in his own father's field 

Finding him, he had led captive away. 

Lycaon was employ'd cutting green shoots 

Of the wild-fig for chariot-rings, when lo ! 

Terrible, unforeseen, Achilles came. 

He seized and sent him in a ship afar 

To Lemnos ; there the son of Jason paid 

His price, and, at great cost, Ee'tion 

The guest of Jason, thence redeeming him, 

Sent him to fair Arisba ; but he 'scaped 

Thence also, and regain'd his father's house. 

Eleven days, at his return, he gave 


To recreation joyous with his friends,. 
And on the twelfth his fate cast him again 
Into Achilles' hands, who to the shades 
Now doom'd him, howsoever loth to go. 
Soon as Achilles swiftest of the swift 
Him naked saw (for neither spear had he 
Nor shield nor helmet, but, when he emerged, 
Weary and faint had cast them all away) 
Indignant to his mighty self he said. 

Gods ! I behold a miracle ! Ere long 
The valiant Trojans whom myself have slain 
Shall rise from Erebus, for he is here, 
The self-same warrior whom I lately sold 
At Lemnos, free, and in the field again. 
The hoary deep is prison strong enough 
For most, but not for him. Now shall he taste 
The point of this my spear, that I may learn 
By sure experience, whether hell itself 
That holds the strongest fast, can him detain, 
Or whether he shall thence also escape. [may 

While musing thus he stood, stunn'd with dis- 
The youth approach' d, eager to clasp his knees, 
For vehement he felt the dread of death 
Working within him ; with his Pelian ash 
Uplifted high noble Achilles stood 
Ardent to smite him ; he with body bent 
Ran under it, and to his knees adhered ; 
The weapon, missing him, implanted stood 
Close at his back, when, seizing with one hand 
Achilles' knees, he with the other grasp'd 
The dreadful beam, resolute through despair, 
And in wing'd accents suppliant thus began. 

Oh spare me ! pity me ! Behold I clasp 
Thy knees, Achilles ! Ah, illustrious chief ! 
Reject not with disdain a suppliant's prayer. 
I am thy guest also, at thy own board 
Have eaten bread, and did partake the gift 
Of Ceres with thee on the very day 
When thou didst send me in yon field surprised 
For sale to sacred Lemnos, far remote, 
And for my price receivedst an hundred beeves. 
Loose me, and I will yield thee now that sum 
Thrice told. Alas ! this morn is but the twelfth 
Since, after numerous hardships, I arrived 
Once more in Troy, and now my ruthless lot 
Hath given me into thy hands again. 
Jove cannot less than hate me, who hath twice 
Made me thy prisoner, and my doom was death, 
Death in my prime, the day when I was born 
Son of Laothoe from Alta sprung, 
From Alta, whom the Leleges obey 
On Satnio's banks in lofty Pedasus. 
His daughter to his other numerous wives 
King Priam added, and two sons she bore 
Only to be deprived by thee of both. 
My brother hath already died, in front 
Of Ilium's infantry, by thy bright spear, 
The godlike Polydorus ; and like doom 
Shall now be mine, for I despair to escape 
Thine hands, to which the gods yield me again. 
But hear and mark me well. My birth was not^ 
From the same womb as Hector's, who hath slam 
Thy valiant friend for clemency renown'd. 

Such supplication the illustrious son _ 
Of Priam made, but answer harsh received. 

Fool ! speak'st of ransom ? Name it not to me. 
For till my friend his miserable fate 
Accomplish'd, I was somewhat given to spare, 
And numerous, whom I seized alive, I sold. 
But now, of all the Trojans whom the gods 


374 


THE ILIAD. 


Deliver to me, none shall death escape, 

'Specially of the house of Priam, none. 

Die, therefore, even thou, my friend ! What mean 

Thy tears unreasonably shed and vain ? 

Died not Patroclus, braver far than thou ? 

And look on me, — see'st not to what an height 

My stature towers, and what a bulk I boast ? 

A king begat me, and a goddess bore. 

What then ! A death by violence awaits 

Me also, and at mora, or eve, or noon, 

I perish, whensoe'er the destined spear 

Shall reach me, or the arrow from the nerve. 

He ceased, and where the suppliant kneel'd, he 
died. 
Quitting the spear, with both hands spread abroad 
He sat, but swift Achilles with his sword 
'Twixt neck and key-bone smote him, and his blade 
Of double edge sank all into the wound. 
He prone extended on the champain lay 
Bedewing with his sable blood the glebe, 
Till, by the foot, Achilles cast him far 
Into the stream, and, as he floated down, 
Thus in wing'd accents, glorying, exclaim'd. 

Lie there, and feed the fishes, Avhich shall lick 
Thy blood secure. Thy mother ne'er shall place 
Thee on thy bier, nor on thy body weep, 
But swift Scamander on his giddy tide 
Shall bear thee to the bosom of the sea. 
i There, many a fish shall through the crystal flood 
Ascending to the rippled surface, find 
Lycaon's pamper' d flesh delicious fare. 
Die, Trojans ! till we reach your city, you 
Fleeing, and slaughtering, I. This pleasant stream 
Of dimpling silver which ye worship oft 
With victim bulls, and sate with living steeds 
His rapid whirlpools, shall avail you nought, 
But ye shall die, die terribly, till all 
Shall have requited me with just amends 
For my Patroclus, and for other Greeks 
Slain at the ships while I declined the war. 

He ended, at whose words still more incensed 
Scamander means devised, thenceforth to check 
Achilles, and avert the doom of Troy. 
Meantime the son of Peleus, his huge spear 
Grasping, assail'd Asteropseus son 
Of Pelegon, on fire to take his life. 
Fair Periboea, daughter eldest-born 
Of Acessamenus, his father bore [nymph 

To broad-stream'd Axius, who had clasp'd the 
In his embrace. On him Achilles sprang. 
He newly risen from the river, stood 
Arm'd with two lances opposite, for him 
Xanthus embolden'd, at the deaths incensed 
Of many a youth whom, mercy none vouchsafed, 
Achilles had in all his current slain. 
And now small distance interposed, they faced 
Each other, when Achilles thus began. 

Who art and whence, who darest encounter me ? 
Hapless the sires whose sons my force defy. 

To whom the noble son of Pelegon. 
Pelides, mighty chief! Why hast thou ask'd 
My derivation ? From the land I come 
Of mellow-soil'd Poeonia far remote, 
Chief leader of Poeonia's host spear-arm'd ; 
This day hath also the eleventh risen 
Since I at Troy arrived. For my descent, 
It is from Axius river wide diffused, 
From Axius, fairest stream that waters earth, 
Sire of bold Pelegon whom men report 
My sire. Let this suffice. Now fight, Achilles ! 


So spake he threatening, and Achilles raised 
Dauntless the Pelian ash. At once two spears 
The hero bold, Asteropseus threw, 
With both hands apt for battle. One his shield 
Struck but pierced not, impeded by the gold, 
Gift of a god ; the other as it flew 
Grazed his right elbow ; sprang the sable blood ; 
But, overflying him, the spear in earth 
Stood planted deep, still hungering for the prey. 
Then, full at the Pceonian Peleus' son 
Hurl'd forth his weapon with unsparing force 
But vain ; he struck the sloping river-bank, 
And mid-length deep stood plunged the ashen beam. 
Then, with his falchion drawn, Achilles flew 
To smite him ; he in vain, meantime, essay'd 
To pluck the rooted spear forth from the bank ; 
Thrice with full force he shook the beam, and thrice, 
Although reluctant, left it ; at his fourth 
Last effort, bending it he sought to break 
The ashen spear-beam of iEacides, 
But perish'd by his keen-edged faulchion first ; 
For on the belly at his navel's side 
He smote him ; to the ground effused fell all 
His bowels, death's dim shadows veil'd his eyes. 
Achilles ardent on his bosom fix'd 
His foot, despoil'd him, and exulting cried. 

Lie there ; though river-sprung thou find'st it 
To cope with sons of Jove omnipotent. [hard 

Thou said'st, a mighty river is my sire — 
But my descent from mightier Jove I boast ; • 
My father, whom the Myrmidons obey, 
Is son of iEacus, and he of Jove. 
As Jove all streams excels that seek the sea, 
So Jove's descendants nobler are than theirs. 
Behold a river at thy side — let him 
Afford thee, if he can, some succour — no — 
He may not fight agamst Saturnian Jove. 
Therefore, not kingly Achelo'i'us, 
Nor yet the strength of Ocean's vast profound, 
Although from him all rivers and all seas 
All fountains and all wells proceed, may boast 
Comparison with Jove, but even he 
Astonish'd trembles at his fiery bolt, 
And his dread thunders rattling in the sky. 

He said, and drawing from the bank his spear, 
Asteropseus left stretch'd on the sands, [flanks 
Where, while the clear wave dash'd him, eels his 
And ravening fishes numerous nibbled bare. 
The horsed Poeonians next he fierce assail'd, 
Who seeing their brave chief slain by the sword 
And forceful arm of Peleus' son, beside 
The eddy-whirling stream fled all dispersed. 
Thersilochus and Mydon then he slew, 
Thrasius, Astypylus, and Ophelestes, 
iEnius and Mnesus ; nor had these sufficed 
Achilles, but Poeonians more had fallen, 
Had not the angry river from within 
His circling gulfs in semblance of a man 
Call'd to him, interrupting thus his rage. 

Oh both in courage and injurious deeds 
Unmatch'd, Achilles ! whom themselves the gods 
Cease not to aid, if Saturn's son have doom'd 
All Ilium's race to perish by thine arm, 
Expel them, first, from me, ere thou achieve 
That dread exploit ; for, cumber'd as I am 
With bodies, I can pour my pleasant stream 
No longer down into the sacred deep ; 
All vanish where thou comest. But oh desist, 
Dread chief ! Amazement fills me at thy deeds. 

To whom Achilles, matchless in the race. 


THE ILIAD. 


375 


River divine ! hereafter be it so. 

But not from slaughter of this faithless host 

I cease, till I shall shut them fast in Troy 

And trial make of Hector, if his arm 

In single fight shall strongest prove, or mine. 

He said, and like a god, furious, again 
Assail' d the Trojans ; then the circling flood 
To Phoebus thus his loud complaint address'd. 

Ah son of Jove, god of the silver bow ! 
The mandate of the son of Saturn ill 
Hast thou perform'd, who, earnest, bade thee aid 
The Trojans, till (the sun sunk in the west) 
Night's shadow dim should veil the fruitful field. 

He ended, and Achilles spear-renown'd 
Plunged from the bank into the middle stream. 
Then, turbulent, the river all his tide 
Stirr'd from the bottom, landward heaving off 
The numerous bodies that his current choak'd 
Slain by Achilles ; them, as with the roar 
Of bulls, he cast aground, but deep within 
His oozy gulfs the living safe conceal' d. 
Terrible all around Achilles stood 
The curling wave, then, falling on his shield 
Dash'd him, nor found his footsteps where to rest. 
An elm of massy trunk he seized and branch 
Luxuriant, but it fell torn from the root 
And drew the whole bank after it ; immersed 
It damm'd the current with its ample boughs, 
And join'd as with a bridge the distant shores. 
Upsprang Achilles from the gulf and turn'd 
His feet, now wing'd for flight, into the plain 
Astonish'd ; but the god not so appeased, 
Arose against him with a darker curl 1 , 
That he might quell him and deliver Troy. 
Back flew Achilles with a bound, the length 
Of a spear's cast, for such a spring he own'd 
As bears the black-plumed eagle on her prey 
Strongest and swiftest of the fowls of air. 
Like her he sprang, and dreadful on his chest 
Clang'd his bright armour. Then, with course 
He fled his fierce pursuer, but the flood, [oblique 
Fly where he might, came thundering in his rear. 
As when the peasant with his spade a rill [grove 
Conducts from some pure fountain through his 
Or garden, clearing the obstructed course, 
The pebbles, as it runs, all ring beneath, 
And, as the slope still deepens, swifter still 
It runs, and, murmuring, outstrips the guide, 
So him, though swift, the river always reach'd 
Still swifter ; who can cope with power divine ? 
Oft as the noble chief, turning, essay'd 
Resistance, and to learn if all the gods 
Alike rush'd after him, so oft the flood, 
Jove's offspring, laved his shoulders. Upward then 
He sprang distress'd, but with a sidelong sweep 
Assailing him, and from beneath his steps 
Wasting the soil, the stream his force subdued. 
Then, looking to the skies, aloud he mourn'd. 

Eternal Sire ! forsaken by the gods, 
I sink, none deigns to save me from the flood, 
From which once saved, I would no death decline. 
Yet blame I none of all the powers of heaven 
As Thetis ; she with falsehood sooth'd my soul, 
She promised me a death by Phoebus' shafts 
Swift-wing' d, beneath the battlements of Troy. 
I would that Hector, noblest of his race, 
Had slain me, I had then bravely expired 

1 'AKpoKeAcuvtSew. — The beauty and force of this word 
are wonderful ; I have in vain endeavoured to do it justice. 


And a brave man had stripp'd me of my arms. 
But fate now dooms me to a death abhorr'd 
Whelm'd in deep waters, like a swine-herd's boy 
Drown'd in wet weather while he fords a brook. 

So spake Achilles ; then, in human form, 
Minerva stood and Neptune at his side ; 
Each seized his hand confirming him, and thus 
The mighty shaker of the shores began. 

Achilles ! moderate thy dismay, fear nought. 
In us behold, in Pallas and in me, 
Effectual aids, and with consent of Jove ; 
For to be vanquish'd by a river's force 
Is not thy doom. This foe shall soon be quell'd ; 
Thine eyes shall see it. Let our counsel rule 
Thy deed, and all is well. Cease not from war 
Till fast within proud Ilium's walls her host 
Again be prison'd, all who shall escape ; 
Then (Hector slain) to the Achaian fleet 
Return ; we make the glorious victory thine. 

So they, and both departing sought the skies. 
Then, animated by the voice divine, 
He moved toward the plain now all o'erspread 
By the vast flood on which the bodies swam 
And shields of many a youth in battle slain. 
He leap'd, he waded, and the current stemm'd 
Right onward, by the flood in vain opposed, 
With such might Pallas fill'd him. Nor his rage 
Scamander aught repress'd, but still the more 
Incensed against Achilles, curl'd aloft 
His waters, and on Simo'is call'd aloud. 

Brother ! oh let us with united force 
Check, if we may, this warrior ; he shall else 
Soon lay the lofty towers of Priam low, 
Whose host, appall'd, defend them now no more. 
Haste — succour me — thy channel fill with streams 
From all thy fountains ; call thy torrents down ; 
Lift high the waters ; mingle trees and stones 
With uproar wild, that we may quell the force 
Of this dread chief triumphant now, and fill'd 
With projects that might more beseem a god. 
But vain shall be his strength, his beauty nought 
Shall profit him or his resplendent arms,. 
For I will bury them in slime and ooze, 
And I will overwhelm himself with soil, 
Sands heaping o'er him and around him sands 
Infinite, that no Greek shall find his bones 
For ever, in my bottom deep immersed. 
There shall his tomb be piled, nor other earth, 
At his last rites, his friends shall need for him. 

He said, and lifting high his angry tide 
Vortiginous, against Achilles hurl'd, 
Roaring, the foam, the bodies, and the blood ; 
Then all his sable waves divine again 
Accumulating, bore him swift along. 
Shriek'd Juno at that sight, terrified lest 
Achilles in the whirling deluge sunk 
Should perish, and to Vulcan quick exclaim'd. 

Vulcan, my son, arise ; for we account 
Xanthus well able to contend with thee. 
Give instant succour ; show forth all thy fires. 
Myself will haste to call the rapid south 
And Zephyrus, that tempests from the sea 
Blowing, thou may'st both arms and dead consume 
With hideous conflagration. Burn along 
The banks of Xanthus, fire his trees and him 
Seize also. Let him by no specious guile 
Of flattery soothe thee, or by threats appal, 
Nor slack thy furious fires till with a shout 
I give command, then bid them cease to blaze. 

She spake, and Vulcan at her word his fires 


37G 


THE ILIAD. 


Shot dreadful forth ; first, kindling on the field, 
He burn'd the bodies strew'd numerous around 
Slain by Achilles ; arid grew the earth 
And the flood ceased. As when a sprightly breeze 
Autumnal blowing from the north, at once 
Dries the new-water'd garden l , gladdening him 
Who tills the soil, so was the champain dried ; 
The dead consumed, against the river, next, 
He turn'd the fierceness of his glittering fires. 
Willows and tamarisks and elms he burn'd, 
Burn'd lotus, rushes, reeds ; all plants and herbs 
That clothed profuse the margin of his flood. 
His eels and fishes, whether wont to dwell 
In gulfs beneath, or tumble in the stream, 
All languish'd while the artist of the skies 
Breath'd on them ; even Xanthus lost, himself, 
All force, and, suppliant, Vulcan thus address'd. 

Oh Vulcan ! none in heaven itself may cope 
With thee. I yield to thy consuming fires. 
Cease, cease. I reck not if Achilles drive 
Her citizens, this moment, forth from Troy, 
For what are war and war's concerns to me ? 

So spake he scorch'd, and all his waters boil'd. 
As some huge cauldron hisses urged by force 
Of circling fires and fill'd with melted lard, 
The unctuous fluid overbubbling- streams 
On all sides, while the dry wood flames beneath, 
So Xanthus bubbled and his pleasant flood 
Hiss'd in the fire, nor could he longer flow 
But check'd his current, with hot steams annoy'd 
By Vulcan raised. His supplication, then, 
Importunate to Juno thus he turn'd. 

Ah Juno ! why assails thy son my streams, 
Hostile to me alone ? Of all who aid 
The Trojans I am surely least to blame, 
Yet even I desist if thou command ; 
And let thy son cease also ; for I swear 
That never will I from the Trojans turn 
Their evil day, not even when the host 
Of Greece shall set all Ilium in a blaze. 

He said, and by his oath pacified, thus 
The white-arm'd deity to Vulcan spake. 

Peace, glorious son ! we may not in behalf 
Of mortal man thus longer vex a god. 

Then Vulcan his tremendous fires repress'd, 
And down into his gulfy channel rush'd 
The refluent flood ; for when the force was once 
Subdued of Xanthus, Juno interposed, 
Although incensed, herself to quell the strife. 

But contest vehement the other gods [rush'd 
Now waged, each breathing discord ; loud they 
And fierce to battle, while the boundless earth 
Quaked under them, and, all around, the heavens 
Sang them together with a trumpet's voice. 
Jove listening, on the Olympian summit sat 
Well-pleased, and, in his heart laughing for joy, 
Beheld the powers of heaven in battle join'd. 
Not long aloof they stood. Shield-piercer Mars 
His brazen spear grasp'd, and began the fight 
Rushing on Pallas, whom he thus reproach'd. 

Wasp ! front of impudence, and past all bounds 
Audacious ! Why impellest thou the gods 
To fight ? Thy own proud spirit is the cause. 
Remember'st not, how, urged by thee, the son 


1 The reason given in the Scholium is, that the surface 
being hardened by the wind the moisture remains uncx- 
haled from beneath, and has time to saturate the roots. — 
See Villoisson. 

2 'AixPoXaorju. 


Of Tydeus, Diomede, myself assail'd, 
When thou, the radiant spear with thy own hand 
Guiding, didst rend my body ? Now, I ween, 
The hour is come in which I shall exact 
Vengeance for all thy malice shown to me. 

So saying, her shield he smote tassel' d around 
Terrific, proof against the bolts of Jove ; 
That shield gore-tainted Mars with fury smote. 
But she, retiring, with strong grasp upheaved 
A rugged stone, black, ponderous, from the plain, 
A land-mark fixt by men of ancient times, 
Which hurling at the neck of stormy Mars 
She smote him. Down he fell. Seven acres, stretch'd, 
He overspread, his ringlets in the dust 
Polluted lay, and dreadful rang his arms. 
The goddess laugh'd, and thus in accents wing'd 
With exultation, as he lay, exclaim'd. 

Fool ! art thou still to learn how far my force 
Surpasses thine, and darest thou cope with me ? 
Now feel the furies of thy mother's ire 
Who hates thee for thy treachery to the Greeks, 
And for thy succour given to faithless Troy. 

She said, and turn'd from Mars her glorious eyes. 
But him deep-groaning and his torpid powers 
Recovering slow, Venus conducted thence 
Daughter of Jove, whom soon as Juno mark'd, 
In accents wing'd to Pallas thus she spake. 

Daughter invincible of glorious Jove ! 
Haste — follow her — Ah shameless ! how she leads 
Gore-tainted Mars through all the host of heaven. 

So she, whom Pallas with delight obey'd ; 
To Venus swift she flew, and on the breast 
With such force smote her that of sense bereft 
The fainting goddess fell. There Venus lay 
And Mars extended on the fruitful glebe, 
And Pallas thus in accents wing'd exclaim'd. 

I would that all who on the part of Troy 
Oppose in fight Achaia's valiant sons, 
Were firm and bold as Venus in defence 
Of Mars, for whom she dared my power defy ! 
So had dissention (Ilium overthrown 
And desolated) ceased long since in heaven. 

So Pallas, and approving Juno smiled. 
Then the imperial shaker of the shores 
Thus to Apollo. Phoebus ! wherefore stand 
We thus aloof? Since others have begun, 
Begin we also ; shame it were to both 
Should we, no combat waged, ascend again 
Olympus and the brass-built hall of Jove. 
Begin, for thou art younger ; me, whose years 
Alike and knowledge thine surpass so far, 
It suits not. Oh stupidity ! how gross 
Art thou and senseless ! Are no traces left 
In thy remembrance of our numerous wrongs 
Sustain'd at Ilium, when, of all the gods 
Ourselves alone, by Jove's commandment, served 
For stipulated hire, a year complete, 
Our task-master the proud Laomedon ? 
Myself a bulwark'd town, spacious, secure 
Against assault, and beautiful as strong 
Built for the Trojans, and thine office was 
To feed for king Laomedon his herds 
Among the groves of Ida many-valed. 
But when the gladsome hours the season brought 
Of payment, then the unjust king of Troy 
Dismiss'd us of our whole reward amerced 
By violence, and added threats beside. 
Thee into distant isles, bound hand and foot, 
To sell he threaten'd, and to amputate 
The ears of both ; we, therefore, hasted thence 


THE ILIAD. 


377 


Resenting deep our promised hire withheld. 
Aid'st thou for this the Trojans ? Canst thou less 
Than seek, with us, to exterminate the whole 
Perfidious race, wives, children, husbands, all ? 

To whom the king of radiant shafts, Apollo. 
Me, Neptune, thou wouldst deem, thyself, unwise 
Contending for the sake of mortal men 
With thee ; a wretched race, who like the leaves 
Now flourish rank, by fruits of earth sustain 'd, 
Now sapless fall. Here, therefore, us between 
Let all strife cease, far better left to them. 

He said, and turn'd away, fearing to lift 
His hand against the brother of his sire. 
But him Diana of the woods with sharp 
Rebuke, his huntress sister, thus reproved. 

Fly'st thou, Apollo ! and to Neptune yield'st 
An unearn'd victory, the prize of fame 
Resigning patient and with no dispute ? 
Fool ! wherefore bearest thou the bow in vain ? 
Ah, let me never in my father's courts 
Hear thee among the immortals vaunting more 
That thou would'st Neptune's self confront in arms. 

So she, to whom Apollo nought replied. 
But thus the consort of the Thunderer, fired 
With wrath, reproved the archeress of heaven. 

How hast thou dared, impudent, to oppose 
My will ! Bow-practised as thou art, the task 
To match my force were difficult to thee. 
Is it, because by ordinance of Jove 
Thou art a lioness to womankind, 
Killing them at thy pleasure ? Ah beware, — 
Far easier is it, on the mountain-heights 
To slay wild-beasts and chase the roving hind, 
Than to conflict with mightier than ourselves. 
But, if thou wish a lesson on that theme, 
Approach — Thou shalt be taught with good effect 
How far my force in combat passes thine. 

She said, and with her left hand seizing both 
Diana's wrists, snatch'd suddenly the bow 
Suspended on her shoulder with the right, 
And, smiling, smote her with it on the ears. 
She, writhing oft and struggling, to the ground 
Shook forth her rapid shafts, then, weeping, tied 
As to her cavern in some hollow rock 
The dove, not destined to his talons, flies 
The hawk's pursuit, and left her arms behind. 

Then, messenger of heaven, the Argicide 
Address'd Latona. Combat none with thee, 
Latona, will I wage. Unsafe it were 
To cope in battle with a spouse of Jove. 
Go, therefore, loudly as thou wilt, proclaim 
To all the gods that thou hast vanquish'd me. 

Collecting, then, the bow and arrows fallen 
In wild disorder on the dusty plain, 
Latona, with the sacred charge withdrew 
Following her daughter ; she, in the abode 
Brass-built arriving of Olympian Jove, 
Sat on his knees, weeping till all her robe 
Ambrosial shook. The mighty father smiled, 
And to his bosom straining her, enquired. 

Daughter beloved ! who, which of all the gods 
Hath raised his hand, presumptuous, against thee, 
As if convicted of some open wrong ? 

To whom the clear-voiced huntress crescent- 
My father ! Juno, thy own consort fair [crown'd. 
My sorrow caused, from whom dispute and strife 
Perpetual, threaten the immortal powers. 

Thus they in heaven mutual conferr'd. Mean- 
Apollo into sacred Troy return'd [time 
Mindful to guard her bulwarks, lest the Greeks 


Too soon for fate should desolate the town. 
The other gods, some angry, some elate 
With victory, the Olympian heights regain'd, 
And sat beside the Thunderer. But the son 
Of Peleus — He both Trojans slew and steeds. 
As when in volumes slow smoke climbs the skies 
From some great city which the gods have fired 
Vindictive, sorrow thence to many ensues 
With mischief, and to all labour severe, 
So caused Achilles labour, on that day, 
Severe, and mischief to the men of Troy. 

But ancient Priam from a sacred tower 
Stood looking forth, whence soon he noticed vast 
Achilles, before whom the Trojans fled 
All courage lost. Descending from the tower 
With mournful cries and hasting to the wall 
He thus enjoin'd the keepers of the gates. 

Hold wide the portals till the flying host 
Re-enter, for himself is nigh, himself 
Achilles drives them home. Now, woe to Troy ! 
But soon as safe within the walls received 
They breathe again, shut fast the ponderous gates 
At once, lest that destroyer also pass. 

He said; they, shooting back the bars, threw wide 
The gates and saved the people, whom to aid 
Apollo also sprang into the field. 
They, parch'd with drought and whiten'd all with 

dust, 
Flew right toward the town, while, spear in hand, 
Achilles press'd them, vengeance in his heart 
And all on fire for glory. Then, full sure, 
Ilium, the city of lofty gates, had fallen 
Won by the Greecians, had not Phcebus roused 
Antenor's valiant son, the noble chief 
Agenor ; him with dauntless might he fill'd, 
And shielding him against the stroke of fate 
Beside him stood himself, by the broad beech 
Cover'd and wrapt in clouds. Agenor, then, 
Seeing the city-waster hero nigh 
Achilles, stood, but standing, felt his mind 
Troubled with doubts ; he groan'd, and thus he 
mused. 

Alas ! if following the tumultuous flight 
Of these, I shun Achilles, swifter far 
He soon will lop my ignominious head. 
But if, these leaving to be thus dispersed 
Before him, from the city-wall I fly 
Across the plain of Troy into the groves 
Of Ida, and in Ida's thickets lurk, 
I may, at evening, to the town return 
Bathed and refresh'd. But whither tend my 

thoughts ? 
Should he my flight into the plain observe 
And swift pursuing seize me, then, farewell 
All hope to 'scape a miserable death, 
For he hath strength passing the strength of man. 
How then— shall I withstand him here before 
The city ? He hath also flesh to steel 
Pervious, within it but a single life, 
And men report him mortal, howsoe'er 
Saturnian Jove lift him to glory now. 

So saying, he turn'd and stood, his dauntless 
heart 
Beating for battle. As the pard springs forth 
To meet the hunter from her gloomy lair, 
Nor, hearing loud the hounds, fears or retires, 
But whether from afar or nigh at hand 
He pierce her first, although transfixt, the fight 
Still tries, and combats desperate till she fall, 
So, brave Antenor's son fled not, or shrank, 


378 


THE ILIAD. 


Till he had proved Achilles, but his breast 
O'ershadowiug with his buckler, and his spear 
Aiming well-poised against him, loud exclaim'd. 

Renown'd Achilles ! Thou art high in hope 
Doubtless that thou shalt this day overthrow 
The city of the glorious sons of Troy. 
Fool ! ye must labour yet ere she be won, 
For numerous are her citizens and bold, 
And we will guard her for our parents' sake 
Our wives and little ones. But here thou diest, 
Terrible chief and dauntless as thou art. 

He said, and with full force hurling his lance 
Smote, and err'd not, his greave beneath the knee. 
The glittering tin, forged newly, at the stroke 
Tremendous rang, but quick recoil'd and vain 
The weapon, weak against that guard divine. 
Then sprang Achilles in his turn to assail 
Godlike Agenor, but Apollo took 
That glory from him, snatching wrapt in clouds 
Agenor thence, whom calm he sent away. 

Then Phoebus from pursuit of Ilium's host 
By art averted Peleus' son ; the form 
Assuming of Agenor, swift he fled 
Before him, and Achilles swift pursued. 
While him Apollo thus lured to the chase 
Wide o'er the fruitful plain, inclining still 
Toward Scamander's dizzy stream his course 
Nor flying far before, but with false hope 
Always beguiling him, the scatter'd host 
Meantime, in joyful throngs, regain'd the town. 
They fill'd and shut it fast, nor dared to wait 
Each other in the field, or to enquire 
Who lived and who had fallen, but all, whom flight 
Had rescued, like a flood pour'd into Troy. 


BOOK XXII. 

ARGUMENT. 

Achilles slays Hector. 

Thus they, throughout all Troy, like hunted fawns 
Dispersed, their trickling limbs at leisure cool'd, 
And, drinking, slaked then- fiery thirst, reclined 
Against the battlements. Meantime, the Greeks 
Sloping then- shields, approach'd the walls of Troy, 
And Hector, by his adverse fate ensnared, 
Still stood exposed before the Scsean gate. 
Then spake Apollo thus to Peleus' son. 

Wherefore, thyself mortal, pursuest thou me 
Immortal ? oh Achilles ! blind with rage, 
Thou know'st not yet, that thou pursuest a god. 
Unmindful of thy proper task, to press 
The flying Trojans, thou hast hither turn'd 
Devious, and they are all now safe in Troy ; 
Yet hope not me to slay ; I cannot die. 

To whom Achilles swiftest of the swift, 
Indignant. Oh, of all the powers above 
To me most adverse, archer of the skies ! 
Thou hast beguiled me, leading me away 
From Ilium far, whence intercepted, else, 
No few had at this moment gnaw'd the glebe. 
Thou hast defrauded me of great renown, 
And, safe thyself, hast rescued them with ease. 
Ah — had I power, I would requite thee well. 

So saying, incensed he turned toward the town 
His rapid course, like some victorious steed 


That whirls, at stretch, a chariot to the goal. 
Such seem'd Achilles, coursing light the field. 

Him, first, the ancient king of Troy perceived 
Scouring the plain, resplendent as the star 
Autumnal, of all stars in dead of night 
Conspicuous most, and named Orion's dog ; 
Brightest it shines, but ominous, and dire 
Disease portends to miserable man ; 
So beam'd Achilles' armour as he flew. 
Loud wail'd the hoary king ; with lifted hands 
His head he smote, and, uttering doleful cries 
Of supplication, sued to his own son. 
He, fixt before the gate, desirous stood 
Of combat with Achilles, when his sire 
With arms outstretch'd toward him, thus began. 

My Hector ! wait not, oh my son ! the approach 
Of this dread chief, alone, lest premature 
Thou die, this moment by Achilles slain, 
For he is strongest far. Oh that the gods 
Him loved as I ! then, soon should vultures rend 
And dogs his carcase, and my grief should cease. 
He hath unchilded me of many a son, 
All valiant youths, whom he hath slain or sold 
To distant isles, and even now, I miss 
Two sons, whom since the shutting of the gates 
I find not, Polydorus and Lycaon, 
My children by Laothoe the fair. 
If they survive prisoners in yonder camp, 
I will redeem them with the gold and brass 
By noble Altes to his daughter given, 
Large store, and still reserved. But should they 

both, 
Already slain, have journey 'd to the shades, 
We, then, from whom they sprang have cause to 

mourn 
And mourn them long, but shorter shall the grief 
Of Ilium prove, if thou escape and five. 
Come then, my son ! enter the city-gate 
That thou may'st save us all, nor in thy bloom 
Of life cut off, enhance Achilles' fame. 
Commiserate also thy unhappy sire 
Ere yet distracted, whom Saturnian Jove 
Ordains to a sad death, and ere I die 
To woes innumerable ; to behold [stripp'd 

Sons slaughter'd, daughters ravish'd, torn and 
The matrimonial chamber, infants dash'd 
Against the ground in dire hostility, 
And matrons dragg'd by ruthless Greecian hands. 
Me, haply, last of all, dogs shall devour 
In my own vestibule, when once the spear 
Or faulchion of some Greek hath laid me low. 
The very dogs fed at my table-side, 
My portal-guards, drinking their master's blood 
To drunkenness, shall wallow in my courts. 
Fair falls the warlike youth in battle slain, 
And when he lies torn by the pointed steel, 
His death becomes him well ; he is secure, 
Though dead, from shame, whatever next befals : 
But when the silver locks and silver beard 
Of an old man slain by the sword, from dogs 
Receive dishonour, of all ills that wait 
On miserable man, that sure is worst. 

So spake the ancient king, and his grey hairs 
Pluck'd with both hands, but Hector firm endured. 
On the other side all tears his mother stood, 
And lamentation ; with one hand she bared, 
And with the other hand produced her breast, 
Then in wing'd accents, weeping, him bespake. 

My Hector ! reverence this, and pity me. 
If ever, drawing forth this breast, thy griefs 


THE ILIAD. 


379 


Of infancy I soothed, oh now, my son ! 
Acknowledge it, and from within the walls 
Repulse this enemy ; stand not abroad 
To cope with him, for he is savage-fierce, 
And should he slay thee, neither shall myself 
Who bore thee, nor thy noble spouse weep o'er 
Thy body, but, where we can never come, 
Dogs shall devour it in the fleet of Greece. 

So they with prayers importuned, and with tears 
Their son, but him sway'd not ; unmoved he stood, 
Expecting vast Achilles now at hand. 
As some fell serpent in his cave expects 
The traveller's approach, batten'd with herbs 
Of baneful juice to fury, forth he looks 
Hideous, and lies coil'd all around his den, 
So Hector, fill'd with confidence untamed, 
Fled not, but placing his bright shield against 
A buttress, with his noble heart conferr'd. 

Alas for me ! should I repass the gate, 
Polydamas would be the first to heap 
Reproaches on me, for he bade me lead 
The Trojans back this last calamitous night 
In which Achilles rose to arms again. 
But I refused, although to have complied, 
Had proved more profitable far ; since then 
By rash resolves of mine I have destroy 'd 
The people, how can I escape the blame 
Of all in Troy ? The meanest there will say — 
By his self-will he hath destroy'd us all. 
So shall they speak, and then shall I regret 
That I return'd ere I had slain in fight 
Achilles, or that, by Achilles slain, 
I died not nobly in defence of Troy. 
But shall I thus ? Lay down my bossy shield, 
Put off my helmet, and my spear recline 
Against the city wall, then go myself 
To meet the brave Achilles, and at once 
Promise him Helen, for whose sake we strive, 
With all the wealth that Paris in his fleet 
Brought home, to be restored to Atreus' sons, 
And to distribute to the Greeks at large 
All hidden treasures of the town, an oath 
Taking beside from every senator, 
That he will nought conceal, but will produce 
And share in just equality what stores 
Soever our fair city still includes ? 
Ah airy speculations, questions vain ! 
I may not sue to him ; compassion none 
Will he vouchsafe me, or my suit respect, 
But, seeing me unarm'd, will sate at once 
His rage, and womanlike I shall be slain. 
It is no time from oak or hollow rock 
With him to parley, as a nymph and swain, 
A nymph and swain l soft parley mutual hold, 
But rather to engage in combat fierce 
Incontinent ; so shall we soonest learn 
Whom Jove will make victorious, him or me. 

Thus pondering he stood ; meantime approach'd 
Achilles, terrible as fiery Mars, 
Crest-tossing god, and brandish'd as he came 
O'er his right shoulder high the Pelian spear. 
Like lightning, or like flame, or like the sun 
Ascending, beam'd his armour. At that sight 
Trembled the Trojan chief, nor dared expect 

1 The repetition follows the original, and the Scholiast 
is of opinion that Homer uses it here that he may express 
more emphatically the length to which such conferences 
are apt to proceed. — Aih r)]v iroXvAo-yiav rrj avaArjtyei 
txpfoo-ro. 


His nearer step, but flying left the gates 

Far distant, and Achilles swift pursued. 

As in the mountains, fleetest fowl of air, 

The hawk darts eager at the dove ; she scuds 

Aslant, he, screaming, springs and springs again 

To seize her, all impatient for the prey, 

So flew Achilles constant to the track 

Of Hector, who with dreadful haste beneath 

The Trojan bulwarks plied his agile limbs. 

Passing the prospect-mount where high in air 

The wild-fig waved 2 , they rush'd along the road, 

Declining never from the wall of Troy. 

And now they reach'd the running rivulets clear, 

Where from Scamander's dizzy flood arise 

Two fountains, tepid one, from which a smoke 

Issues voluminous as from a fire, 

The other, even in summer heats, like hail 

For cold, or snow, or crystal-stream frost-bound. 

Beside them may be seen the broad canals 

Of marble scoop'd, in which the wives of Troy 

And all her daughters fair were wont to lave 

Their costly raiment, while the land had rest, 

And ere the warlike sons of Greece arrived. 

By these they ran, one fleeing, one in chase. 

Valiant was he who fled, but valiant far 

Beyond him he who urged the swift pursuit ; 

Nor ran they for a vulgar prize, a beast 

For sacrifice, or for the hide of such, 

The swift foot-racer's customary meed, 

But for the noble Hector's life they ran. 

As when two steeds, oft conquerors, trim the goal 

For some illustrious prize, a tripod bright 

Or beauteous virgin, at a funeral game, 

So they with nimble feet the city thrice 

Of Priam compass'd. All the gods look'd on, 

And thus the sire of gods and men began. 

Ah — I behold a warrior dear to me 
Around the walls of Ilium driven, and grieve 
For Hector, who the thighs of fatted bulls 
On yonder heights of Ida many-valed 
Burn'd oft to me, and in the heights of Troy : 
But him Achilles, glorious chief, around 
The city -walls of Priam now pursues. 
Consider this, ye gods ! weigh the event. 
Shall we from death save Hector ? or, at length, 
Leave him, although in battle high-renown'd, 
To perish by the might of Peleus' son ? 

Whom answer'd thus Pallas ccerulean-eyed. 
Dread sovereign of the storms ! what hast thou said? 
Wouldst thou deliver from the stroke of fate 
A mortal man death-destined from of old ? 
Do it ; but small thy praise shall be in heaven. 

Then answer thus, cloud-gatherer Jove return'd. 
Fear not, Tritonia, daughter dear ! that word 
Spake not my purpose ; me thou shalt perceive 
Always to thee indulgent. What thou wilt 
That execute, and use thou no delay. 

So roused he Pallas of herself prepared, 
And from the heights Olympian down she flew. 
With unremitting speed Achilles still 
Urged Hector. As among the mountain-heights 
The hound pursues, roused newly from her lair 
The flying fawn through many a vale and grove ; 
And though she trembling skulk the shrubs beneath. 
Tracks her continual, till he find the prey, 
So 'scaped not Hector Peleus' rapid son. 
Oft as toward the Dardan gates he sprang 
Direct, and to the bulwarks firm of Troy, 

2 It grew near to the tomb of Ilus. 


380 


THE ILIAD. 


Hoping some aid by volleys from the wall, 
So oft, outstripping him, Achilles thence 
Enforced him to the field, who, as he might, 
Still ever stretch'd toward the walls again. 
As, in a dream, 1 pursuit hesitates oft, 
This hath no power to fly, that to pursue, 
So these — one fled, and one pursued in vain. 
How, then, had Hector his impending fate 
Eluded, had not Phoebus, at his last, 
Last effort meeting him, his strength restored, 
And wing'd for flight his agile limbs anew ? 
The son of Peleus, as he ran, his brows 
Shaking, forbad the people to dismiss 
A dart at Hector, lest a meaner hand 
Piercing him, should usurp the foremost praise. 
But when the fourth time to those rivulets 
They came, then lifting high his golden scales, 
Two lots the everlasting father placed 
Within them, for Achilles one, and one 
For Hector, balancing the doom of both. 
Grasping it in the midst, he raised the beam. 
Down went the fatal day of Hector, down 
To Ades, and Apollo left his side. 
Then blue-eyed Pallas hasting to the son 
Of Peleus, in wing'd accents him address'd. 

Now, dear to Jove, Achilles famed in arms ! 
I hope that, fierce in combat though he be, 
We shall, at last, slay Hector, and return 
Crown' d with great glory to the fleet of Greece. 
No fear of his deliverance now remains, 
Not even should the king of radiant shafts 
Apollo toil in supplication, roll'd 
And roll'd again 2 before the Thunderer's feet. 
But stand, recover breath ; myself, the while, 
Shall urge him to oppose thee face to face. 

So Pallas spake, whom joyful he obey'd, 
And on his spear brass-pointed lean'd. But she 
(Achilles left) to noble Hector pass'd, 
And in the form, and with the voice loud-toned 
Approaching of Deiphobus, his ear 
In accents, as of pity, thus address'd. 

Ah brother ! thou art overtask'd, around 
The walls of Troy by swift Achilles driven ; 
But stand, that we may chase him in his turn. 

To whom crest-tossing Hector huge replied. 
Deiphobus ! of all my father's sons 
Brought forth by Hecuba, I ever loved 
Thee most, but more than ever love thee now, 
Who hast not fear'd, seeing me, for my sake 
To quit the town, where others rest content. 

To whom the goddess, thus, coerulean-eyed. 
Brother ! our parents with much earnest suit 
Clasping my knees, and all my friends implored me 
To stay in Troy, (such fear hath seized on all) 
But grief for thee prey'd on my inmost soul. 
Come — fight we bravely — spare we now our spears 
No longer ; now for proof if Peleus' son 
Slaying us both, shall bear into the fleet 
Our arms gore-stain'd, or perish slain by thee. 

So saying, the wily goddess led the way. 
They soon, approaching each the other, stood 
Opposite, and huge Hector thus began. 

Pelides ! I will fly thee now no more, 
Thrice I have compass' d Priam's spacious walls 
A fugitive, and have not dared abide 

1 The numbers in the original are so constructed as to 
express the painful struggle that characterises such a 
dream. 

s irpOTrpoKv\iv$6{J.*vos. 


Thy onset, but my heart now bids me stand 
Dauntless, and I will slay, or will be slain. 
But come. We will attest the gods ; for they 
Are fittest both to witness and to guard 
Our covenant. If Jove to me vouchsafe 
The hard-earn'd victory, and to take thy life, 
I will not with dishonour foul insult 
Thy body, but, thine armour stripp'd, will give 
Thee to thy friends, as thou shalt me to mine. 

To whom Achilles, louring dark, replied. 
Hector ! my bitterest foe ! speak not to me 
Of covenants ! as concord can be none 
Lions and men between, nor wolves and lambs 
Can be unanimous, but hate perforce 
Each other by a law not to be changed, 
So cannot amity subsist between 
Thee and myself ; nor league make I with thee 
Or compact, till thy blood in battle shed 
Orpine, shall gratify the fiery Mars. 
Rouse all thy virtue ; thou hast utmost need 
Of valour now, and of address in arms. 
Escape me more thou canst not : Pallas' hand 
By mine subdues thee ; now will I avenge 
At once the agonies of every Greek 
In thy unsparing fury slain by thee. 

He said, and, brandishing the Pelian ash, 
Dismiss'd it ; but illustrious Hector warn'd, 
Couch'd low, and, overflying him, it pierced 
The soil beyond, whence Pallas plucking it 
Unseen, restored it to Achilles' hand, 
And Hector to his godlike foe replied. 

Godlike Achilles ! thou hast err'd, nor know'st 
At all my doom from Jove, as thou pretend'st, 
But seek'st, by subtlety and wind of words, 
All empty sounds, to rob me of my might. 
Yet stand I firm. Think not to pierce my back. 
Behold my bosom ! if the gods permit, 
Meet me advancing, and transpierce me there. 
Meantime avoid my glittering spear, but oh 
May'st thou receive it all ! since lighter far 
To Ilium should the toils of battle prove, 
Wert thou once slain, the fiercest of her foes. 

He said, and hurling his long spear with aim 
Unerring, smote the centre of the shield 
Of Peleus' son, but his spear glanced away. 
He, angry to have sent it forth in vain, 
(For he had other none) with eyes downcast 
Stood motionless awhile, then with loud voice 
Sought from Deiphobus, white-shielded chief, 
A second ; but Deiphobus was gone. 
Then Hector understood his doom, and said. 

Ah, it is plain ; this is mine hour to die. 
I thought Deiphobus at hand, but me 
Pallas beguiled, and he is still in Troy. 
A bitter death threatens me, it is nigh, 
And there is no escape ; Jove, and Jove's son 
Apollo, from the first, although awhile 
My prompt deliverers, chose this lot for me, 
And now it finds me. But I will not fall 
Inglorious ; I will act some great exploit 
That shall be celebrated ages hence. 

So saying, his keen faulchion from his side 
He drew, well-temper'd, ponderous, and rush'd 
At once to combat. As the eagle darts 
Right downward through a sullen cloud to seize 
Weak lamb or timorous hare, so brandishing 
His splendid faulchion, Hector rush'd to fight. 
Achilles, opposite, with fellest ire 
Full-fraught came on ; his shield with various art 
Celestial form'd, o'erspread his ample chest, 


THE ILIAD. 


381 


And on his radiant casque terrific waved 
The bushy gold of his resplendent crest, 
By Vulcan spun, and pour'd profuse around. 
Bright as, among the stars, the star of all 
Most radiant, Hesperus, at midnight moves, 
So, in the right-hand of Achilles beam'd 
His brandish'd spear, while, meditating woe 
To Hector, he explored his noble form, 
Seeking where he was vulnerable most. 
But every part, his dazzling armour torn 
From brave Patroclus' body, well secured, 
Save where the circling key-bone from the neck 
Disjoins the shoulder ; there his throat appear'd, 
Whence injured life with swiftest flight escapes ; 
Achilles, plunging in that part his spear, 
Impell'd it through the yielding flesh beyond. 
The ashen beam his power of utterance left 
Still unimpair'd, but in the dust he fell, 
And the exulting conqueror exclaim'd. 

But Hector ! thou hadst once far other hopes, 
And, stripping slain Patroclus, thought'st thee safe, 
Nor caredst for absent me. Fond dream and vain ! 
I was not distant far ; in yonder fleet 
He left one able to avenge his death, 
And he hath slain thee. Thee the dogs shall rend 
Dishonourably, and the fowls of air, 
But all Achaia's host shall him entomb. 

To whom the Trojan chief languid replied. 
By thy own life, by theirs who gave thee birth, 
And by thy knees 1 , oh let not Greecian dogs 
Rend and devour me, but in gold accept 
And brass a ransom at my father's hands, 
And at my mother's, an illustrious price ; 
Send home my body, grant me burial rites 
Among the daughters and the sons of Troy. 

To whom with aspect stern Achilles thus. 
Dog ! neither knees nor parents name to me. 
I would my fierceness of revenge were such, 
That I could carve and eat thee, to whose arms 
Such griefs I owe ; so true it is and sure, 
That none shall save thy carcase from the dogs. 
No, trust me, would thy parents bring me weigh'd 
Ten — twenty ransoms, and engage on oath 
To add still more ; would thy Dardanian sire 
Priam, redeem thee with thy weight in gold, 
Not even at that price would I consent 
That she who bare should place thee on thy bier 
With lamentation ; dogs and ravening fowls 
Shall rend thy body while a scrap remains. 

Then, dying, warlike Hector thus replied. 
Full well I knew before, how suit of mine 
Should speed preferr'd to thee. Thy heart is steel. 
But oh, while yet thou livest, think, lest the gods 
Requite thee on that day, when pierced thyself 
By Paris and Apollo, thou shalt fall, 
Brave as thou art, before the Scaean gate. 

He ceased, and death involved him dark around. 
His spirit, from his limbs dismiss'd, the house 
Of Ades sought, mourning in her descent 
Youth's prime and vigour lost, disastrous doom ! 
But him though dead, Achilles thus bespake. 

Die thou. My death shall find me at what hour 
Jove gives commandment, and the gods above. 

He spake, and from the dead drawing away 
His brazen spear, placed it apart, then stripp'd 
His arms gore-stain'd. Meantime the other sons 
Of the Achaians, gathering fast around, 


1 The knees of the conqueror were a kind of sanctuary 
to which the vanquished fled for refuge. 


The bulk admired, and the proportion just 
Of Hector, neither stood a Greecian there 
Who pierced him not, and thus the soldier spake. 

Ye gods ! how far more patient of the touch 
Is Hector now, than when he fired the fleet ! 

Thus would they speak, then give him each a 
stab. 
And now, the body stripp'd, their noble chief 
The swift Achilles standing in the midst, 
The Greecians in wing'd accents thus address'd. 

Friends, chiefs, and senators of Argos' host I 
Since, by the will of heaven, this man is slain 
Who harm'd us more than all our foes beside, 
Essay Ave next the city, so to learn 
The Trojan purpose, whether (Hector slain) 
They will forsake the citadel, or still 
Defend it, even though of him deprived. 
But wherefore speak I thus ? still undeplored, 
Unburied in my fleet Patroclus lies ; 
Him never, while alive myself, I mix 
With living men and move, will I forget. 
In Ades, haply, they forget the dead, 
Yet will not I Patroclus, even there. 
Now chaunting paeans, ye Achaian youths ! 
Return we to the fleet with this our prize ; 
We have achieved great glory 2 , we have slain 
Illustrious Hector, liim whom Ilium praised 
In all her gates, and as a god revered. 

He said ; then purposing dishonour foul 
To noble Hector, both his feet he bored 
From heel to ancle, and, inserting thongs, 
Them tied behind his chariot, but his head 
Left unsustain'd to trail along the ground. 
Ascending next, the armour at his side 
He placed, then lash'd the steeds ; they willing flew. 
Thick dust around the body dragg'd arose, 
His sable locks aU swept the plain, and all 
His head, so graceful once, now track'd the dust, 
For Jove had given it into hostile hands 
That they might shame it in his native soil. 
Thus, whelm' d in dust, it went. The mother queen 
Her son beholding, pluck'd her hair away, 
Cast far aside her lucid veil, and fill'd 
With shrieks the air. His father wept aloud, 
And, all around, long long complaints were heard 
And lamentations in the streets of Troy, 
Not fewer or less piercing, than if flames 
Had wrapt all Ilium to her topmost towers. 
His people scarce detain'd the ancient king 
Grief-stung, and resolute to issue forth 
Through the Dardanian gates ; to all he kneel'd 
In turn, then roll'd himself in dust, and each 
By name solicited to give him way. 

Stand off, my fellow mourners ! I would pass 
The gates, would seek, alone, the Greecian fleet. 
I go to supplicate the bloody man, 
Yon ravager ; he may respect, perchance, 
My years, may feel some pity of my age ; 
For, such as I am, his own father is, 
Peleus, who rear'd him for a curse to Troy, 
But chiefly rear'd him to myself a curse, 
So numerous have my sons in prime of youth 
Fallen by his hand, all whom I less deplore 
(Though mourning all) than one ; my agonies 
For Hector, soon shall send me to the shades. 
Oh had he but within these arms expired, 

2 The lines of which these three are a translation, are 
supposed hy some to have heen designed for the 'Eiriy'iKiov, 
or song of victory sung hy the whole army. 


382 


THE ILIAD. 


The hapless queen who bore him, and myself 
Had wept Mm, then, till sorrow could no more ! 

So spake he weeping, and the citizens 
All sigh'd around]; next, Hecuba began 
Amid the women, thus, her sad complaint. 

Ah wherefore, oh my son ! wretch that I am, 
Breathe I forlorn of thee ? Thou, night and day, 
My glory wast in Ilium, thee her sons 
And daughters, both, hail'd as their guardian god, 
Conscious of benefits from thee received, 
Whose life prolong'd should have advanced them all 
To high renown. Vain boast ! thou art no more. 

So mourn'd the queen. But fair Andromache 
Nought yet had heard, nor knew by sure report 
Hector's delay without the city-gates. 
She in a closet of her palace sat, 
A twofold web weaving magnificent, 
With sprinkled flowers inwrought of various hues, 
And to her maidens had commandment given 
Through all her house, that compassing with fire 
An ample tripod, they should warm a bath 
For noble Hector from the fight return'd. 
Tenderness ill-inform'd ! she little knew 
That in the field, from such refreshments far, 
Pallas had slain him by Achilles' hand. 
She heard a cry of sorrow from the tower ; 
Her limbs shook under her, her shuttle fell, 
And to her bright-hair'd train, alarm'd, she cried. 

Attend me two of you, that I may learn 
What hath befallen. I have heard the voice 
Of the queen-mother ; my rebounding heart, 
Choaks me, and I seem fetter'd by a frost. 
Some mischief sure o'er Priam's sons impends. 
Far be such tidings from me ! but I fear 
Horribly, lest Achilles, cutting off 
My dauntless Hector from the gates alone, 
Enforce him to the field, and quell perhaps 
The might, this moment, of that dreadful arm 
His hinderance long ; for Hector ne'er was wont 
To seek his safety in the ranks, but flew 
First into battle, yielding place to none. 

So saying, she rush'd with palpitating heart 
And frantic air abroad, by her two maids 
Attended ; soon arriving at the tower, 
And at the throng of men, awhile she stood 
Down-looking wistful from the city-wall, 
And, seeing him in front of Ilium, dragg'd 
So cruelly toward the fleet of Greece, 
O'erwhelm'd with sudden darkness at the view 
Fell backward, with a sigh heard all around. 
Far distant flew dispersed her head-attire, 
Twist, frontlet, diadem, and even the veil 
By golden Venus given her on the day 
When Hector led her from Eetion's house 
Enrich'd with nuptial presents to his home. 
Around her throng'd her sisters of the house 
Of Priam, numerous, who within their arms 
Fast held her ' loathing life ; but she, her breath 
At length and sense recovering, her complaint 
Broken with sighs amid them thus began. 

Hector ! I am undone ; we both were born 
To misery, thou in Priam's house in Troy, 
And I in Hypoplacian Thebes wood-crown'd 
Beneath Eetion's roof. He, doom'd himself 


1 It is an observation of the Scholiast, that two more 
affecting spectacles cannot he imagined, than Priam 
struggling to escape into the field, and Andromache 
to cast herself from the wall ; for so he understands 
a.Tv£ofJ.evr)v airoXeaOai. 


To sorrow, me more sorrowfully doom'd, 
Sustain'd in helpless infancy, whom oh 
That he had ne'er begotten ! thou descend'st 
To Pluto's subterraneous dwelling drear, 
Leaving myself destitute, and thy boy, 
Fruit of our hapless loves, an infant yet, 
Never to be hereafter thy delight, 
Nor love of thine to share or kindness more. 
For should he safe survive this cruel war, 
With the Achaians penury and toil 
Must be his lot, since strangers will remove 
At will his landmarks, and possess his fields. 
Thee lost, he loses all, of father, both, 
And equal playmate in one day deprived, 
To sad looks doom'd, and never-ceasing tears. 
He seeks, necessitous, his father's friends, 
One by his mantle pulls, one by his vest, 
Whose utmost pity yields to his parch'd lips 
A thirst-provoking drop, and grudges more ; 
Some happier child, as yet untaught to mourn 
A parent's loss, shoves rudely from the board 
My son, and, smiting him, reproachful cries — 
Away — thy father is no guest of ours — 
Then, weeping, to his widow'd mother comes 
Astyanax, who on his father's lap 
Ate marrow only, once, and fat of lambs, 
And when sleep took him, and his crying fit 
Had ceased, slept ever on the softest bed, 
Warm in his nurse's arms, fed to his fill 
With delicacies, and his heart at rest. 
But now, Astyanax (so named in Troy 
For thy sake, guardian of her gates and towers) 
His father lost, must many a pang endure. 
And as for thee, cast naked forth among 
Yon galleys, where no parent's eye of thine 
Shall find thee, when the dogs have torn thee once 
Till they are sated, worms shall eat thee next. 
Meantime, thy graceful raiment rich, prepared 
By our own maidens, in thy palace lies ; 
But I will burn it, burn it all, because 
Useless to thee, who never, so adorn'd, 
Shalt slumber more ; yet every eye in Troy 
Shall see, how glorious once was thy attire. 
So, weeping, she ; to whom the multitude 
Of Trojan dames responsive sigh'd around. 


BOOK XXIII. 


ARGUMENT. 
The body of Patroclus is burned, and the funeral 


Such mourning was in Troy ; meantime the Greeks 
Their galleys and the shores of Hellespont 
Regaining, each to his own ship retired. 
But not the Myrmidons ; Achilles them 
Close rank'd in martial order still detain'd, 
And thus his fellow-warriors brave address'd. 

Ye swift-horsed Myrmidons, associates dear ! 
Release not from your chariots yet your steeds 
Firm-hoof d, but, steeds and chariots driving near, 
Bewail Patroclus, as the rites demand 
Of burial ; then, satiate with grief and tears, 
We will release our steeds, and take repast. 

He ended, and, himself leading the way, 
His numerous band all mourn'd at once the dead. 
Around the body thrice their glossy steeds, 


THE ILIAD. 


383 


Mourning, they drove, while Thetis in their hearts 

The thirst of sorrow kindled ; they with tears 

The sands bedew'd, with tears their radiant arms, 

Such deep regret of one so brave they felt. 

Then, placing on the bosom of his friend 

His homicidal hands, Achilles thus 

The shade of his Patroclus, sad, bespake. 

Hail, oh Patroclus, even in Ades hail ! 
For I will now accomplish to the full 
My promise pledged to thee, that I would give 
Hector dragg'd hither to be torn by dogs 
Piecemeal, and would before thy funeral pile 
The necks dissever of twelve Trojan youths 
Of noblest rank, resentful of thy death. 

He said, and meditating foul disgrace 
To noble Hector, stretch'd him prone in dust 
Beside the bier of Menoetiades. 
Then all the Myrmidons their radiant arms 
Put off, and their shrill neighing steeds released. 
A numerous band beside the bark they sat 
Of swift iEacides, who furnish'd forth 
Himself a feast funereal for them all. 
Many a white ox under the ruthless steel 
Lay bleeding, many a sheep and blatant goat, 
With many a saginated boar bright-tusk'd, 
Amid fierce flames Vulcanian stretch'd to roast. 
Copious the blood ran all around the dead. 

And now the kings of Greece conducted thence 
To Agamemnon's tent the royal son 
Of Peleus, loth to go, and won at last 
With difficulty, such his anger was 
And deep resentment of his slaughter'd friend. 
Soon then as Agamemnon's tent they reach'd, 
The sovereign bade his heralds kindle fire 
Around an ample vase, with purpose kind 
Moving Achilles from his limbs to cleanse 
The stains of battle ; but he firm refused 
That suit, and bound refusal with an oath — 

No ; by the highest and the best of all, 
By Jove I will not. Never may it be 
That brazen bath approach this head of mine, 
Till I shall first Patroclus' body give 
To his last fires, till I shall pile his tomb, 
And shear my locks in honour of my friend ; 
For, like to this, no second woe shall e'er 
My heart invade, while vital breath I draw. 
But, all unwelcome as it is, repast 
Now calls us. Agamemnon, king of men ! 
Give thou command that at the dawn they bring 
Wood hither, such large portion as beseems 
The dead, descending to the shades, to share, 
That hungry flames consuming out of sight 
His body soon, the host may war again. 

He spake ; they, hearing, readily obey'd. 
Then, each his food preparing with dispatch, 
They ate, nor wanted any of the guests 
Due portion, and, their appetite sufficed 
To food and wine, all to their tents repair'd 
Seeking repose ; but on the sands beside 
The billowy deep Achilles groaning lay 
Amidst his Myrmidons, where space he found 
With blood unstain'd beside the dashing wave. 
There, soon as sleep, deliverer of the mind, 
Wrapp'd him around (for much his noble limbs 
With chase of Hector round the battlements 
Of wind-swept Ilium wearied were and spent) 
The soul came to him of his hapless friend, 
In bulk resembling, in expressive eyes 
And voice Patroclus, and so clad as he. 
Him, hovering o'er his head, the form address'd. 


Sleep'st thou, Achilles ! of thy friend become 
Heedless ? Him living thou didst not neglect 
Whom thou neglectest dead. Give me a tomb 
Instant, that I may pass the infernal gates. 
For now, the shades and spirits of the dead 
Drive me afar, denying me my wish 
To mingle with them on the farther shore, 
And in wide-portal'd Ades sole I roam. 
Give me thine hand, I pray thee, for the earth 
I visit never more, once burnt with fire ; 
We never shall again close council hold 
As we were wont, for me my fate severe, 
Mine even from my birth, hath deep absorb 'd. 
And oh Achilles, semblance of the gods ! 
Thou too predestined art beneath the wall 
To perish of the high-born Trojan race. 
But hear my last injunction ! ah, my friend ! 
My bones sepulchre not from thine apart, 
But as, together we were nourish'd both 
Beneath thy roof, (what time from Opoeis 
Menoetius led me to thy father's house, 
Although a child, yet fugitive for blood, 
Which, in a quarrel at the dice, I spilt, 
Killing my playmate by a casual blow, 
The offspring of Amphidamas, when, like 
A father, Peleus with all tenderness 
Received and cherish'd me, and call'd me thine) 
So, let one vase inclose, at last, our bones, 
The golden vase, thy goddess mother's gift. 

To whom Achilles, matchless in the race. 
Ah, loved and honour' d, wherefore hast thou come ? 
Why thus enjoin'd me 1 I will all perform 
With diligence that thou hast now desired. 
But nearer stand, that we may mutual clasp 
Each other, though but with a short embrace, 
And sad satiety of grief enjoy. 

He said, and stretch'd his arms toward the shade, 
But him seized not ; shrill-clamouring and light 
As smoke, the spirit pass'd into the earth. 
Amazed, upsprang Achilles, clash'd aloud 
His palms together, and thus, sad, exclaim'd. 

Ah then, ye gods ! there doubtless are below 
The soul and semblance, both, but empty forms ; 
For all night long, mourning, disconsolate, 
The soul of my Patroclus, hapless friend ! 
Hath hover d o'er me, giving me in charge 
His last requests, just image of himself. 

So saying, he call'd anew their sorrow forth, 
And rosy-palm'd Aurora found them all 
Mourning afresh the pitiable dead. 
Then royal Agamemnon call'd abroad 
Mules and mule-drivers from the tents in haste 
To gather wood. Uprose a valiant man, 
Friend of the virtuous chief Idomeneus, 
Meriones, who led them to the task. 
They, bearing each in hand his sharpen'd axe 
And twisted cord, thence journey 'd forth, the mules 
Driving before them ; much uneven space 
They measured, hill and dale, right onward now, 
And now circuitous ; but at the groves 
Arrived, at length, of Ida fountain-fed, 
Their keen-edged axes to the towering oaks 
Dispatchful they applied ; down fell the trees 
With crash sonorous. Splitting, next, the trunks, 
They bound them on the mules; they, with firm 

hoofs 
The hill-side stamping, through the thickets rush'd, 
Desirous of the plain. Each man his log 
(For so the armour-bearer of the king 
Of Crete, Meriones, had them enjoin'd) 


384 


THE ILIAD. 


Bore after them, and each his burthen cast 
Down on the beach regular, where a tomb 
Of ample size Achilles for his friend 
Patroclus had, and for himself, design'd. 

Much fuel thrown together, side by side 
There down they sat, and his command at once 
Achilles issued to his warriors bold, 
That all should gird their armour, and the steeds 
Join to their chariots ; undelaying each 
Complied, and in bright arms stood soon array'd. 
Then mounted combatants and charioteers. 
First, moved the chariots, next, the infantry 
Proceeded numerous, amid whom his friends, 
Bearing the body of Patroclus, went. 
They poll'd their heads, and cover'd him with hair 
Shower'd over all his body, while behind 
Noble Achilles march'd the hero's head 
Sustaining sorrowful, for to the realms 
Of Ades a distinguish'd friend he sent. 

And now, arriving on the ground erewhile 
Mark'd by Achilles, setting down the dead, 
They heap'd the fuel quick, a lofty pile. 
But Peleus' son, on other thoughts intent, 
Retiring from the funeral pile, shore off 
His amber ringlets, whose exuberant growth 
Sacred to Sperchius he had kept unshorn, 
And looking o'er the gloomy deep, he said. 

Sperchius ! in vain Peleus my father vow'd 
That, hence returning to my native land, 
These ringlets shorn I should present to thee 
With a whole hecatomb, and should, beside, 
Rams offer fifty at thy fountain head 
In thy own field, at thy own fragrant shrine. 
So vow'd the hoary chief, whose wishes thou 
Leavest unperform'd. Since, therefore, never more 
I see my native home, the hero these 
Patroclus takes down with him to the shades. 
He said, and filling with his hair the hand 
Of his dead friend, the sorrows of his train 
Waken'd afresh. And now the lamp of day 
Westering J apace, had left them still in tears, 
Had not Achilles suddenly address'd 
King Agamemnon, standing at his side. 
Atrides ! (for Achaia's sons thy word 
Will readiest execute) we may with grief 
Satiate ourselves hereafter ; but, the host 
Dispersing from the pile, now give command 
That they prepare repast ; ourselves 2 , to whom 
These labours in peculiar appertain 
Will finish them ; but bid the chiefs abide. 

Which when imperial Agamemnon heard, 
He scatter'd instant to their several ships 
The people ; but the burial-dressers thence 
Went not ; they, still abiding, heap'd the pile. 
An hundred feet of breadth from side to side 
They gave to it, and on the summit placed 
With sorrowing hearts the body of the dead. 
Many a fat sheep, with many an ox full-horn'd 
They flay'd before the pile, busy their task 
Administering, and Peleus' son the fat 
Taking from every victim, overspread 
Complete the body with it of his friend 
Patroclus, and the flay'd beasts heap'd around. 
Then, placing flagons on the pile, replete 
With oil and honey, he inclined their mouths 
Toward the bier, and slew and added next, 
Deep-groaning and in haste, four martial steeds. 

i Westering wheel.— Milton. 
2 Himself and the Myrmidons. 


Nine dogs the hero at his table fed, 

Of which beheading two, their carcases 

He added also. Last, twelve gallant sons 

Of noble Trojans slaying, (for his heart 

Teem'd with great vengeance) he applied the force 

Of hungry flames that should devour the whole, 

Then, mourning loud, by name his friend invoked. 

Rejoice, Patroclus! even in the shades. 
Behold my promise to thee all fulfill'd ! 
Twelve gallant sons of Trojans famed in arms, 
Together with thyself, are all become 
Food for these fires : but fire shall never feed 
On Hector ; him I destine to the dogs. 

So threaten'd he ; but him no dogs devour'd ; 
Them, day and night, Jove's daughter Venus chased 
Afar, and smooth'd the hero o'er with oils 
Of rosy scent ambrosial, lest his corse, 
Behind Achilles' chariot dragg'd along 
So rudely, should be torn, and Phcebus hung 
A veil of sable clouds from heaven to earth, 
O'ershadowing broad the space where Hector lay, 
Lest parching suns intense should stiffen him. 

But the pile kindled not. Then, Peleus' son 
Seeking a place apart, two winds in prayer 
Boreas invoked and Zephyrus, to each 
Vowing large sacrifice. With earnest suit 
(Libation pouring from a golden cup) 
Their coming he implored, that so the flames 
Kindling, incontinent might burn the dead. 
Iris, his supplications hearing, swift 
Convey'd them to the winds ; they, in the hall 
Banqueting of the heavy blowing west, 
Sat frequent. Iris, sudden at the gate 
Appear' d ; they, at the sight upstarting all, 
Invited each the goddess to himself. 
But she refused a seat and thus she spake. 

I sit not here. Borne over ocean's stream 
Again, to ^Ethiopia's land I go 
Where hecatombs are offer'd to the gods, 
Which, with the rest, I also wish to share 
But Peleus' son, earnest, the aid implores 
Of Boreas and of Zephyrus the loud, 
Vowing large sacrifice if ye will fan 
Briskly the pile on which Patroclus lies 
By all Achaia's warriors deep deplored. 

"She said, and went. Then suddenly arose 
The winds, and, roaring, swept the clouds along. 
First, on the sea they blew ; big rose the waves 
Beneath the blast. At fruitful Troy arrived 
Vehement on the pile they fell, and dread 
On all sides soon a crackling blaze ensued. 
All night, together blowing shrill, they drove 
The sheeted flames wide from the funeral pile, 
And all night long, a goblet in his hand 
From golden beakers fill'd, Achilles stood 
With large libations soaking deep the soil, 
And calling on the spirit of his friend. 
As some fond father mourns, burning the bones 
Of his own son, who, dying on the eve 
Of his glad nuptials, hath his parents left 
O'erwhelm'd with inconsolable distress, 
So mourn'd Achilles, his companion's bones 
Burning, and pacing to and fro the field 
Beside the pile with many a sigh profound. 
But when the star, day's harbinger, arose, 
Soon after whom, in saffron vest attired 
The morn her beams diffuses o'er the sea, 
The pile, then wasted, ceased to flame, and then 
Back flew the winds over the Thracian deep 
Rolling the flood before them as they pass'd. 


THE ILIAD. 


385 


And now Pelides lying down apart 
From the funereal pile, slept, but not long, 
Though weary ; waken'd by the stir and din 
Of Agamemnon's train. He sat erect, 
And thus the leaders of the host address'd. 

Atrides, and ye potentates who rule 
The whole Achaian host! first quench the pile 
Throughout with generous wine, where'er the fire 
Hath seized it. We will then the bones collect 
Of Mencetiades, which shall with ease 
Be known, though many bones lie scatter'd near, 
Since in the middle pile Patroclus lay, 
But wide apart and on its verge we burn'd 
The steeds and Trojans, a promiscuous heap. 
Them so collected in a golden vase 
We will dispose, lined with a double caul, 
Till I shall, also, to my home below. 
I wish not now a tomb of amplest bounds 
But such as may suffice, which yet in height 
The Greecians and in breadth shall much augment 
Hereafter, who, survivors of my fate, 
Shall still remain in the Achaian fleet. 

So spake Pelides, and the chiefs complied. 
Where'er the pile had blazed, with generous wine 
They quench'd it, and the hills of ashes sank. 
Then, weeping, to a golden vase, with lard 
Twice lined, they gave their gentle comrade's bones 
Fire-bleach 'd, and lodging safely in his tent 
The relics, overspread them with a veil. 
Designing, next, the compass of the tomb 
They mark'd its boundary with stones, then fill'd 
The wide enclosure hastily with earth, 
And, having heap'd it. to its height, return'd. 
But all the people, by Achilles still 
Detain'd, there sitting, form'd a spacious ring, 
And he the destined prizes from his fleet 
Produced, capacious cauldrons, tripods bright, 
Steeds, mules, tall oxen, women at the breast 
Close-cinctured elegant, and unwrought i iron. 
First, to the chariot-drivers he proposed 
A noble prize ; a beauteous maiden versed 
In arts domestic, with a tripod ear'd, 
Of twenty and two measures. These he made 
The conqueror's meed. The second should a mare 
Obtain, unbroken yet, six years her age, 
Pregnant, and bearing in her womb a mule. 
A cauldron of four measures, never smirch'd 
By smoke or flame, but fresh as from the forge 
The third awaited ; to the fourth he gave 
Two golden talents, and, unsullied yet 
By use, a twin-ear'd phial 2 to the fifth. 
He stood erect, and to the Greeks he cried. 

Atrides, and ye chiefs of all the host ! 
These prizes, in the circus placed, attend 
The charioteers. Held we the present games 
In honour of some other Greecian dead, 
I would myself bear hence the foremost prize ; 
For ye are all witnesses well inform'd 
Of the superior virtue of my steeds. 
They are immortal ; Neptune on my sire 
Peleus confeir'd them, and my sire on me. 
But neither I this contest share myself, 
Nor shall my steeds ; for they would miss the force 
And guidance of a charioteer so kind 
As they have lost, who many a time hath cleansed 


i Such it appears to have been in the sequel. 

2 $id\r) — a vessel, as Athenaeus describes it, made for 
the purpose of warming water. It was formed of brass, 
and expanded somewhat in the shape of a broad leaf. 


Their manes with water of the crystal brook, 

And made them sleek, himself, with limpid oil. 

Him, therefore, mourning, motionless they stand 

With hair dishevel'd, streaming to the ground. 

But ye, whoever of the host profess 

Superior skill, and glory in your steeds 

And well-built chariots, for the strife prepare ! 

So spake Pelides, and the charioteers, 
For speed renown' d, arose. Long ere the rest 
Eumelus, king of men, Admetus' son 
Arose, accomplish'd in equestrian arts. 
Next, Tydeus' son, brave Diomede, arose ; 
He yoked the Trojan coursers by himself 
In battle from iEneas won, what time 
Apollo saved their master. Third, upstood 
The son of Atreus with the golden locks, 
Who to his chariot Agamemnon's mare 
Swift iEthe and his own Podargus join'd. 
Her Echepolus from Anchises sprung 
To Agamemnon gave ; she was the price 
At which he purchased leave to dwell at home 
Excused attendance on the king at Troy ; 
For, by the gift of Jove, he had acquired 
Great riches, and in wide-spread Sicyon dwelt. 
Her wing'd with ardour, Menelaus yoked. 
Antilochus, arising fourth, his steeds 
Bright-maned prepared, son of the valiant king 
Of Pylus, Nestor NeleVades. 
Of Pylian breed were they, and thus his sire, 
With kind intent approaching to his side, 
Advised him, of himself not uninform'd. 

Antilochus ! thou art, I know, beloved [young, 
By Jove and Neptune both, from whom, though 
Thou hast received knowledge of every art 
Equestrian, and hast little need to learn. 
Thou know'st already how to trim the goal 
With nicest skill, yet wondrous slow of foot 
Thy coursers are, whence evil may ensue. 
But though their steeds be swifter, I account 
Thee wise, at least, as they. Now is the time 
For counsel, furnish now thy mind with all 
Precaution, that the prize escape thee not. 
The feller of huge trees by skill prevails 
More than by strength ; by skill the pilot guides 
His flying bark rock'd by tempestuous winds, 
And more by skill than speed the race is won. 
But he who in his chariot and his steeds 
Trusts only, wanders here and wanders there 
Unsteady, while his coursers loosely rein'd 
Roam wide the field ; not so the charioteer 
Of sound intelligence ; he though he drive 
Inferior steeds, looks ever to the goal 
Which close he clips, not ignorant to check 
His coursers at the first, but with tight rein 
Ruling his own, and watching those before. 
Now mark ; I will describe so plain the goal 
That thou shalt know it surely. A dry stump 
Extant above the ground an ell in height 
Stands yonder ; either oak it is, or pine 
More likely, which the weather least impairs. 
Two stones, both white, flank it on either hand. 
The way is narrow there, but smooth the course 
On both sides. It is either, as I think, 
A monument of one long since deceased, 
Or was, perchance, in ancient days design'd, 
As now by Peleus' mighty son, a goal. 
That mark in view, thy steeds and chariot push 
Near to it as thou may'st ; then, in thy seat 
Inclining gently to the left, prick smart 
Thy right-hand horse challenging him aloud, 


386 


THE ILIAD. 


And give him rein ; but let thy left-hand horse 
Bear on the goal so closely, that the nave 
And felly ' of thy wheel may seem to meet. 
Yet fear to strike the stone, lest foul disgrace 
Of broken chariot and of crippled steeds 
Ensue, and thou become the public jest. 
My boy beloved ! use caution ; for if ODce 
Thou turn the goal at speed, no man thenceforth 
Shall reach, or if he reach, shall pass thee by, 
Although Arion in thy rear he drove 
Adrastus' rapid horse of race divine, 
Or those, Troy's boast, bred by Laomedon. 

So Nestor spake, inculcating with care 
On his son's mind these lessons in the art, 
And to his place retiring, sat again. 
Meriones his coursers glossy-maned 
Made ready last. Then to his chariot-seat 
Each mounted, and the lots were thrown ; himself 
Achilles shook them. First, forth leap'd the lot 
Of Nestor's son Antilochus, after whom 
The king Eumelus took his destined place. 
The third was Menelaus spear-renown'd ; 
Meriones the fourth ; and last of all 
Bravest of all, heroic Diomede 
The son of Tydeus took his lot to drive. 
So ranged they stood ; Achilles showed the goal 
Far on the champain, nigh to which he placed 
The godlike Phoenix servant of his sire, 
To mark the race and make a true report. 

All raised the lash at once, and with the reins 
At once all smote their steeds, urging them on 
Vociferous ; they, sudden, left the fleet 
Far, far behind them, scouring swift the plain. 
Dark, like a stormy cloud, uprose the dust 
Their chests beneath, and scatter'd in the wind 
Their manes all floated ; now the chariots swept 
The low declivity unseen, and now 
Emerging started into view ; erect 
The drivers stood ; emulous, every heart 
Beat double ; each encouraged loud his steeds ; 
They, flying, fill'd with dust the darken'd air. 
But when returning to the hoary deep 
They ran their last career, then each display'd 
Brightest his charioteership, and the race 
Lay stretch'd, at once, into its utmost speed. 
Then, soon the mares of Pheretiades 2 
Pass'd all, but Diomede behind him came, 
Borne by his unemasculated steeds 
Of Trojan pedigree ; they not remote, 
But close pursued him ; and at every pace 
Seem'd entering, both, the chariot at their head ; 
For blowing warm into Eumelus' neck 
Behind, and on his shoulders broad, they went, 
And their chins rested on him as they flew. 
Then had Tydides pass'd him, or had made 
Decision dubious, but Apollo struck, 
Resentful 3 , from his hand the glittering scourge. 
Fast roll'd the tears indignant down his cheeks, 
For he beheld the mares with double speed, 
Flying, and, of the spur deprived, his own 

1 This could not happen unless the felly of the wheel 
were nearly horizontal to the eye of the spectator, in 
which case the chariot must be infallibly overturned. — 
There is an obscurity in the passage which none of the 
commentators explain. The Scholiast, as quoted by 
Clarke, attempts an explanation, but, I think, not suc- 
cessfully. 

2 Eumelus. 

3 Resentful of the attack made on him by Diomede in 
I the fifth Book. 


Retarded steeds continual thrown behind., 
But not unnoticed by Minerva pass'd 
The art by Phoebus practised to impede 
The son of Tydeus, whom with winged haste 
Following, she gave to him his scourge again, 
And with new force his lagging steeds inspired. 
Eumelus, next, the angry goddess, swift 
Pursuing, snapt his yoke ; wide flew the mares 
Asunder, and the pole fell to the ground. 
Himself, roll'd from his seat, fast by the wheel 
With lacerated elbows, nostrils, mouth, 
And batter'd brows lay prone ; sorrow his eyes 
Deluged, and disappointment choak'd his voice. 
Then, far outstripping all, Tydides push'd 
His steeds beyond, which Pallas fill'd with power 
That she might make the glorious prize his own. 
Him follow'd Menelaus aniber-hair'd, 
The son of Atreus, and his father's steeds 
Encouraging, thus spake Antilochus. 

Away — now stretch ye forward to the goal. 
I bid you not to an unequal strife 
With those of Diomede, for Pallas them 
Quickens that he may conquer, and the chief 
So far advanced makes competition vain. 
But reach the son of Atreus, fly to reach 
His steeds, incontinent ; ah, be not shamed 
For ever, foil'd by ^Ethe, by a mare ! 
Why fall ye thus behind, my noblest steeds ? 
I tell you both, and ye shall prove me true, 
No favour shall ye find at Nestor's hands, 
My valiant sire, but he will thrust his spear 
Right through you, should we lose, for sloth of yours, 
Or by your negligence, the nobler prize. 
Haste then — pursue him — reach the royal chief — 
And how to pass him in yon narrow way 
Shall be my care, and not my care in vain. 

He ended ; they, awhile, awed by his voice, 
With more exertion ran, and Nestor's son 
Now saw the hollow streight mark'd by his sire. 
It was a chasm abrupt, where winter-floods, 
Wearing the soil, had gullied deep the way. 
Thither Atrides, anxious to avoid 
A clash of chariots drove, and thither drove 
Also, but somewhat devious from his track, 
Antilochus. Then Menelaus fear'd, 
And with loud voice the son of Nestor hail'd. 

Antilochus, at what a madman's rate [here 
Drivest thou ! stop — check thy steeds, — the way is 
Too streight, but widening soon, will give thee scope 
To pass me by ; beware, lest chariot close 
To chariot driven, thou maim thyself and me. 

He said ; but still more rapid and the scourge 
Plying continual, as he had not heard, 
Antilochus came on. Far as the quoit 
By some broad-shoulder'd youth for trial hurl'd 
Of manhood flies, so far Antilochus 
Shot forward ; but the coursers fell behind 
Of Atreus' son, who now abated much 
By choice his driving, lest the steeds of both 
Justling, should overturn with sudden shock 
Both chariots, and themselves in dust be roll'd, 
Through hot ambition of the foremost prize. 
Him then the hero golden-hair'd reproved. 

Antilochus ! the man lives not on earth 
Like thee for love of mischief. Go, extoll'd 
For wisdom falsely by the sons of Greece. 
Yet, trust me, not without an oath, the prize 
Thus foully sought shall even now be thine. 

He said, and to his coursers call'd aloud. 
Ah be not tardy j stand not sorrow-check'd ; 


THE ILIAD. 


387 


Their feet will fail them sooner far than yours, 
For years have pass'd since they had youth to boast. 

So he ; and springing at his voice, his steeds 
Regain'd apace the vantage lost. Meantime 
The Greecians, in full circus seated, mark'd 
The steeds ; they flying, fill'd with dust the air. 
Then, ere the rest, Idomeneus discern'd 
The foremost pair ; for, on a rising ground 
Exalted, he without the circus sat, 
And hearing, though remote, the driver's voice 
Chiding his steeds, knew it, and knew beside 
The leader horse distinguish'd by his hue, 
Chestnut throughout, save that his forehead bore 
A splendid blazon white, round as the moon. 

He stood erect, and to the Creeks he cried. 
Friends ! chiefs and senators of Argos' host ! 
Discern I sole the steeds, or also ye ? 
The horses, foremost now, to me appear 
Other than erst, and I descry at hand 
A different charioteer ; the mares of late 
Victorious, somewhere distant in the race 
Are hurt ; I plainly saw them at the first 
Turning the goal, but see them now no more ; 
And yet with eyes inquisitive I range 
From side to side the whole broad plain of Troy. 
Either the charioteer hath slipp'd the reins, 
Or rounded not successfully the goal [seem, 

Through want of guidance. Thrown, as it should 
Forth from his seat, he hath his chariot maim'd, 
And his ungovern'd steeds have roam'd away. 
Arise and look ye forth yourselves, for I 
With doubtful ken behold him ; yet the man 
Seems, in my view, iEtolian by descent, 
A chief of prime renown in Argos' host, 
The hero Tydeus' son, brave Diomede. 

But Ajax Oiiliades the swift 
Him sharp reproved. Why art thou always given 
To prate, Idomeneus ? thou seest the mares, 
Remote indeed, but posting to the goal. 
Thou art not youngest of the Argives here 
So much, nor from beneath thy brows look forth 
Quick-sighted more than ours, thine eyes abroad, 
Yet still thou pratest, although silence more 
Should suit thee, among wiser far than thou. 
The mares which led, lead still, and he who drives 
Eumelus is, the same who drove before. 

To whom the Cretan chief, angry, replied. 
Ajax ! whom none in wrangling can excel 
Or rudeness, though in all beside thou fall 
Below the Argives, being boorish-rough, 
Come now — a tripod let us wager each, 
Or cauldron, and let Agamemnon judge 
Whose horses lead, that, losing, thou may' st learn. 

He said ; then sudden from his seat upsprang 
Swift Ajax Oi'liades, prepared 
For harsh retort, nor had the contest ceased 
Between them, but had grown from ill to worse, 
Had not himself, Achilles, interposed. 

Ajax — Idomeneus — abstain ye both 
From bitter speech offensive, and such terms 
As ill become you. Ye would feel, yourselves, 
Resentment, should another act as ye. 
Survey the course, peaceable, from your seats ; 
The charioteers, by competition wing'd, 
Will soon themselves arrive, then shall ye know 
Distinctly, both who follows and who leads. 

He scarce had said, when nigh at hand appear'd 
Tydides, lashing, as he came, his steeds 
Continual ; they with hoofs uplifted high 
Their yet remaining ground shorten'd apace, 


Sprinkling with dusty drops at every stroke 
Their charioteer, while close upon their heels 
Radiant with tin and gold the chariot ran, 
Scarce tracking light the dust, so swift they flew. 
He stood in the mid-circus ; there the sweat 
Rain'd under them from neck and chest profuse, 
And Diomede from his resplendent seat 
Leaping, reclined his scourge against the yoke. 
Nor was his friend brave Sthenelus remiss, 
But, seizing with alacrity the prize, 
Consign' d the tripod and the virgin, first, 
To his own band in charge ; then, loosed the steeds. 
Next came, by stratagem, not speed advanced 
To that distinction, Nestor's son, whom yet 
The hero Menelaus close pursued. 
Near as the wheel runs to a courser's heels, 
Drawing his master at full speed ; his tail 
With its extremest hairs the felly sweeps 
That close attends him o'er the spacious plain, 
So near had Menelaus now approach'd 
Antilochus ; for though at first he fell 
A full quoit's cast behind, he soon retrieved 
That loss, with such increasing speed the mare 
Bright-maned of Agamemnon, iEthe, ran ; 
She, had the course few paces more to both 
Afforded, should have clearly shot beyond 
Antilochus, nor dubious left the prize. 
But noblo Menelaus threw behind 
Meriones, companion in the field 
Of king Idomeneus, a lance's flight, 
For slowest were his steeds, and he, to rule 
The chariot in the race, least skill'd of all. 
Last came Eumelus drawing to the goal, 
Himself, his splendid chariot, and his mares 
Driving before him. Peleus' rapid son 
Beheld him with compassion, and, amid 
The Argives, in wing'd accents thus he spake. 

Here comes the most expert, driving his steeds 
Before him. Just it were that he received 
The second prize ; Tydides claims the first. 

He said, and all applauded the award. 
Then had Achilles to Eumelus given 
The mare (for such the pleasure seem'd of all) 
Had not the son of mighty Nestor risen, 
Antilochus, who pleaded thus his right. 

Achilles ! acting as thou hast proposed, 
Thou shalt offend me much, for thou shalt take 
The prize from me, because the gods, his steeds 
And chariot-yoke disabling, render'd vain 
His efforts, and no failure of his own. 
It was his duty to have sought the gods 
In prayer, then had he not, following on foot 
His coursers, hindmost of us all arrived. 
But if thou pity him, and deem it good, 
Thou hast much gold, much brass, and many sheep 
In thy pavilion ; thou hast maidens fair, 
And coursers also. Of thy proper stores 
Hereafter give to him a richer prize 
Than this, or give it now, so shall the Greeks 
Applaud thee ; but this mare yield I to none ; 
Stand forth the Greecian who desires to win 
That recompense, and let him fight with me. 

He ended, and Achilles, godlike chief, 
Smiled on him, gratulating his success, 
Whom much he loved ; then, ardent, thus replied. 

Antilochus ! if thou wouldst wish me give 
Eumelus of my own, even so I will. 
I will present to him my corslet bright 
Won from Asteropseus, edged around 
With glittering tin ; a precious gift, and rare. 


388 


THE ILIAD. 


So saying he bade Automedon his friend 
Produce it from the tent ; he at his word 
Departing, to Achilles brought the spoil, 
Which at his hands Eumelus glad received. 
Then, stung with grief, and with resentment fired 
Immeasurable, Menelaus rose 
To charge Antilochus. His herald gave 
The sceptre to his hand, and (silence bidden 
To all) the godlike hero thus began. 

Antilochus ! oh heretofore discreet ! 
What hast thou done? Thou hast dish onour'd foul 
My skill, and wrong'd my coursers, throwing thine, 
Although inferior far, by fraud before them. 
Ye chiefs and senators of Argos' host ! 
Impartial judge between us, lest, of these, 
Some say hereafter, Menelaus bore 
Antilochus by falsehood down, and led 
The mare away, because, although his steeds 
Were worse, his arm was mightier, and prevail'd. 
Yet hold — myself will judge, and will to all 
Contentment give, for I will judge aright. 
Hither, Antilochus, illustrious youth ! 
And, as the law prescribes, standing before 
Thy steeds and chariot, holding too the scourge 
With which thou drovest, lay hand on both thy 

steeds, 
And swear by Neptune, circler of the earth, 
That neither wilfully, nor yet by fraud 
Thou didst impede my chariot in its course. 

Then, prudent, thus Antilochus replied. 
Oh royal Menelaus ! patient bear 
The fault of one thy junior far, in years 
Alike unequal and in worth to thee. 
Thou know'st how rash is youth, and how propense 
To pass the bounds by decency prescribed, 
Quick, but not wise. Lay, then, thy wrath aside; 
The mare now given me t will myself 
Deliver to thee, and if thou require 
A larger recompense, will rather yield 
A larger much than from thy favour fall 
Deservedly for ever, mighty prince ! 
And sin so heinously against the gods. 

So saying, the son of valiant Nestor led 
The mare, himself, to Menelaus' hand, 
Who with heart-freshening joy the prize received. 
As on the ears of growing corn the dews 
Fall grateful, while the spiry grain erect 
Bristles the fields, so Menelaus, felt 
Thy inmost soul a soothing pleasure sweet ! 
Then answer thus the hero quick return'd. 
Antilochus ! exasperate though I were, 
Now, such no longer, 1 relinquish glad 
All strife with thee, for that at other times 
Thou never inconsiderate wast or light, 
Although by youthful heat misled to-day. 
Yet safer is it not to over-reach 
Superiors, for no other Greecian here 
Had my extreme displeasure calm'd so soon ; 
But thou hast suffer'd much, and much hasttoil'd, 
As thy good father and thy brother have, 
On my behalf; I, therefore, yield, subdued 
By thy entreaties, and the mare, though mine, 
Will also give thee, that these Greecians all 
May know me neither proud nor hard to appease. 

So saying, the mare he to Noemon gave, 
Friend of Antilochus, and, well-content, 
The polish'd cauldron for his prize received. 
The fourth awarded lot (for he had fourth 
Arrived) Meriones asserted next, 
The golden talents ; but the phial still 


Left unappropriated Achilles bore 

Across the circus in his hand, a gift 

To ancient Nestor, whom he thus bespake. 

Thou also, oh my father ! this accept, 
Which, in remembrance of the funeral rites 
Of my Patroclus, keep, for him thou seest 
Among the Greeks no more. Receive a prize, 
Thine by gratuity ; for thou shalt wield 
The csestus, wrestle, at the spear contend, 
Or in the foot-race (fallen as thou art 
Into the wane of life) never again. 

He said, and placed it in his hands. He, glad, 
Receiving it, in accents wing'd replied. 

True, oh my son ! is all which thou hast spoken. 
These limbs, these hands, young friend ! (their 

vigour lost) 
No longer, darted from the shoulder, spring 
At once to battle. Ah that I could grow 
Young yet again, could feel again such force 
Athletic, as when in Buprasium erst 
The Epeans with sepulchral pomp entomb'd 
King Amarynceus, where his sons ordain'd 
Funereal games in honour of their sire ! 
Epean none or even Pylian there 
Could cope with me, or yet iEtolian bold. 
Boxing, I vanquish'd Clytomedes, son 
Of Enops ; wrestling, the Pleuronian chief 
Ancseus ; in the foot-race Iphiclus, 
Though a fleet runner ; and I over-pitch'd 
Phyleus and Polydorus at the spear. 
The sons of Actor in the chariot-race 
Alone surpass'd me, being two for one, 
And jealous both lest I should also win 
That prize, for to the victor charioteer 
They had assign'd the noblest prize of all. 
They were twin-brothers, and one ruled the steeds, 
The steeds one ruled *, the other lash'd them on. 
Such once was I ; but now these sports I leave 
To younger ; me submission most befits 
To withering age, who then outshone the best. 
But go. The funeral of thy friend with games 
Proceed to celebrate ; I accept thy gift 
With pleasure ; and my heart is also glad 
That thou art mindful evermore of one 
Who loves thee, and such honour in the sight 
Yield'st me of all the Greeks, as is my due. 
May the gods bless thee for it more and more ! 

He spake, and Peleus' son, when he had heard 
At large his commendation from the lips 
Of Nestor, through the assembled Greeks return'd. 
He next proposed, not lightly to be won, 
The boxer's prize. He tether'd down a mule, 
Untamed and hard to tame, but strong to toil, 
And in her prime of vigour, in the midst ; 
A goblet to the vanquish'd he assign'd, 
Then stood erect, and to the Greeks exclaim'd. 

Atridse ! and ye Argives brazen-greaved ! 
I call for two bold combatants expert ^ 

To wage fierce strife for these, with lifted fists 
Smiting each other. He, who by the aid 
Of Phoebug shall overcome, and whom the Greeks 
Shall all pronounce victorious, leads the mule 
Hence to his tent ; the vanquish'd takes the cup. 

He spake, and at his word a Greek arose 
Big, bold, and skilful in the boxer's art, 
Epeiis, son of Panopeus ; his hand 
He on the mule imposed, and thus he said. 

Approach the man ambitious of the cup ! 


The repetition follows the original. 


THE ILIAD. 


289 


For no Achaian here shall with his fist 

Me foiling, win the mule. 1 boast myself 

To all superior. May it not suffice 

That I to no pre-eminence pretend 

In battle \ To attain to foremost praise 

Alike in every art is not for one. 

But this I promise, and will well perform — 

My blows shall lay him open, split him, crush 

His bones to splinters, and let all his friends, 

Attendant on him, wait to bear him hence, 

Vanquish'd by my superior force in fight. 

He ended, and his speech found no reply. 
One godlike chief alone, Euryalus, 
Son of the king Mecisteus, who, himself, 
Sprang from Talaion, opposite arose. 
He, on the death of Oedipus, at Thebes 
Contending in the games held at his tomb, 
Had overcome the whole Cadmean race. 
Him Diomede spear-famed for fight prepared, 
Giving him all encouragement, for much 
He wish'd him victory. First then he threw l 
His cincture to him ; next, he gave him thongs 8 
Cut from the hide of a wild buffalo. 
Both girt around, into the midst they moved. 
Then, lifting high their brawny arms, and fists 
Mingling with fists, to furious fight they fell ; 
Dire was the crash of jaws, and the sweat stream'd 
From every limb. Epeiis fierce advanced, 
And while Euryalus with cautious eye 
Watch'd his advantage, pash'd him on the cheek. 
He stood no longer, but, his shapely limbs, 
Unequal to his weight, sinking, he fell. 
As by the rising north-wind driven ashore 
An huge fish flounces on the weedy beach, 
Which soon the sable flood covers again, 
So, beaten down, he bounded. But Epeiis, 
Heroic chief, upraised him by his hand, 
And his own comrades from the circus forth 
Led him, step dragging after step, the blood 
Ejecting grumous, and at every pace 
Rolling his head languid from side to side. 
They placed him all unconscious on his seat 
In his own band, then fetch'd his prize, the cup. 

Still other prizes, then, Achilles placed 
In view of all, the sturdy wrestler's meed. 
A large hearth-tripod, valued by the Greeks 
At twice six beeves, should pay the victor's toil ; 
But for the vanquish'd, in the midst he set 
A damsel in variety expert 
Of arts domestic, valued at four beeves. 
He rose erect, and to the Greeks he cried. 

Arise ye, now, who shall this prize dispute. 
So spake the son of Peleus ; then arose 
Huge Telamonian Ajax, and upstood 
Ulysses also, in all wiles adept. 
Both girt around, into the midst they moved. 
With vigorous gripe each lock'd the other fast, 
Like rafters, standing, of some mansion built 
By a prime artist, proof against all winds. 
Their backs, tugg'd vehemently, creak'd 3 ,the sweat 
Trickled, and on their flanks and shoulders, red 
The whelks arose ; they bearing still in mind 
The tripod, ceased not struggling for the prize. 
Nor could Ulysses from his station move 


1 Trapaical3l3aXe. 

2 With which they bound on the casstus. 

3 Terpiyei. — It is a circumstance on which the Scho- 
liast observes that it denotes in a wrestler the greatest 
possible bodily strength and firmness of position. See 
Villoisson. 


And cast down Ajax, nor could Ajax him 
Unsettle, fixt so firm Ulysses stood. 
But when, long time expectant, all the Greeks 
Grew weary, then, huge Ajax him bespake. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown 'd ! 
Lift, or be lifted, and let Jove decide. 

He said, and heaved Ulysses. Then, his wiles 
Forgat not he, but on the ham behind 
Chopp'd him ; the limbs of Ajax at the stroke 
Disabled sank ; he fell supine, and bore 
Ulysses close adhering to his chest 
Down with him. Wonder riveted all eyes. 
Then brave Ulysses from the ground awhile 
Him lifted in his turn, but ere he stood, 
Inserting his own knee the knees between" 1 
Of Ajax, threw him. To the earth they fell 
Both, and with dust defiled lay side by side. 
And now, arising to a third essay, 
They should have wrestled yet again, had not 
Achilles, interfering, them restrain'd. 

Strive not together more ; cease to exhaust 
Each other's force ; ye both have earn'd the prize. 
Depart alike requited, and give place 
To other Greecians who shall next contend. 

He spake ; they glad complied, and wiping off 
The dust, put on their tunics. Then again 
Achilles other prizes yet proposed, 
The rapid runner's meed. First, he produced 
A silver goblet of six measures ; earth 
Own'd not its like for elegance of form. 
Skilful Sidonian artists had around 
Embellish'd it, and o'er the sable deep 
Phoenician merchants into Lemnos' port 
Had borne it, and the boon to Thoas 5 given ; 
But Jason's son, Euneiis, in exchange 
For Priam's son Lycaon, to the hand 
Had pass'd it of Patroclus famed in arms. 
Achilles this, in honour of his friend, 
Set forth, the swiftest runner's recompense. 
The second should a fatted ox receive 
Of largest size, and he assign'd of gold 
A just half- talent to the worst and last. 
He stood erect, and to the Greeks he cried. 

Now stand ye forth who shall this prize dispute. 
He said, and at his word instant arose 
Swift Ajax Oiliades ; upsprang 
The shrewd Ulysses next, and after him 
Brave Nestor's son Antilochus, with whom 
None vied in speed of all the youths of Greece. 
They stood prepared. Achilles show'd the goal. 
At once all started. Oi'liades 
Led swift the course, and closely at his heels 
Ulysses ran. Near as some cinctured maid 
Industrious holds the distaff to her breast, 
While to and fro with practised finger neat 
She tends the flax drawing it to a thread, 
So near Ulysses follow'd him, and press'd 
His footsteps, ere the dust fill'd them again, 
Pouring his breath into his neck behind, 
And never slackening pace. His ardent thirst 
Of victory with universal shouts 
All seconded, and, eager, bade him on. 
And now, the contest shortening to a close, 
Ulysses his request silent and brief 
To azure-eyed Minerva thus preferr'd. 

4 1 have given what seems to me the most probable 
interpretation, and such a one as to any person who has 
ever witnessed a wrestling-match, will, I presume, appear 
intelligible. 

5 King of Lemnos. 


390 


THE ILIAD. 


goddess hear, prosper me in the race ! 
Such was his prayer, with which Minerva pleased, 
Freshen'd his limbs, and made him light to run. 
And now, when in one moment they should both 
Have darted on the prize, then Ajax' foot 
Sliding, he fell ; for where the dung of beeves 
Slain by Achilles for his friend, had spread 

The soil, thex-e ' Pallas tripp'd him. Ordure foul 
His mouth, and ordure foul his nostrils fill'd. 
Then brave Ulysses, first arriving, seized 
The cup, and Ajax took his prize, the ox. 
He grasp'd his horn, and sputtering as he stood 
The ordure forth, the Argives thus bespake. 

Ah — Pallas tripp'd my footsteps ; she attends 
Ulysses ever with a mother's care. 

Loud laugh'd the Greecians. Then, the remnant 
Antilochus receiving, smiled and said. " [prize 

Ye need not, fellow-warriors, to be taught 
That now, as ever, the immortal gods 
Honour on seniority bestow. 
Ajax is elder, yet not much, than I. 
But Laertiades was born in times 
Long past, a chief coeval with our sires, 
Not young, but vigorous ; and, of the Greeks, 
Achilles may alone with him contend. 

So saying, the merit of superior speed 
To Peleus' son he gave, who thus replied. 

Antilochus ! thy praise of me shall prove 
Nor vain nor unproductive to thyself, 
For the half-talent doubled shall be thine. 

He spake, and, doubling it, the talent placed 
Whole in his hand. He glad the gift received. 
Achilles, then, Sarpedon's arms produced, 
Stripp'd from him by Patroclus, his long spear, 
Helmet and shield, which in the midst he placed. 
He stood erect, and to the Greeks he cried. 

1 call for two brave warriors arm'd, to prove 
Each other's skill with weapons keen, this prize 
Disputing, next, in presence of us all. 

Who first shall through his armour reach the skin 

Of his antagonist, and shall draw his blood, 

To him this silver-studded faulchion bright 

I give ; the blade is Thracian, and of late 

Asteropaeus wore it, whom I slew. 

These other arms shall be their common meed, 

And I will banquet both within my tent. 

He said, then Telamonian Ajax huge 
Arose, and opposite the son arose 
Of warlike Tydeus, Diomede the brave. 
Apart from all the people each put on 
His arms, then moved into the middle space, 
Louring terrific, and on fire to fight. 
The host look'd on amazed. Approaching each 
The other, thrice they sprang to the assault, 
And thrice struck hand to hand. Ajax the shield 
Pierced of his adversary, but the flesh 
Attain'd not, baffled by his mail within. 
Then Tydeus' son, sheer o'er the ample disk 
Of Ajax, thrust a lance home to his neck, 
And the Achaians for the life appall'd 
Of Ajax, bade them, ceasing, share the prize. 
But the huge faulchion with its sheath and belt — 
Achilles them on Diomede bestow'd. 

The hero, next, an iron clod produced 
Rough from the forge, and wont to task the might 
Of king Eetion ; but, when him he slew, 
Pelides, glorious chief, with other spoils 


i That is to say, Ulysses; who from the first intending 
it, had rim close behind him. 


From Thebes convey'd it in his fleet to Troy. 
He stood erect, and to the Greeks he cried. 

Come forth who also shall this prize dispute ! 
How far soe'er remote the winner's fields, 
This lump shall serve his wants five circling years ; 
His shepherd shall not, or his plower, need 
In quest of iron seek the distant town, 
But hence he shall himself their wants supply. 

Then Polypoetes brave in fight arose, 
Arose Leonteus also, godlike chief, 
With Ajax son of Telamon. Each took 
His station, and Epeiis seized the clod. 
He swung, he cast it, and the Greecians laugh'd. 
Leonteus, branch of Mars, quoited it next. 
Huge Telamonian Ajax with strong arm 
Dismiss'd it third, and overpitch'd them both. 
But when brave Polypoetes seized the mass, 
Far as the vigorous herdsman flings his staff 
That twirling flies his numerous beeves between, 
So far his cast outmeasured all beside, 
And the host shouted. Then the friends arose 
Of Polypoetes valiant chief, and bore 
His ponderous acquisition to the ships. 

The archers' prize Achilles next proposed, 
Ten double and ten.single axes, form'd 
Of steel convertible to arrow-points. 
He fix'd, far distant on the sands, the mast 
Of a brave bark coerulean-prow'd, to which 
With small cord fasten' d by the foot he tied 
A timorous dove, their mark at which to aim. 
2 Who strikes the dove, he conquers, and shall bear 
These double axes all into his tent. 
But who the cord alone, missing the bird, 
Successful less, he wins the single blades. 

The might of royal Teucer then arose, 
And, fellow- warrior of the king of Crete, 
Valiant Meriones. A brazen casque 
Received the lots ; they shook them, and the lot 
Fell first to Teucer. He, at once, a shaft 
Sent smartly forth, but vow'd not to the king 3 
An hecatomb, all firstlings of the flock. 
He therefore (for Apollo greater praise 
Denied him) miss'd the dove, but struck the cord 
That tied her, at small distance from the knot, 
And with his arrow sever'd it. Upsprang 
The bird into the air, and to the ground 
Depending fell the cord. Shouts rent the skies. 
Then, all in haste, Meriones the bow 
Caught from his hand holding a shaft the while 
Already aim'd, and to Apollo vow'd 
An hecatomb, all firstlings of the flock. 
He eyed the dove aloft, under a cloud, 
And, while she wheel'd around, struck her beneath 
The pinion ; through her and beyond her pass'd 
The arrow, and, returning, pierced the soil 
Fast by the foot of brave Meriones. 
She, perching on the mast again, her head 
Reclined, and hung her wide-unfolded wing, 
But, soon expiring, dropp'd and fell remote. 
Amazement seized the people. To his tent 
Meriones the ten best axes bore, 
And Teucer the inferior ten to his. 

Then, last, Achilles in the circus placed 
A ponderous spear and cauldron yet unfired, 
Emboss'd with flowers around, its worth an ox. 


2 The transition from narrative to dramatic follows the 
original. 

:t Apollo ; frequently by Homer called the king without 
any addition. 


THE ILIAD. 


391 


Upstood the spear-expert ; Atrides first 
Wide-ruling Agamemnon, king of men, 
And next, brave fellow-warrior of the king 
Of Crete, Meriones ; when thus his speech 
Achilles to the royal chief address'd. 

Atrides ! (for we know thy skill and force 
Matchless ! that none can hurl the spear as thou) 
This prize is thine, order it to thy ship ; 
And if it please thee, as I would it might, 
Let brave Meriones the spear receive. 

He said ; nor Agamemnon not complied, 
But to Meriones the brazen spear 
Presenting, to Talthybius gave in charge 
The cauldron, next, his own illustrious prize. 


BOOK XXIV. 

ARGUMENT. 

Priam, by command of Jupiter, and under conduct of 
Mercury, seeks Achilles in his tent, who admonished 
previously by Thetis, consents to accept ransom for the 
body of Hector. Hector is mourned, and the manner of 
his funeral, circumstantially described, concludes the 


The games all closed, the people went dispersed 
Each to his ship ; they, mindful of repast, 
And to enjoy repose ; but other thoughts 
Achilles' mind employ'd ; he still deplored 
With tears his loved Patroclus, nor the force 
Felt of all- conquering sleep, but turn'd and turn'd 
Restless from side to side, mourning the loss 
Of such a friend, so manly, and so brave. 
Their fellowship in toil ; their hardships oft 
Sustain'd in fight laborious, or o'ercome 
With difficulty on the perilous deep — 
Remembrance busily retracing themes 
Like these, drew down his cheeks continual tears. 
Now on his side he lay, now lay supine, 
Now prone; then starting from his couch he roam'd 
Forlorn the beach, nor did the rising morn 
On seas and shores escape his watchful eye, 
But joining to his chariot his swift steeds, 
He fasten'd Hector to be dragg'd behind. 
Around the tomb of Menoetiades 
Him thrice he dragg'd ; then rested in his tent, 
Leaving him at his length stretch'd in the dust. 
Meantime Apollo with compassion touch'd 
Even of the lifeless Hector, from all taint 
Saved him, and with the golden segis broad 
Covering, preserved him, although dragg'd, untorn. 

While he, indulging thus his wrath, disgraced 
Brave Hector, the immortals, at that sight 
With pity moved, exhorted Mercury 
The watchful Argicide, to steal him thence. 
That counsel pleased the rest, but neither pleased 
Juno, nor Neptune, nor the blue-eyed maid. 
They still, as at the first, held fast their hate 
Of sacred Troy, detested Priam still, 
And still his people, mindful of the crime 
Of Paris, who when to his rural hut 
They came, those goddesses affronting, praise 
And admiration gave to her alone 
Who with vile lusts his preference repaid. 
But when the twelfth ensuing morn arose, 
Apollo, then, the immortals thus address'd. 

Ye gods, your dealings now injurious seem 
And cruel. Was not Hector wont to burn 
Thighs of fat goats and bullocks at your shrines ? 


Whom now, though dead, ye cannot yet endure 

To rescue, that Andromache once more 

Might view him, his own mother, his own son, 

His father and the people, who would soon 

Yield him his just demand, a funeral fire. 

But, oh ye gods ! your pleasure is alone 

To please Achilles, that pernicious chief, 

Who neither right regards, nor owns a mind 

That can relent, but as the lion, urged 

By his own dauntless heart and savage force, 

Invades without remorse the rights of man, 

That he may banquet on his herds and flocks, 

So Peleus' son all pity from his breast 

Hath driven, and shame, man's blessing i or his 

For whosoever hath a loss sustain'd [curse 1 . 

Still dearer, whether of his brother born 

From the same womb, or even of his son, 

When he hath once bewail'd him, weeps no more, 

For fate itself gives man a patient mind. 

Yet Peleus' son, not so contented, slays 

Illustrious Hector first, then drags his corse 

In cruel triumph at his chariot-wheels 

Around Patroclus' tomb ; but neither well 

He acts, nor honourably to himself, 

Who may, perchance, brave though he be, incur 

Our anger, while to gratify revenge 

He pours dishonour thus on senseless clay. 

To whom, incensed, Juno white-arm'd replied. 
And be it so ; stand fast this word of thine, 
God of the silver bow ! if ye account 
Only such honour to Achilles due 
As Hector claims ; but Hector was by birth 
Mere man, and suckled at a woman's breast. 
Not such Achilles ; him a goddess bore, 
Whom I myself nourish' d, and on my lap 
Fondled, and in due time to Peleus gave 
In marriage, to a chief beloved in heaven 
Peculiarly ; ye were yourselves, ye gods ! 
Partakers of the nuptial feast, and thou 
Wast present also with thine harp in hand, 
Thou comrade of the vile ! thou faithless ever ! 

Then answer thus cloud-gatherer Jove return'd. 
Juno, forbear. Indulge not always wrath 
Against the gods. They shall not share alike, 
And in the same proportion our regards. 
Yet even Hector was the man in Troy 
Most favour'd by the gods, and him no less 
I also loved, for punctual were his gifts 
To us ; mine altar never miss'd from him 
Libation, or the steam of sacrifice, 
The meed allotted to us from of old. 
But steal him not, since by Achilles' eye 
Unseen ye cannot, who both day and night 
Watches 2 him, as a mother tends her son. 
But call ye Thetis hither, I would give 
The goddess counsel, that, at Priam's hands 
Accepting gifts, Achilles loose the dead. 

He ceased. Then Iris tempest-wing'd arose. 
Samos between, and Imbrus rock-begirt, 
She plunged into the gloomy flood; loud groan'd 
The briny pool, while sudden down she rush'd, 
As sinks the bull's 3 horn with its leaden weight, 

i His blessing, if he is properly influenced by it ; his 
curse in its consequences if he is deaf to its dictates. 

2 This is the sense preferred by the Scholiast, for it is 
not true that Thetis was always present with Achilles, as 
is proved by the passage immediately ensuing. 

3 The angler's custom was, in those days, to guard his 
line above the hook from the fishes' bite, by passing it 
through a pipe of horn. 


392 


THE ILIAD. 


Death bearing to the raveners of the deep. 
Within her vaulted cave Thetis she found 
By every nymph of Ocean round about 
Encompass'd ; she, amid them all, the fate 
Wept of her noble son ordain'd to death 
At fertile Troy, from Phthia far remote. 
Then, Iris, drawing near, her thus address'd. 

Arise, Thetis ! Jove, the author dread 
Of everlasting counsels, calls for thee. 

To whom the goddess of the silver feet. 
Why calls the mighty Thunderer me? I fear, 
Oppress'd with countless sorrows as I am, 

To mingle with the gods Yet I obey — 

No word of his can prove an empty sound. 

So saying, the goddess took her sable veil, 
(Eye ne'er beheld a darker) and began 
Her progress, by the storm-wing'd Iris led. 
On either hand the billows open'd wide 
A pass before them ; they, ascending soon 
The shore, updarted swift into the skies. 
They found loud-voiced Saturnian Jove around 
Environ'd by the ever-blessed gods 
Convened in full assembly ; she beside 
Her father Jove (Pallas retiring) sat. 
Then, Juno, with consolatory speech, 
Presented to her hand a golden cup, 
Of which she drank, then gave it back again, 
And thus the sire of gods and men began. 

Goddess of ocean, Thetis ! thou hast sought 
Olympus, bearing in thy bosom grief 
Never to be assuaged, as well I know. 
Yet shalt thou learn, afflicted as thou art, 
Why I have summon'd thee. Nine days the gods, 
Concerning Hector's body and thy own 
Brave city-spoiler son, have held dispute, 
And some have urged ofttimes the Argicide 
Keen-sighted Mercury, to steal the dead. 
But I forbad it for Achilles' sake, 
Whom I exalt, the better to insure 
Thy reverence and thy friendship evermore. 
Haste, therefore, seek thy son, and tell him thus. 
The gods resent it, say (but most of all 
Myself am angry) that he still detains 
Amid his fleet, through fury of revenge, 
Unransom'd Hector ; so shall he, at length, 
Through fear of me, perchance, release the slain. 
Myself to generous Priam will, the while, 
Send Iris, who shall bid him to the fleet 
Of Greece, such ransom bearing as may soothe 
Achilles, for redemption of his son. 

So spake the god, nor Thetis not complied. 
Descending swift from the Olympian heights 
She reach'd Achilles' tent. Him there she found 
Groaning disconsolate, while others ran 
To and fro, occupied around a sheep 
New-slaughter'd, large, and of exuberant fleece. 
She, sitting close beside him, softly stroak'd 
His cheek, and thus, affectionate, began. 

How long, my son ! sorrowing and mourning here, 
Wilt thou consume thy soul, nor give one thought 
Either to food or love ? Yet love is good, 
And woman grief's best cure ; for length of days 
Is not thy doom, but, even now, thy death 
And ruthless destiny are on the wing. 
Mark me, — I come a lieger sent from Jove. 
The gods, he saith, resent it, but himself 
More deeply than the rest, that thou detain'st 
Amid thy fleet, through fury of revenge, 
Unransom'd Hector. Be advised, accept 
Ransom, and to his friends resign the dead. 


To whom Achilles, swiftest of the swift. 
Come then the ransomer, and take him hence ; 
If Jove himself command it, — be it so. 

So they, among the ships, conferring sat 
On various themes, the goddess and her son ; 
Meantime Saturnian Jove commanded down 
His swift ambassadress to sacred Troy. 

Hence, rapid Iris ! leave the Olympian heights, 
And, finding noble Priam, bid him haste 
Into Achaia's fleet, bearing such gifts 
As may assuage Achilles, and prevail 
To liberate the body of his son. 
Alone, he must ; no Trojan of them all 
May company the senior thither, save 
An ancient herald to direct his mules 
And his wheel'd litter, and to bring the dead 
Back into Ilium, whom Achilles slew. 
Let neither fear of death nor other fear 
Trouble him aught, so safe a guard and sure 
We give him ; Mercury shall be his guide 
Into Achilles' presence in his tent. 
Nor will himself Achilles slay him there, 
Or even permit his death, but will forbid 
All violence ; for he is not unwise 
Nor heedless, no — nor wilful to offend, 
But will his suppliant with much grace receive 1 . 

He ceased ; then Iris tempest-wing'd arose, 
Jove's messenger, and, at the gates arrived 
Of Priam, woe and wailing found within. 
Around their father, in the hall, his sons 
Their robes with tears water'd, while them amidst 
The hoary king sat mantled, muffled close, 
And on his venerable head and neck 
Much dust was spread, which, rolling on the earth, 
He had shower'd on them with unsparing hands. 
The palace echoed to his daughters' cries, 
And to the cries of matrons calling fresh 
Into remembrance many a valiant chief 
Now stretch' d in dust, by Argive hands destroy'd. 
The messenger of Jove at Priam's side 
Standing, with whisper'd accents low his ear 
Saluted, but he trembled at the sound. 

Courage, Dardanian Priam ! fear thou nought ; 
To thee no prophetess of ill, I come ; 
But with kind purpose : Jove's ambassadress 
Am I, who though remote, yet entertains 
Much pity, and much tender care for thee. 
Olympian Jove commands thee to redeem 
The noble Hector, with an offering large 
Of gifts that may Achilles' wrath appease. 
Alone, thou must ; no Trojan of them all 
Hath leave to attend thy journey thither, save 
An ancient herald to direct thy mules 
And thy wheel'd litter, and to bring the dead 
Back into Ilium, whom Achilles slew. 
Let neither fear of death nor other fear 
Trouble thee aught, so safe a guard and sure 
He gives thee ; Mercury shall be thy guide 
Even to Achilles' presence in his tent. 
Nor will himself Achilles slay thee there, 
Or even permit thy death, but will forbid 
All violence ; for he is not unwise 
Nor heedless, no — nor wilful to offend, 
But will his suppliant with much grace receive. 

So spake the swift ambassadress, and went. 
Then, calling to his sons, he bade them bring 

1 Jupiter justifies him against Apollo's charge, affirming 
him to be free from those mental defects which chiefly be- 
tray men into sin— folly, improvidence, and perverseness. 


THE ILIAD. 


393 


His litter forth, and bind the coffer on, 
While to his fragrant chamber he repair'd 
Himself, with cedar lined and lofty-roof 'd, 
A treasury of wonders, into which 
The queen he summon'd, whom he thus bespake. 

Hecuba ! the ambassadress of Jove 
Hath come, who bids me to the Greecian fleet, 
Bearing such presents thither as may soothe 
Achilles, for redemption of my son. 
But say, what seems this enterprize to thee ? 
Myself am much inclined to it, I feel 
My courage prompting me amain toward 
The fleet, and into the Achaian camp. 

Then wept the queen aloud, and thus replied. 
Ah ! whither is thy wisdom fled, for which 
Both strangers once, and Trojans honour'd thee ? 
How canst thou wish to penetrate alone 
The Greecian fleet, and to appear before 
His face, by whom so many valiant sons 
Of thine have fallen \ Thou hast an iron heart ! 
For should that savage man and faithless once 
Seize and discover thee, no pity expect 
Or reverence at his hands. Come — let us weep 
Together, here sequester'd ; for the thread 
Spun for him by his destiny severe 
When he was born, ordain'd our son remote 
From us his parents to be food for hounds 
In that chief's tent. Oh ! clinging to his side, 
How I could tear him with my teeth ! His deeds, 
Disgraceful to my son, then should not want 
Retaliation ; for he slew not him 
Skulking, but standing boldly for the wives, 
The daughters fair, and citizens of Troy, 
Guiltless of flight 1 , and of the wish to fly. 

Whom godlike Priam answer' d, ancient king. 
Impede me not who willing am to go, 
Nor be, thyself, a bird of ominous note 
To terrify me under my own roof, 
For thou shalt not prevail. Had mortal man 
Enjoin'd me this attempt, prophet, or priest, 
Or soothsayer, I had pronounced him false 
And fear'd it but the more. But, since I saw 
The goddess with these eyes, and heard, myself, 
The voice divine, I go ; that word shall stand ; 
And, if my doom be in the fleet of Greece 
To perish, be it so ; Achilles' arm 
Shall give me speedy death, and I shall die 
Folding my son, and satisfied with tears. 

So saying, he open'd wide the elegant lids 
Of numerous chests, whence mantles twelve he 
Of texture beautiful ; twelve single cloaks ; [took 
As many carpets, with as many robes, 
To which he added vests, an equal store. 
He also took ten talents forth of gold, 
All weigh'd, two splendid tripods, cauldrons four, 
And after these a cup of matchless worth 
Given to him when ambassador in Thrace ; 
A noble gift, which yet the hoary king 
Spared not, such fervour of desire he felt 
To loose his son. Then from his portico, 
With angry taunts he drove the gather'd crowds. 

Away ! away ! ye dregs of earth, away ! 
Ye shame of human-kind ! Have ye no griefs 
At home, that ye come hither troubling me ? 
Deem ye it little that Saturnian Jove 
Afflicts me thus, and of my very best, 

1 But, at first, he did fly. It is therefore spoken, as the 
Scholiast observes, <piKoffr6pyu>s, and must he understood 
as the language of strong maternal affection. 


Best boy deprives me ? Ah ! ye shall be taught 

Yourselves that loss, far easier to be slain 

By the Achaians now, since he is dead. 

But I, ere yet the city I behold 

Taken and pillaged, with these aged eyes, 

Shall find safe hiding in the shades below. 

He said, and chased them with his staff : they 
left 
In haste the doors, by the old king expell'd. 
Then, chiding them aloud, his sons he call'd, 
Helenus, Paris, noble Agathon, 
Pammon, Antiphonus, and bold in fight 
Polites, Dios of illustrious fame, 
Hippo choiis and Deiphobus — all nine 
He call'd, thus issuing, angry, his commands. 

Quick ! quick ! ye slothful in your father's cause, 
Ye worthless brood ! would that in Hector's stead 
Ye all had perish'd in the fleet of Greece ! 
Oh altogether wretched ! in all Troy 
No man had sons to boast valiant as mine, 
And I have lost them all. Mestor is gone 
The godlike, Troilus the steed-renown'd, 
And Hector, who with other men compared 
Seem'd a divinity, whom none had deem'd 
From mortal man derived, but from a god. 
These Mars hath taken, and hath left me none 
But scandals of my house, void of all truth, 
Dancers, exact step-measurers 2 , a band 
Of public robbers, thieves of kids and lambs. 
Will ye not bring my litter to the gate 
This moment, and with all this package quick 
Charge it, that we may hence without delay \ 

He said, and by his chiding awed, his sons 
Drew forth the royal litter, neat, new-built, 
And following swift the draught, on which they 

bound 
The coffer ; next, they lower'd from the wall 
The sculptured boxen yoke with its two rings 3 ; 
And with the yoke its furniture, in length 
Nine cubits ; this to the extremest end 
Adjusting of the pole, they cast the ring 
Over the ring-bolt ; then, thrice through the yoke 
They drew the brace on both sides, made it fast 
With even knots, and tuck'd4 the dangling ends. 
Producing, next, the glorious ransom-price 
Of Hector's body, on the litter's floor 
They heap'd it all, then yoked the sturdy mules, 
A gift illustrious by the Mysians erst 
Conferr'd on Priam ; to the chariot, last, 
They led forth Priam's steeds, which the old king 
(In person serving them) with freshest corn 
Constant supplied ; meantime, himself within 
The palace, and his herald, were employ'd 
Girding 5 themselves, to go ; wise each and good. 
And now came mournful Hecuba, with wine 
Delicious charged, which in a golden cup 
She brought, that not without libation due 


2 x°P 0lTV7t ' L V< rlv fi-pivroi. 

3 Through which the reins were passed. 

* The yoke being flat at the bottom, and the pole round, 
there would of course be a small aperture between the 
band and the pole on both sides, through which, accord- 
ing to the Scholium in Villoisson, they thrust the ends of 
the tackle lest they should dangle. 

5 The text here is extremely intricate ; as it stands now, 
the sons are, first, said to yoke the horses, then Priam and 
Idasus are said to do it, and in the palace too. I have 
therefore adopted an alteration suggested by Clarke, who 
with very little violence to the copy, proposes instead of 
^ivyvvadrju to read— favvvadriv. 


394 


THE ILIAD. 


First made, they might depart. Before the steeds 
Her steps she stay'd, and Priam thus address'd. 

Take this, and to the sire of all perform 
Libation, praying him a safe return 
From hostile hands, since thou art urged to seek 
The Greecian camp, though not by my desire. 
Pray also to Ideean Jove cloud-girt, 
Who oversees all Ilium, that he send 
His messenger or ere thou go, the bird 
His favourite most, surpassing all in strength, 
At thy right hand ; him seeing, thou shalt tend 
With better hope toward the fleet of Greece. 
But should loud-thundering Jove his lieger swift 
Withhold, from me far be it to advise 
This journey, howsoe'er thou wish to go. 

To whom the godlike Priam thus replied. 
This exhortation will I not refuse, 
O queen ! for, lifting to the gods his hands 
In prayer for their compassion, none can err. 

So saying, he bade the maiden o'er the rest, 
Chief in authority, pour on his hands 
Pure water, for the maiden at his side 
With ewer charged and laver, stood prepared. 
He laved his hands ; then, taking from the queen 
The goblet, in his middle area stood 
Pouring libation with his eyes upturn'd 
Heaven- ward devout, and thus his prayer preferr'd. 

Jove, great and glorious above all, who rulest, 
On Ida's summit seated, all below ! 
Grant me arrived within Achilles' tent 
Kindness to meet and pity, and oh send 
Thy messenger or ere I go, the bird 
Thy favourite most, surpassing all in strength, 
At my right hand, which seeing, I shall tend 
With better hope toward the fleet of Greece. 

He ended, at whose prayer, incontinent, 
Jove sent his eagle, surest of all signs, [named, 
The black -plumed bird voracious, Morphnos 1 
And Percnosi. Wide as the well-guarded door 
Of some rich potentate his vans he spread 
On either side ; they saw him on the right, 
Skimming the towers of Troy ; glad they beheld 
That omen, and all felt their hearts consoled. 

Delay' d not then the hoary king, but quick 
Ascending to his seat, his coursers urged 
Through vestibule and sounding porch abroad. 
The four-wheel'd litter led, drawn by the mules 
Which sage Idseus managed, behind whom 
Went Priam, plying with the scourge his steeds 
Continual through the town, while all his friends, 
Following their sovereign with dejected hearts, 
i Lamented him as going to his death. 

But when from Ilium's gate into the plain 
■ They had descended, then the sons-in-law 
Of Priam, and bis sons, to Troy return'd. 
Nor they, now traversing the plain, the note 
Escaped of Jove the Thunderer $ he beheld 
Compassionate the venerable king, 
And thus his own son Mercury bespake. 

Mercury ! (for above all others thou 
Delightest to associate with mankind 
Familiar, whom thou wilt winning with ease 
To converse free) go thou, and so conduct 
Priam into the Greecian camp, that none 
Of all the numerous Dana'i may see 
Or mark him, till he reach Achilles' tent. 

He spake, nor the ambassador of heaven 
The Argicide delay'd, but bound in haste 

1 The words both signify— sable. 


His undecaying sandals to his feet, 
Golden, divine, which waft him o'er the floods 
Swift as the wind, and o'er the boundless earth. 
He took his rod with which he charms to sleep 
All eyes, and theirs who sleep opens again. 
Arm'd with that rod, forth flew the Argicide. 
At Ilium and the Hellespontic shores 
Arriving sudden, a king's son he seem'd, 
Now cloathing first his ruddy cheek with down, 
Which is youth's loveliest season ; so disguised, 
His progress he began. They now (the tomb 
Magnificent of Ilus past) beside 
The river stay'd the mules and steeds to drink, 
For twilight dimm'd the fields. Idaeus first 
Perceived him near, and Priam thus bespake. 

Think, son of Dardanus ! for we have need 
Of our best thought. I see a warrior. Now, 
Now we shall die ; I know it. Turn we quick 
Our steeds to flight ; or let us clasp his knees 
And his compassion suppliant essay. 

Terror and consternation at that sound 
The mind of Priam felt ; erect the hair 
Bristled his limbs, and with amaze he stood 
Motionless. But the god, meantime, approach'd, 
And, seizing ancient Priam's hand, inquired. 

Whither, my father ! in the dewy night [sleep % 
Drivest thou thy mules and steeds, while others 
And fear'st thou not the fiery host of Greece, 
Thy foes implacable, so nigh at hand ? 
Of whom should any, through the shadow dun 
Of flitting night, discern thee bearing forth 
So rich a charge, then what wouldst thou expect ? 
Thou art not young thyself, nor with the aid 
Of this thine ancient servant, strong enough 
Force to repulse, should any threaten force. 
But injury fear none or harm from me ; 
I rather much from harm by other hands 
Would save thee, thou resemblest so my sire. 

Whom answer'd godlike Priam, hoar with age. 
My son ! well spoken. Thou hast judged aright. 
Yet even me some deity protects 
Thus far ; to whom I owe it that I meet 
So seasonably one like thee, in form 
So admirable, and in mind discreet 
As thou art beautiful. Blest parents, thine ! 

To whom the messenger of heaven again, 
The Argicide. Oh ancient and revered ! 
Thou hast well spoken all. Yet this declare, 
And with sincerity ; bear'st thou away 
Into some foreign country, for the sake 
Of safer custody, this precious charge ? 
Or, urged by fear, forsake ye all alike 
Troy's sacred towers ? since he whom thou hast lost, 
Thy noble son, was of excelling worth 
In arms, and nought inferior to the Greeks. 

Then thus the godlike Priam, hoary king. 
But tell me first, who thou art, and from whom 
Descended, loveliest youth ! who hast the fate 
So well of my unhappy son rehearsed ? 

To whom the herald Mercury replied. 
Thy questions, venerable sire ! proposed 
Concerning noble Hector, are design'd 
To prove me. Him, not seldom, with these eyes 
In man-ennobling fight I have beheld 
Most active ; saw him when he thinn'd the Greeks 
With his sharp spear, and drove them to the ships. 
Amazed we stood to notice him ; for us, 
Incensed against the ruler of our host, 
Achilles suffer'd not to share the fight. 
I serve Achilles ; the same gallant bark 


THE ILIAD. 


395 


Brought us, and of the Mrymidons am I, 
Son of Polyctor ; wealthy is my sire, 
And such in years as thou ; six sons he hath, 
Beside myself the seventh, and, (the lots cast 
Among us all) mine sent me to the wars. 
That I have left the ships, seeking the plain, 
The cause is this ; the Greeks, at break of day, 
Will compass, arm'd, the city, for they loath 
To sit inactive, neither can the chiefs 
Restrain the hot impatience of the host. 

Then godlike Priam answer thus return'd. 
If of the hand thou be of Peleus' son, 
Achilles, tell me undisguised the truth. 
My son, subsists he still, or hath thy chief 
Limb after limb given him to his dogs ? 

Him answer'd then the herald of the skies. 
Oh venerable sir ! him neither dogs 
Have eaten yet, nor fowls, but at the ships 
His body, and within Achilles' tent 
Neglected lies. Twelve days he so hath lain ; 
Yet neither worm which diets on the brave 
In battle fallen, hath eaten him, or taint 
Invaded. He around Patroclus' tomb 
Drags him indeed pitiless, oft as day 
Reddens the east, yet safe from blemish still 
His corse remains. Thou would'st, thyself, admire, 
Seeing how fresh the dew-drops, as he lies, 
Rest on him, and his blood is cleansed away 
That not a stain is left. Even his wounds 
(For many a wound they gave him) all are closed, 
Such care the blessed gods have of thy son, 
Dead as he is, whom living much they loved. 

So he ; then, glad, the ancient king replied. 
Good is it, oh my son ! to yield the gods 
Their just demands. My boy, while yet he lived, 
Lived not unmindful of the worship due 
To the Olympian powers, who, therefore, him 
Remember, even in the bands of death. 
Come then — this beauteous cup take at my hand — 
Be thou my guard, and, if the gods permit, 
My guide, till to Achilles' tent I come. 

Whom answer'd then the messenger of heaven. 
Sir ! thou perceivest me young, and art disposed 
To try my virtue ; but it shall not fail. 
Thou bidd'st me at thine hand a gift accept, 
Whereof Achilles knows not ; but I fear 
Achilles, and on no account should dare 
Defraud him, lest some evil find me next. 
But thee I would with pleasure hence conduct 
Even to glorious Argos, over sea 
Or over land, nor any, through contempt 
Of such a guard, should dare to do thee wrong. 

So Mercury, and to the chariot seat 
Upspringing, seized at once the lash and reins, 
And with fresh vigour mules and steeds inspired. 
Arriving at the foss and towers, they found 
The guard preparing now their evening cheer, 
All whom the Argicide with sudden sleep 
Oppress'd, then oped the gates, thrust back the 
And introduced, with all his litter-load [bars, 

Of costly gifts, the venerable king. 
But when they reach'd the tent for Peleus' son 
Raised by the Myrmidons (with trunks of pine 
They built it, lopping smooth the boughs away, 
Then spread with shaggy mowings of the mead 
Its lofty roof, and with a spacious court 
Surrounded it, all fenced with driven stakes ; 
One bar alone of pine secured the door, 
Which ask'd three Greecians with united force 
To thrust it to its place, and three again 


To thrust it back, although Achilles oft 
Would heave it to the door himself alone ;) 
Then Hermes, benefactor of mankind, 
That bar displacing for the king of Troy, 
Gave entrance to himself and to his gifts 
For Peleus' son design'd, and from the seat 
Alighting, thus his speech to Priam turn'd. 

Oh ancient Priam ! an immortal god 
Attends thee ; I am Hermes, by command 
Of Jove my father thy appointed guide. 
But I return. I will not, entering here, 
Stand in Achilles' sight ; immortal powers 
May not so unreservedly indulge 
Creatures of mortal kind. But enter thou, 
Embrace his knees, and by his father both 
And by his goddess mother sue to him, 
And by his son, that his whole heart may melt. 

So Hermes spake, and to the skies again 
Ascended. Then leap'd Priam to the ground, 
Leaving Idaeus ; he, the mules and steeds 
Watch'd, while the ancient king into the tent 
Proceeded of Achilles dear to Jove. 
Him there he found, and sitting found apart 
His fellow- warriors, of whom two alone 
Served at his side, Alcimus, branch of Mars, 
And brave Automedon ; he had himself 
Supp'd newly, and the board stood unremoved. 
Unseen of all huge Priam enter'd, stood 
Near to Achilles, clasp'd his knees, and kiss'd 
Those terrible and homicidal hands 
That had destroy'd so many of his sons. 
As when a fugitive for blood the house 
Of some chief enters in a foreign land, 
All gaze, astonish'd at the sudden guest, 
So gazed Achilles seeing Priam there, 
And so stood all astonish'd, each his eyes 
In silence fastening on his fellow's face. 
But Priam kneel'd, and suppliant thus began. 

Think, oh Achilles, semblance of the gods ! 
On thy own father full of days like me, 
And trembling on the gloomy verge of life. 
Some neighbour chief, it may be, even now 
Oppresses him, and there is none at hand, 
No friend to succour him in his distress. 
Yet, doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives, 
He still rejoices, hoping, day by day, 
That one day he shall see the face again 
Of his own son from distant Troy return'd. 
But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons, 
So late the flower of Ilium, all are slain. 
When Greece came hither, I had fifty sons ; 
Nineteen were children of one bed, the rest 
Born of my concubines. A numerous house ! 
But fiery Mars hath thinn'd it. One I had, 
One, more than all my sons the strength of Troy, 
Whom standing for his country thou hast slain — 
Hector — His body to redeem I come 
Into Achaia's fleet, bringing, myself, 
Ransom inestimable to thy tent. 
Reverence the gods, Achilles ! recollect 
Thy father ; for his sake compassion show 
To me more pitiable still, who draw 
Home to my lips (humiliation yet 
Unseen on earth) his hand who slew my son. 

So saying, he waken'd in his soul regret 
Of his own sire ; softly he placed his hand 
On Priam's hand, and push'd him gently away. 
Remembrance melted both. Rolling before 
Achilles' feet, Priam his son deplored 
Wide-slaughtering Hector, and Achilles wept 


396 


THE ILIAD. 


By turns his father, and by turns his friend 
Patroclus ; sounds of sorrow fill'd the tent. 
But when, at length satiate, Achilles felt 
His heart from grief, and all his frame relieved, 
Upstarting from his seat, with pity moved 
Of Priam's silver locks and silver beard, 
He raised the ancient father by his hand, 
Whom in wing'd accents kind he thus bespake. 

Wretched indeed ! ah what must thou have felt! 
How hast thou dared to seek alone the fleet 
Of the Achaians, and his face by whom 
So many of thy valiant sons have fallen ? 
Thou hast a heart of iron, terror-proof. 
Come — sit beside me — Let us, if we may, 
Great mourners both, bid sorrow sleep awhile. 
There is no profit of our sighs and tears ; 
For thus, exempt from care themselves, the gods 
Ordain man's miserable race to mourn. 
Fast by the threshold of Jove's courts are placed 
Two casks, one stored with evil, one with good, 
From which the god dispenses as he wills. 
For whom the glorious Thunderer mingles both, 
He leads a life checquer'd with good and ill 
Alternate ; but to whom he gives unmixt 
The bitter cup, he makes that man a curse, 
His name becomes a by-word of reproach, 
His strength is hunger-bitten, and he walks 
The blessed earth, unblest, go where he may. 
So was my father Peleus at his birth 
Nobly endow'd, with plenty and with wealth 
Distinguish'd by the gods past all mankind, 
Lord of the Myrmidons, and, though a man, 
Yet match'd from heaven with an immortal bride. 
But even him the gods afflict, a son 
Refusing him, Avho might possess his throne 
Hereafter ; for myself, his only heir, 
Pass as a dream, and while I live, instead 
Of solacing his age, here sit, before 
Your distant walls, the scourge of thee and thine. 
Thee also, ancient Priam, we have heard 
Reported, once possessor of such wealth 
As neither Lesbos, seat of Macar, owns, 
Nor eastern Phrygia, nor yet all the ports 
Of Hellespont, but thou didst pass them all 
In riches, and in number of thy sons. 
But since the powers of heaven brought on thy land 
This fatal war, battle and deeds of death 
Always surround the city where thou reign'st. 
Cease, therefore, from unprofitable tears, 
Which, ere they raise thy son to life again, 
Shall, doubtless, find fresh cause for which to flow. 

To whom the ancient king godlike replied. 
Hero, forbear. No seat is here for me, 
While Hector lies unburied in your camp. 
Loose him, and loose him now, that with these eyes 
I may behold my son ; accept a price 
Magnificent, which may'st thou long enjoy, 
' And, since my life was precious in thy sight, 
, May'st thou revisit safe thy native shore ! 

To whom Achilles, louring, and in wrath '. 

i Urge me no longer, at a time like this, 

With that harsh note ; I am already inclined 

To loose him. Thetis, my own mother came 

Herself on that same errand, sent from Jove. 


Priam ! I understand thee well. I know 

1 Mortified to see his generosity, after so much kindness 
shown to Priam, still distrusted, and that the impatience 
of the old king threatened to deprive him of all opportu- 
nity to do gracefully what he could not he expected to do 
willingly. 


That, by some god conducted, thou hast reach'd 

Achaia's fleet ; for, without aid divine, 

No mortal even in his prime of youth, 

Had dared the attempt ; guards vigilant as ours 

He should not easily elude, such gates, 

So massy, should not easily unbar. 

Thou, therefore, vex me not in my distress, 

Lest I abhor to see thee in my tent, 

And, borne beyond all limits, set at nought 

Thee, and thy prayer, and the command of Jove. 

He said ; the old king trembled, and obey'd. 
Then sprang Pelides like a lion forth, 
Not sole, but with his two attendant friends 
Alcimus and Automedon the brave, 
For them (Patroclus slain) he honour'd most 
Of all the Myrmidons. They from the yoke 
Released both steeds and mules, then introduced 
And placed the herald of the hoary king. 
They lighten'd next the litter of its charge 
Inestimable, leaving yet behind 
Two mantles and a vest, that, not unveil'd, 
The body might be borne back into Troy. 
Then, calling forth his women, them he bade 
Lave and anoint the body, but apart, 
Lest haply Priam, noticing his son, 
Through stress of grief should give resentment 
And irritate by some affront himself [scope, 

To slay him, in despite of Jove's commands. 
They, therefore, laving and anointing first 
The body, cover'd it with cloak and vest ; 
Then, Peleus' son disposed it on the bier, 
Lifting it from the ground, and his two friends 
Together heaved it to the royal wain. 
Achilles, last, groaning, his friend invoked. 

Patroclus ! should the tidings reach thine ear, 
Although in Ades, that I have released 
The noble Hector at his father's suit, 
Resent it not ; no sordid gifts have paid 
His ransom-price, which thou shalt also share. 

So saying, Achilles to his tent return'd, 
And on the splendid couch whence he had risen 
Again reclined, opposite to the seat 
Of Priam, whom the hero thus bespake. 

Priam ! at thy request thy son is loosed, 
And lying on his bier ; at dawn of day 
Thou shalt both see him and convey him hence 
Thyself to Troy. But take we now repast ; 
For even bright-hair'd Niobe her food 
Forgat not, though of children twelve bereft, 
Of daughters six, and of six blooming sons. 
Apollo these struck from his silver bow, 
And those shaft-arm'd Diana, both incensed 
That oft Latona's children and her own 
Numbering, she scorn'd the goddess who had borne 
Two only, while herself had twelve to boast. 
Vain boast ! those two sufficed to slay them all. 
Nine days they welter'd in their blood, no man 
Was found to bury them, for Jove had changed 
To stone the people ; but themselves, at last, 
The powers of heaven entomb'd them on the tenth. 
Yet even she, once satisfied with tears, 
Remember'd food ; and now, the rocks among 
And pathless solitudes of Sipylus, 
The rumour'd cradle of the nymphs who dance 
On Achelous' banks, although to stone 
Transform'd, she broods her heaven-inflicted woes. 
Come, then, my venerable guest ! take we 
Refreshment also ; once arrived in Troy 
With thy dear son, thou shalt have time to weep 
Sufficient, nor without most weighty cause. 


THE ILIAD. 


397 


So spake Achilles, and, upstarting, slew 
A sheep white-fleeced, which his attendants flay'd, 
And busily and with much skill their task 
Administering, first scored the viands well, 
Then pierced them with the spits, and when the 

roast 
Was finish'd, drew them from the spits again. 
And now, Automedon dispensed around 
The polish'd board bread in neat baskets piled, 
Which done, Achilles portion'd out to each 
His share, and all assail'd the ready feast. 
But when nor hunger more nor thirst they felt, 
Dardanian Priam, wond'ring at his bulk 
And beauty, (for he seem'd some god from heaven) 
Gazed on Achilles, while Achilles held 
Not less in admiration of his looks 
Benign, and of his gentle converse wise, 
Gazed on Dardanian Priam, and, at length, 
(The eyes of each gratified to the full) 
The ancient king thus to Achilles spake. 

Hero ! dismiss us now each to our bed, 
That there at ease reclined, we may enjoy 
Sweet sleep ; for never have these eyelids closed 
Since Hector fell and died, but without cease 
I mourn, and nourishing unnumber'd woes, 
Have roll'd me in the ashes of my courts. 
But I have now both tasted food, and given 
Wine to my lips, untasted till with thee. 

So he, and at his word Achilles bade 
His train beneath his portico prepare 
With all dispatch two couches, purple rugs, 
And arras, and warm mantles over all. 
Forth went the women bearing lights, and spread 
A couch for each, when feigning needful fear 1 , 
Achilles thus his speech to Priam turn'd. 

My aged guest beloved ! sleep thou without ; 
Lest some Achaian chief (for such are wont 
Oft-times, here sitting, to consult with me) 
Hither repair ; of whom should any chance 
To spy thee through the gloom, he would at once 
Convey the tale to Agamemnon's ear, 
Whence hindrance might arise, and the release 
Haply of Hector's body be delay 'd. 
But answer me with truth. How many days 
Would'st thou assign to the funereal rites 
Of noble Hector, for so long I mean 
Myself to rest, and keep the host at home ? 

Then thus the ancient king godlike replied. 
If thou indeed be willing that we give 
Burial to noble Hector, by an act 
So generous, Achilles ! me thou shalt 
Much gratify ; for we are shut, thou know'st, 
In Ilium close, and fuel must procure 
From Ida's side remote ; fear, too, hath seized 
On all our people. Therefore thus I say. 
Nine days we wish to mourn him in the house ; 
To his interment we would give the tenth, 
And to the public banquet ; the eleventh 
Shall see us build his tomb ; and on the twelfth 
(If war we must) we will to war again. 

To whom Achilles, matchless in the race. 
So be it, ancient Priam ! I will curb 
Twelve days the rage of war, at thy desire. 

He spake, and at his wrist the right hand grasp'd 

1 'ETTiKspTo/xiccv. Clarke renders the word in this 
place, /also metu ludens, and Eustathius says that Achilles 
suggested such cause of fear to Priam, to excuse his lodg- 
ing him in an exterior part of the tent. The general 
import of the Greek word is sarcastic, hut here it signifies 
rather — to intimidate. See also Dacier. 


Of the old sovereign, to dispel his fear. 
Then in the vestibule the herald slept 
And Priam, prudeut both, but Peleus' son 
In the interior tent, and at his side 
Briseis, with transcendent beauty adorn'd. 

Now all, all night, by gentle sleep subdued, 
Both gods and chariot-ruling warriors lay, 
But not the benefactor of mankind, 
Hermes ; him sleep seized not, but deep he mused 
How likeliest from amid the Greecian fleet 
He might deliver by the guard unseen 
The king of Ilium ; at his head he stood 
In vision, and the senior thus bespake. 

Ah heedless and secure ! hast thou no dread 
Of mischief, ancient king, that thus by foes 
Thou sleep'st surrounded, lull'd by the consent 
And sufferance of Achilles ? Thou hast given 
Much for redemption of thy darling son, 
But thrice that sum thy sons who still survive 
Must give to Agamemnon and the Greeks 
For thy redemption, should they know thee here. 

He ended ; at the sound alarm'd upsprang 
The king, and roused his herald. Hermes yoked 
Himself both mules and steeds, and through the 
Drove them incontinent, by all unseen. [camp 

Soon as the windings of the stream they reach'd, 
Deep-eddied Xanthus, progeny of Jove, 
Mercury the Olympian summit sought, 
And saffron-vested morn o'erspread the earth. 
They, loud lamenting to the city drove 
Their steeds; the mules close follow'd with the 

dead. 
Nor warrior yet, nor cinctured matron knew 
Of all in Ilium aught of their approach, 
Cassandra sole except. She, beautiful 
As golden Venus, mounted on the height 
Of Pergamus, her father first discern'd, 
Borne on his chariot-seat erect, and knew 
The herald heard so oft in echoing Troy ; 
Him also on his bier outstretch'd she mark'd, 
Whom the mules drew. Then shrieking, through 

the streets 
She ran of Troy, and loud proclaim'd the sight. 

Ye sons of Ilium and ye daughters, haste, 
Haste all to look on Hector, if ye e'er 
With joy beheld him, while he yet survived, 
From fight returning ; for all Ilium erst 
In him, and all her citizens rejoiced. 

She spake. Then neither male nor female more 
In Troy remain'd, such sorrow seized on all. 
Issuing from the city -gate, they met 
Priam conducting, sad, the body home, 
And, foremost of them all, the mother flew 
And wife of Hector to the bier, on which 
Their torn-off tresses with unsparing hands 
They shower'd, while all the people wept around. 
All day, and to the going down of day 
They thus had mourn'd the dead before the gates, 
Had not their sovereign from his chariot-seat 
Thus spoken to the multitude around. 

Fall back on either side, and let the mules 
Pass on ; the body in my palace once 
Deposited, ye then may weep your fill. 

He said ; they, opening, gave the litter way. 
Arrived within the royal house, they stretch'd 
The breathless Hector on a sumptuous bed, 
And singers placed beside him, who should chaunt 
The strain funereal ; they with many a groan 
The dirge began, and still, at every close, 
The female train with many a groan replied. 


398 


THE ILIAD. 


Then, in the midst, Andromache white-arm'd 
Between her palms the dreadful Hector's head 
Pressing, her lamentation thus began. 

My hero ! thou hast fallen in prime of life, 
Me leaving here desolate, and the fruit 
Of our ill-fated loves, an helpless child, 
Whom grown to manhood I despair to see. 
For ere that day arrive, down from her height 
Precipitated shall this city fall, 
Since thou hast perish'd once, her sure defence, 
Faithful protector of her spotless wives, 
And all their little ones. Those wives shall soon 
In Greecian barks capacious hence be borne, 
And I among the rest. But thee, my child ! 
Either thy fate shall with thy mother send 
Captive into a land where thou shalt serve 
In sordid drudgery some cruel lord, 
Or haply some Achaian here, thy hand 
Seizing, shall hurl thee from a turret-top 
To a sad death, avenging brother, son, 
Or father by the hands of Hector slain ; 
For he made many a Greecian bite the ground. 
Thy father, boy, bore never into fight 
A milky mind, and for that self -same cause 
Is now bewail'd in every house of Troy. 
Sorrow unutterable thou hast caused 
Thy parents, Hector ! but to me hast left 
Largest bequest of misery, to whom, 
Dying, thou neither didst thy arms extend 
Forth from thy bed, nor gavest me precious word 
To be remember'd day and night with tears. 

So spake she weeping, whom her maidens all 
With sighs accompanied, and her complaint 
Mingled with sobs Hecuba next began. 

Ah Hector ! dearest to thy mother's heart 
Of all her sons, much must the gods have loved 
Thee living, whom, though dead, they thus preserve. 
What son soever of our house beside 
Achilles took, over the barren deep 
To Samos, Imbrus, or to Lemnos girt 
With rocks inhospitable, him he sold ; 
But thee, by his dread spear of life deprived, 
He dragg'd and dragg'd around Patroclus' tomb, 
As if to raise again his friend to life 
Whom thou hadst vanquish 'd ; yet he raised him 
But as for thee, thou liest here with dew [not. 
Besprinkled, fresh as a young plant", and more 
Resemblest some fair youth by gentle shafts 
Of Phoebus pierced, than one in battle slam. 

So spake the queen, exciting in all hearts 
Sorrow immeasurable, after whom 
Thus Helen, third, her lamentation pour'd. 

Ah, dearer far than all my brothers else 
Of Priam's house ! for being Paris' spouse, 
Who brought me (would I had first died !) to Troy, 
I call thy brothers mine ; since forth I came 

i This, according to the Scholiast, is a probable sense of 
irpScrQaros. — lie derives it airh twv vewaTl Trecpacr- 
fj.tvwv 4k yrjs (pvrwv. — See Villoisson. 


From Sparta, it is now the twentieth year, 
Yet never heard I once hard speech from thee, 
Or taunt morose, but if it ever chanced, 
That of thy father's house female or male 
Blamed me, and even if herself the queen, 
(For in the king, whate'er befel, I .found 
Always a father) thou hast interposed 
Thy gentle temper and thy gentle speech 
To soothe them ; therefore, with the same sad drops 
Thy fate, oh Hector ! and my own I weep ; 
For other friend within the ample bounds 
Of Ilium have I none, nor hope to hear 
Kind word again, with horror view'd by all. 

So Helen spake weeping, to whom with groans 
The countless multitude replied, and thus 
Their ancient sovereign next his people charged. 

Ye Trojans, now bring fuel home, nor fear 
Close ambush of the Greeks ; Achilles' self 
Gave me, at my dismission from his fleet, 
Assurance, that from hostile force secure 
We shall remain, till the twelfth dawn arise. 

All, then, their mules and oxen to the wains 
Join'd speedily, and under Ilium's walls 
Assembled numerous ; nine whole days they toil'd, 
Bringing much fuel home, and when the tenth 
Bright morn, with light for human kind, arose, 
Then bearing noble Hector forth, with tears 
Shed copious, on the summit of the pile 
They placed him, and the fuel fired beneath. 

But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Redden'd the east, then, thronging forth, all Troy 
Encompass'd noble Hector's pile around. 
The whole vast multitude convened, with wine 
They quench 'd the pile throughout, leaving no part 
Unvisited, on which the fire had seized. 
His brothers, next, collected, and his friends, 
His white bones, mourning, and with tears profuse 
Watering their cheeks ; then in a golden urn 
They placed them, which with mantles soft they 
Mseonian-hued, and, delving, buried it, [veil'd 
And overspread with stones the spot adust. 
Lastly, short time allowing to the task, 
They heap'd his tomb, while, posted on all sides, 
Suspicious of assault, spies watch'd the Greeks. 
The tomb once heap'd, assembling all again 
Within the palace, they a banquet shared 
Magnificent, by godlike Priam given. 

Such burial the illustrious Hector found 2 . 


2 e Hs o'ly' a/JLCpUirov Td<pov v EKTopos i7T7ro5a,uoio. 

I cannot take my leave of this noble poem, without 
expressing how much I am struck with this plain con- 
clusion of it. It is like the exit of a great man out of 
company whom he has entertained magnificently ; neither 
pompous nor familiar; not contemptuous, yet without 
much ceremony. I recollect nothing, among the works of 
mere man, that exemplifies so strongly the true style of 
great antiquity. 


END OF THE ILIAO. 


THL] 


ODYSSEY OF HOMER, 


TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BLANK VERSE. 


RIGHT HONOURABLE COUNTESS DOWAGER SPENCER, 

THE FOLLOWING 

TRANSLATION OF THE ODYSSEY, 

A POEM THAT EXHIBITS 

IN THE CHARACTER OF ITS HEROINE AN EXAMPLE OF ALL DOMESTIC VIRTUE, 

IS WITH EQUAL PROPRIETY AND RESPECT 

INSCRIBED 

BY HER LADYSHIP'S 

MOST DEVOTED SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


BOOK I. 

ARGUMENT. 

In a council of the gods, Minerva calls their attention to 
Ulysses, still a wanderer. They resolve to grant him a 
safe return to Ithaca. Minerva descends to encourage 
Telemachus, and in the form of Mentes directs him in 
what manner to proceed. Throughout this book the 
extravagance and profligacy of the suitors are occasion- 
ally suggested. 

Muse, make the man thy theme, for shrewdness 
And genius versatile, who far and wide [famed 
A wanderer, after Ilium overthrown, 
Discovered various cities, and the mind 
And manners learn'd of men in lands remote. 
He numerous woes, on ocean toss'd, endured, 
Anxious to save himself, and to conduct 
His followers to their home ; yet all his care 
Preserved them not ; they perish'd self-destroy'd 
By their own fault ; infatuate ! who devour'd 
The oxen of the all-o'erseeing Sun, 
And, punish'd for that crime, return'd no more. 
Daughter divine of Jove, these things recox*d, 
As it may please thee, even in our ears. 

The rest, all those who had perdition 'scaped 
By war or on the deep, dwelt now at home ; 
Him only, of his country and his wife 
Alike desirous, in her hollow grots 
Calypso, goddess beautiful, detain'd 
Wooing him to her arms. But when, at length, 
(Many a long year elapsed) the year arrived 
Of his return (by the decree of Heaven) 
To Ithaca, not even then had he, 
Although surrounded by his people, reach'd 
The period of his sufferings and his toils. 
Yet all the gods, with pity moved, beheld 
His woes, save Neptune ; he alone with wrath 
Unceasing and implacable pursued 
Godlike Ulysses to his native shores. 
But Neptune, now, the ^Ethiopians sought, 
(The ^Ethiopians, utmost of mankind, 
These eastward situate, those toward the west) 
Call'd to an hecatomb of bulls and lambs. 
There sitting, pleased he banqueted ; the gods 
In Jove's abode, meantime, assembled all, 
'Midst whom the sire of heaven and earth began. 
For he recall'd to mind ^Egisthus slain 
By Agamemnon's celebrated son 
Orestes, and retracing in his thought 
That dread event, the immortals thus address'd. 

Alas ! how prone are human-kind to blame 
The powers of heaven ! From us, they say, proceed 
The ills which they endure, yet more than Fate 
Herself inflicts, by their own crimes incur. 
So now iEgisthus, by no force constrain'd 
Of destiny, Atrides' wedded wife 
Took to himself, and him at his return 
Slew, not unwarn'd of his own dreadful end 


By us ; for we commanded Hermes down 
The watchful Argicide, who bade him fear 
Alike, to slay the king, or woo the queen ; 
For that Atrides' son Orestes, soon 
As grown mature, and eager to assume 
His sway imperial, should avenge the deed. 
So Hermes spake, but his advice moved not 
iEgisthus, on whose head the whole arrear 
Of vengeance heap'd, at last, hath therefore fallen. 

Whom answer'd then Pallas coerulean-eyed. 
Oh Jove, Saturnian sire, o'er all supreme ! 
And well he merited the death he found ; 
So perish all who shall, like him, offend. 
But with a bosom anguish-rent I view 
Ulysses, hapless chief, who from his friends 
Remote, affliction hath long time endured 
In yonder woodland isle, the central boss 
Of ocean. That retreat a goddess holds, 
Daughter of sapient Atlas, who the abyss 
Knows to its bottom, and the pillars high 
Himself upbears which separate earth from heaven. 
His daughter, there, the sorrowing chief detains, 
And ever with smooth speech insidious seeks 
To wean his heart from Ithaca ; meantime 
Ulysses, happy might he but behold 
The smoke ascending from his native land, 
Death covets. Canst thou not, Olympian Jove ! 
At last relent ? Hath not Ulysses oft 
With victims slain amid Achaia's fleet 
Thee gratified while yet at Troy he fought ? 
How hath he then so deep incensed thee, Jove ? 

To whom the cloud-assembler god replied. 
What word hath pass'd thy lips, daughter beloved ? 
Can I forget Ulysses ? Him forget 
So noble, who in wisdom all mankind 
Excels, and who hath sacrificed so oft 
To us whose dwelling is the boundless heaven ? 
Earth-circling Neptune — he it is whose wrath 
Pursues him ceaseless for the Cyclops' sake 
Polypheme, strongest of the giant race, 
Whom of his eye Ulysses hath deprived. 
For him, Thoosa bore, Nymph of the sea 
From Phorcys sprung, by Ocean's mighty power 
Impregnated in caverns of the deep. 
E'er since that day, the shaker of the shores, 
Although he slay him not, yet devious drives 
Ulysses from his native isle afar. 
Yet come — in full assembly his return 
Contrive we now, both means and prosperous end ; 
So Neptune shall his wrath remit, whose power 
In contest with the force of all the gods 
Exerted single, can but strive in vain. 

To whom Minerva, goddess azure-eyed. 
Oh Jupiter ! above all kings enthroned ! 
If the immortals ever-blest ordain 
That wise Ulysses to his home return, 
Dispatch we then Hermes the Argicide, 
Our messenger, hence to Ogygia's isle, 
Who shall inform Calypso, nymph divine, 


402 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Of this our fixt resolve, that to his home 

Ulysses, toil-enduring chief, repair. 

Myself will hence to Ithaca, meantime, 

His son to animate, and with new force 

Inspire, that (the Achaians all convened 

In council) he may, instant, bid depart 

The suitors from his home, who, day by day, 

His numerous flocks and fatted herds consume. 

And I will send him thence to Sparta forth, 

And into sandy Pylus, there to hear 

(If hear he may) some tidings of his sire, 

And to procure himself a glorious name. 

This said, her golden sandals to her feet 
She bound, ambrosial, which o'er all the earth 
And o'er the moist flood waft her fleet as air ; 
Then, seizing her strong spear pointed with brass, 
In length and bulk and weight a matchless beam, 
With which the Jove-born goddess levels ranks 
Of heroes, against whom her anger burns, 
From the Olympian summit down she flew, 
And on the threshold of Ulysses' hall 
In Ithaca, and within his vestibule 
Apparent stood ; there, grasping her bright spear, 
Mentes ' she seem'd, the hospitable chief 
Of Taphos' isle. She found the haughty throng 
The suitors ; they before the palace gate 
With ivory cubes sported, on numerous hides 
Reclined of oxen which themselves had slain. 
The heralds and the busy menials there 
Minister'd to them ; these their mantling cups 
With water slaked ; with bibulous sponges those 
Made clean the tables, set the banquet on, 
And portion'd out to each his plenteous share. 
Long ere the rest Telemachus himself 
Mark'd her, for sad amid them all he sat, 
Pourtraying in deep thought contemplative 
His noble sire, and questioning if yet 
Perchance the hero might return to chase 
From all his palace that imperious herd, 
To his own honour lord of his own home. 
Amid them musing thus, sudden he saw 
The goddess, and sprang forth, for he abhorr'd 
To see a guest's admittance long delay'd ; 
Approaching eager, her right hand he seized, 
The brazen spear took from her, and in words 
With welcome wing'd Minerva thus address'd. 

Stranger, all hail ! to share our cordial love 
Thou comest ; the banquet finish'd, thou shalt next 
Inform me wherefore thou hast here arrived. 

So saying, toward the spacious hall he moved, 
Follow'd by Pallas, and, arriving soon 
Beneath the lofty roof, placed her bright spear 
Within a pillar's cavity, long time 
The armoury where many a spear had stood, 
Bright weapons of his own illustrious sire. 
Then, leading her toward a footstool'd throne 
Magnificent, which first he overspread 
With linen, there he seated her, apart 
From that rude throng, and for himself disposed 
A throne of various colours at her side, 
Lest, stunn'd with clamour of the lawless band, 
The new-arrived should loth perchance to eat, 
And that more free he might the stranger's ear 
With questions of his absent sire address. 
And now a maiden charged with golden ewer, 

i We are told that Homer was under obligations to 
Mentes, who had frequently given him a passage in his 
ship to different countries which he wished to see, for 
which reason he has here immortalized him. 


And with an argent laver, pouring first 

Pure water on their hands, supplied them, next, 

With a resplendent table, which the chaste 

Directress of the stores furnish'd with bread 

And dainties, remnants of the last regale. 

Then, in his turn, the sewer 2 with savoury meats, 

Dish after dish, served them, of various kinds, 

And golden cups beside the chargers placed, 

Which the attendant herald fill'd with wine. 

Ere long, in rush'd the suitors, and the thrones 

And couches occupied, on all whose hands 

The heralds pour'd pure water ; then the maids 

Attended them with bread in baskets heap'd, 

And eager they assail'd the ready feast. 

At length, when neither thirst nor hunger more 

They felt unsatisfied, to new delights 

Their thoughts they turn'd, to song and sprightly 

Enlivening sequel of the banquet's joys, [dance, 

An herald, then, to Phemius' hand consign'd 

His beauteous lyre ; he through constraint regaled 

The suitors with his song, and while the chords 

He struck in prelude to his pleasant strains, 

Telemachus his head inclining nigh 

To Pallas' ear, lest others should his words 

Witness, the blue-eyed goddess thus bespake. 

My inmate and my friend ! far from my lips 
Be every word that might displease thine ear ! 
The song — the harp — what can they less than charm 
These wantons ? who the bread unpurchased eat 
Of one whose bones on yonder continent 
Lie mouldering, drench'd by all the showers of 
Or roll at random in the billowy deep, [heaven, 
Ah ! could they see him once to his own isle 
Restored, both gold and raiment they would wish 
Far less, and nimbleness of foot instead. 
But he, alas ! hath by a wretched fate 
Past question perish'd, and what news soe'er 
We hear of his return, kindles no hope 
In us, convinced that he returns no more. 
But answer undissembling ; tell me true ; [where 
Who art thou ? whence ? where stands thy city ? 
Thy father's mansion ? In what kind of ship 
Camest thou ? Why steer'd the mariners their course 
To Ithaca, and of what land are they? 
For that on foot thou found'st us not, is sure. 
This also tell me, hast thou now arrived 
New to our isle, or wast thou heretofore 
My father's guest ? since many to our house 
Resorted in those happier days, for he 
Drew powerful to himself the hearts of all. 

Then Pallas thus, goddess coerulean-eyed. 
I will with all simplicity of truth 
Thy questions satisfy. Behold in me 
Mentes, the offspring of a chief renown'd 
In war, Anchialus ; and I rule, myself, 
An island race, the Taphians oar-expert. 
With ship and mariners I now arrive, 
Seeking a people of another tongue 
Athwart the gloomy flood, in quest of brass 
For which I barter steel, ploughing the waves 
To Temesa. My ship beneath the woods 
Of Ne'ius, at yonder field that skirts 
Your city, in the haven Rhethrus rides. 
We are hereditary guests ; our sires 
Were friends long since ; as, when thou seest him 
The hero old Laertes will avouch, [next, 

Of whom, I learn, that he frequents no more 

2 Milton uses the word— 

Sewers and seneschals. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


403 


The city now, but in sequester'd scenes 
Dwells sorrowful, and by an ancient dame 
With food and drink supplied oft as he feels 
Refreshment needful to him, while he creeps 
Between the rows of his luxuriant vines. 
But I have come drawn hither by report, 
Which spake thy sire arrived, though still it seems 
The adverse gods his homeward course retard. 
For not yet breathless lies the noble chief, 
But in some island of the boundless flood 
Resides a prisoner, by barbarous force 
Of some rude race detain' d reluctant there. 
And I will now foreshow thee what the gods 
Teach me, and what, though neither augur skill'd 
Nor prophet, I yet trust shall come to pass. 
He shall not, henceforth, live an exile long 
From his own shores, no, not although in bands 
Of iron held, but will ere long contrive 
His own return ; for in expedients, framed 
With wondrous ingenuity, he abounds. 
But tell me true ; art thou, in stature such, 
Son of himself Ulysses? for thy face 
And eyes bright-sparkling, strongly indicate 
Ulysses in thee. Frequent have we both 
Conversed together thus, thy sire and I, 
Ere yet he went to Troy, the mark to which 
So many princes of Achaia steer'd. 
Him since I saw not, nor Ulysses me. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Stranger ! I tell thee true ; my mother's voice 
Affirms me his, but, since no mortal knows 
His derivation, I affirm it not. 
Would I had been son of some happier sire, 
Ordain'd in calm possession of his own 
To reach the verge of life. But now, report 
Proclaims me his, whom I of all mankind 
Unhappiest deem. — Thy question is resolved. 

Then answer thus Pallas blue-eyed return'd. 
From no ignoble race, in future days, 
The gods shall prove thee sprung, whom so endow'd 
With every grace Penelope hath borne. 
But tell me true. What festival is this ? 
This throng, — whence are they? wherefore hast 

thou need 
Of such a multitude ? Behold I here 
A banquet, or a nuptial feast ? for these 
Meet not by contribution '- to regale, 
With such brutality and din they hold 
Their riotous banquet ! A wise man and good 
Arriving, now, among them, at the sight 
Of such enormities would much be wroth. 

To whom replied Telemachus discreet. 
Since, stranger ! thou hast ask'd, learn also this. 
While yet Ulysses with his people dwelt, 
His presence warranted the hope that here 
Virtue should dwell and opulence ; but heaven 
Hath cast for us, at length, a different lot, 
And he is lost, as never man before. 
For I should less lament even his death, 
Had he among his friends at Ilium fallen, 
Or in the arms of his companions died, 
Troy's siege accomplish'd. Then his tomb the 
Of every tribe had built, and for his son [Greeks 
He had immortal glory achieved ; but now, 

1 Epavos, a convivial meeting, at which every man 
paid his portion, at least contributed something; but it 
seems to have been a meeting at which strict sobriety was 
observed, else Pallas would not have inferred from the 
noise and riot of this, that it was not such a one. 


By harpies torn inglorious, beyond reach 

Of eye or ear he lies ; and hath to me 

Grief only, and unceasing sighs bequeath'd. 

Nor mourn I for his sake alone ; the gods 

Have plann'd for me still many a woe beside ; 

For all the rulers of the neighbour isles, 

Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown'd 

Zacynthus, others also, rulers here 

In craggy Ithaca, my mother seek 

In marriage, and my household stores consume. 

But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr'd 

Refuses absolute, nor yet consents 

To end them ; they my patrimony waste 

Meantime, and will not long spare even me. 

To whom, with deep commiseration pang'd 
Pallas replied. Alas ! great need hast thou 
Of thy long absent father to avenge 
These numerous wrongs ; for could he now appear 
There, at yon portal, arm'd with helmet, shield, 
And grasping his two spears, such as when first 
I saw him drinking joyous at our board, 
From Ilus son of Mermeris, who dwelt 
In distant Ephyre, just then return'd, 
(For thither also had Ulysses gone 
In his swift bark, seeking some poisonous drug 
Wherewith to taint his brazen arrows keen, 
Which drug through fear of the eternal gods 
Ilus refused him, and my father free 
Gave to him, for he loved him past belief ;) 
Could now, Ulysses, clad in arms as then, 
Mix with these suitors, short his date of life 
To each, and bitter should his nuptials prove. 
But these events, whether he shall return 
To take just vengeance under his own roof, 
Or whether not, lie all in the gods' lap. 
Meantime I counsel thee, thyself to think 
By what means likeliest thou shalt expel 
These from thy doors. Now mark me : close attend. 
To-morrow, summoning the Greecian chiefs 
To council, speak to them, and call the gods 
To witness that solemnity. Bid go 
The suitors hence, each to his own abode. 
Thy mother — if her purpose be resolved 
On marriage, let her to the house return 
Of her own potent father, who, himself, 
Shall furnish forth her matrimonial rites, 
And ample dower, such as it well becomes 
A darling daughter to receive, bestow. 
But hear me now ; thyself I thus advise. 
The prime of all thy ships preparing, mann'd 
With twenty rowers, voyage hence to seek 
Intelligence of thy long-absent sire. 
Some mortal may inform thee, or a word ? , 
Perchance, by Jove directed (safest source 
Of notice to mankind) may reach thine ear. 
First voyaging to Pylus, there inquire 
Of noble Nestor ; thence to Sparta tend, 
To question Menelaus amber-hair'd, 
Latest arrived of all the host of Greece. 
There should'st thou learn that still thy father 

lives, 
And hope obtain of his return, although 
Distress'd, thou wilt be patient yet a year. 
But should'st thou there hear tidings that he 

breathes 


2l, 0<ro-a — a word spoken, with respect to the speaker, 

casually ; but with reference to the inquirer supposed to 

be sent for his information by the especial appointment 

and providential favour of the gods. 

d d 2 


404 


THE ODYSSEY. 


No longer, to thy native isle return'd, 

First heap his tomb ; then with such pomp perform 

His funeral rites as his great name demands, 

And make thy mother's spousals, next, thy care. 

These duties satisfied, deliberate last 

"Whether thou shalt these troublers of thy house 

By stratagem, or by assault, destroy : 

For thou art now no child, nor longer may'st 

Sport like one. Hast thou not the proud report 

Heard, how Orestes hath renown acquired 

With all mankind, his father's murtherer 

./Egisthus slaying, the deceiver base 

Who slaughter'd Agamemnon ? Oh my friend ! 

(For with delight thy vigorous growth I view, 

And just proportion) be thou also bold, 

And merit praise from ages yet to come. 

But I will to my vessel now repair, 

And to my mariners, whom, absent long, 

I may perchance have troubled. Weigh thou well 

My counsel ; let not my advice be lost. 

To whom Telemachus discreet replied. 
Stranger ! thy words bespeak thee much my friend, 
Who, as a father teaches his own son, 
Hast taught me, and I never will forget. 
But, though in haste thy voyage to pursue, 
Yet stay, that in the bath refreshing first 
Thy limbs now weary, thou may'st sprightlier seek 
Thy gallant bark, charged with some noble gift 
Of fmish'd workmanship, which thou shalt keep 
As my memorial ever ; such a boon 
As men confer on guests whom much they love. 

Then Pallas thus, goddess ccerulean-eyed. 
Retard me not, for go I must ; the gift 
Which liberal thou desirest to bestow, 
Give me at my return, that I may bear 
The treasure home ; and, in exchange, thyself 
Expect some gift equivalent from me. 

She spake, and as with eagle-wings upborne, 
Vanish'd incontinent, but him inspired 
With daring fortitude, and on his heart 
Dearer remembrance of his sire impress'd 
Than ever. Conscious of the wonderous change, 
Amazed he stood, and in his secret thought 
Revolving all, believed his guest a god. 
The youthful hero to the suitors then 
Repair'd ; they silent, listen'd to the song 
Of the illustrious bard ; he the return 
Deplorable of the Achaian host 
From Ilium by command of Pallas, sang. 
Penelope, Icarius' daughter, mark'd 
Meantime the song celestial, where she sat 
I In the superior palace ; down she came, 
By all the numerous steps of her abode ; 
Not sole, for two fair handmaids follow'd her. 
She then, divinest of her sex, arrived 
In presence of that lawless throng, beneath 
The portal of her stately mansion stood, 
Between her maidens, and with lucid veil 
Her lovely features mantling. There, profuse 
She wept, and thus the sacred bard bespake. 

Phemius ! for many a sorrow-soothing strain 
Thou know'st beside, such as exploits record 
Of gods and men, the poet's frequent theme ; 
Give them of those a song, and let themselves 
Their wine drink noiseless ; but thismournful strain 
Break off, unfriendly to my bosom's peace, 
And which of all hearts nearest touches mine ; 
With such regret my dearest lord I mourn, 
Remembering still an husband praised from side 
To side, and in the very heart of Greece. 


Then answer thus Telemachus return'd. 
My mother ! wherefore should it give thee pain 
If the delightful bard that theme pursue 
To which he feels his mind impell'd? the bard 
Blame not, but rather Jove, who, as he wills, 
Materials for poetic art supplies. 
No fault is his, if the disastrous fate 
He sing of the Achaians, for the song 
Wins ever from the hearers most applause 
That has been least in use. Of all who fought 
At Troy, Ulysses hath not lost, alone, 
His day of glad return ; but many a chief 
Hath perish'd also. Seek thou then again 
Thy own apartment, spindle ply and loom, 
And task thy maidens ; management belongs 
To men of joys convivial, and of men 
Especially to me, chief ruler here. 

She heard astonish'd ; and the prudent speech 
Reposing of her son deep in her heart, 
Again with her attendant maidens sought 
Her upper chamber. There arrived, she wept 
Her lost Ulysses, till Minerva bathed 
Her weary lids in dewy sleep profound. 
Then echoed through the palace dark-bedimm'd 
With evening shades, the suitors' boisterous roar, 
For each the royal bed burn'd to partake, 
Whom thus Telemachus discreet address'd. 

All ye my mother's suitors, though addict 
To contumacious wrangling fierce, suspend 
Your clamour, for a course to me it seems 
More decent far, when such a bard as this, 
Godlike for sweetness, sings, to hear his song. 
To-morrow meet we in full council all, 
That I may plainly warn you to depart 
From this our mansion. Seek ye where ye may 
Your feasts ; consume your own, alternate fed 
Each at the other's cost ; but if it seem 
Wisest in your account and best, to eat 
Voracious thus the patrimonial goods 
Of one man, rendering i no account of all, 
Bite to the roots ; but know that I will cry 
Ceaseless to the eternal gods, in hope 
That Jove, for retribution of the wrong, 
Shall doom you, where you have intruded, there 
To bleed, and of your blood ask l no account. 

He ended, and each gnaw'd his lip, aghast 
At his undaunted hardiness of speech. 

Then thus Antinous spake, Eupithes' son. 
Telemachus ! the gods, methinks, themselves 
Teach thee sublimity, and to pronounce 
Thy matter fearless. Ah forbid it, Jove ! 
That one so eloquent should with the weight 
Of kingly cares in Ithaca be charged, 
A realm, by claim hereditary, thine. 

Then prudent thus Telemachus replied. 
Although my speech, Antinous, may, perchance, 
Provoke thee, know that I am not averse 
From kingly cares, if <Jove appoint me such. 
Seems it to thee a burthen to be fear'd 
By men above all others ? trust me, no. 
There is no ill in royalty ; the man 
So station'd, waits not long ere he obtain 
Riches and honour. But I grant that kings 
Of the Achaians may no few be found 

i There is in the original an evident stress laid on the 
word N^7ro/voi, which is used in hoth places. It was a 
sort of Lex Talionis which Telemachus hoped might be 
put in force against them ; and that Jove would demand 
no satisfaction for the lives of those who made him none 
for the waste of his property. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


405 


In sea-girt Ithaca both young and old, 
Of whom since great Ulysses is no more, 
Reign whoso may ! but king, myself, I am 
In my own house, and over all my own 
Domestics, by Ulysses gain'd for me. 

To whom Eurymachus replied, the son 
Of Polybus. What Greecian chief shall reign 
In sea-girt Ithaca, must be referr'd 
To the gods' will, Telemachus ! meantime 
Thou hast unquestionable right to keep 
Thy own, and to command in thy own house. 
May never that man on her shores arrive, 
While an inhabitant shall yet be left 
In Ithaca, who shall by violence wrest 
Thine from thee. But permit me, noble sir ! 
To ask thee of thy guest. Whence came the man ? 
What country claims him ? Where are to be found 
His kindred and his patrimonial fields ? 
Brings he glad tidings of thy sire's approach 
Homeward ? or came he to receive a debt 
Due to himself ? How swift he disappear'd ! 
Nor opportunity to know him gave 
To those who wish'd it ; for his face and air 
Him speak not of plebeian birth obscure. 

Whom answer'd thus Telemachus discreet. 
Eurymachus ! my father comes no more. 
I can no longer, now, tidings believe, 
If such arrive ; nor heed I more the song 
Of sooth-sayers whom my mother may consult. 
But this my guest hath known in other days 
My father, and he came from Taphos, son 
Of brave Anchialus, Mentes by name, 
And chief of the sea-practised Taphian race. 

So spake Telemachus, but in his heart 
Knew well his guest a goddess from the skies. 
Then they to dance and heart-enlivening song 
Turn'd joyous, waiting the approach of eve, 
And dusky evening found them joyous still. 
Then each to his own house retiring, sought 
Needful repose. Meantime Telemachus 
To his own lofty chamber, built in view 
Of the wide hall, retired ; but with a heart 
In various musings occupied intense. 
Sage Euryclea bearing in each hand 
A torch, preceded him ; her sire was Ops, 
Pisenors son, and in her early prime, 
At his own cost Laertes made her his, 
Paying with twenty beeves her purchase-price. 
Nor in less honour than his spotless wife 
He held her ever, but his consort's wrath 
Fearing, at no time call'd her to his bed. 
She bore the torches, and with truer heart 
Loved him than any of the female train, 
For she had nursed him in his infant years. 
He open'd his broad chamber- valves, and sat 
On his couch-side ; then, putting off his vest 
Of softest texture,"placed it in the hands 
Of the attendant dame discreet, who first 
Folding it with exactest care, beside 
His bed suspended it, and, going forth, 
Drew by its silver ring the portal close, 
And fasten'd it with bolt and brace secure. 
There lay Telemachus, on finest wool 
Reposed, contemplating all night his course 
Prescribed by Pallas to the Pylian shore. 


BOOK II. 


ARGUMENT. 

Telemachus having convened an assembly of the Greecians, 
publicly calls on the suitors to relinquish the house of 
Ulysses. During the continuance of the council he has 
much to suffer from the petulance of the suitors, from 
whom, having informed them of his design to undertake 
a voyage in hope to obtain news of Ulysses, he asks a 
ship, with all things necessary for the purpose. He is 
refused, but is afterwards furnished with what he wants 
by Minerva, in the form of Mentor. He embarks in the 
evening without the privity of his mother, and the god- 
dess sails with him. 


Aurora, rosy daughter of the dawn, 
Now tinged the east, when, habited again, 
Uprose Ulysses' offspring from his bed. 
Athwart his back his falchion keen he slung, 
His sandals bound to his unsullied feet, 
And, godlike, issued from his chamber-door. 
At once the clear-voiced heralds he enjoin'd 
To call the Greeks to council ; they aloud 
Gave forth the summons, and the throng began. 
When all were gather' d, and the assembly full, 
Himself, his hand arm'd with a brazen spear, 
Went also ; nor alone he went ; his hounds 
Fleet-footed follow'd him a faithful pair. 
O'er all his form Minerva largely shed 
Majestic grace divine, and, as he went, 
The whole admiring concourse gazed on him. 
The seniors gave him place, and down he sat 
On his paternal throne. Tlaen grave arose 
The hero, old JEgyptius ; bow'd with age 
Was he, and by experience deep-inform'd. 
His son had with Ulysses, godlike chief, 
On board his fleet to steed-famed Ilium gone, 
The warrior Antiphus, whom in his cave 
The savage Cyclops slew, and on his flesh 
At evening made obscene his last regale. 
Three sons he had beside, a suitor one, 
Eurynomus ; the other two, employ 
Found constant managing their sire's concerns. 
Yet he forgat not, father as he was 
Of these, his absent eldest whom he mourn'd 
Ceaseless, and thus his speech, weeping, began. 

Hear me, ye men of Ithaca, my friends ! 
Nor council here nor session hath been held 
Since great Ulysses left his native shore. 
Who now convenes us ? what especial need 
Hath urged him, whether of our youth he be, 
Or of our senators by age matured ? 
Have tidings reach'd him of our host's return, 
Which here he would divulge ? or brings he aught 
Of public import on a different theme ? 
I deem him, whomsoe'er he be, a man 
Worthy to prosper, and may Jove vouchsafe 
The full performance of his chief desire ! 

He ended, and Telemachus rejoiced 
In that good omen. Ardent to begin. 
He sat not long, but moving to the midst, 
Received the sceptre from Pisenor's hand, 
His prudent herald, and addressing, next, 
The hoary chief ^Egyptius, thus began. 

Not far remote, as thou shalt soon thyself 
Perceive, oh venerable chief ! he stands, 
Who hath convened this council. I, am he. 
I am in chief the sufferer. Tidings none 
Of the returning host I have received, 
Which here I would divulge, nor bring I aught 


406 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Of public import on a different theme, 

But my own trouble, on my own house fallen, 

And two-fold fallen. One is, that I have lost 

A noble father, who, as fathers rule 

Benign their children, govern'd once yourselves ; 

The other, and the more alarming ill, 

With ruin threatens my whole house, and all 

My patrimony with immediate waste. 

Suitors, (their children who in this our isle 

Hold highest rank) importunate besiege 

My mother, though desirous not to wed ; 

And rather than resort to her own sire 

Icarius, who might give his daughter dower, 

And portion her to whom he most approves, 

(A course which, only named, moves their disgust) 

They chuse, assembling all within my gates 

Daily to make my beeves, my sheep, my goats 

Their banquet, and to drink without restraint 

My wine ; whence ruin threatens us and ours ; 

For I have no Ulysses to relieve 

Me and my family from this abuse. 

Ourselves are not sufficient ; we, alas ! 

Too feeble should be found, and yet to learn 

How best to use the little force Ave own ; 

Else, had I power, I would, myself, redress 

The evil ; for it now surpasses far 

All sufferance, now they ravage uncontroll'd, 

Nor show of decency vouchsafe me more. 

Oh be ' ashamed yourselves ; blush at the thought 

Of such reproach as ye shall sure incur 

From all our neighbour states, and fear beside 

The wrath of the immortals, lest they call 

Yourselves one day to a severe account. 

I pray you by Olympian Jove, by her 

Whose voice convenes all councils, and again 

Dissolves them, Themis, that henceforth ye cease, 

That ye permit me, oh my friends ! to wear 

My days in solitary grief away, 

Unless Ulysses, my illustrious sire, 

Hath in his anger any Greecian wrong'd 

Whose wrongs ye purpose to avenge on me, 

Inciting these to plague me. Better far 

Were my condition, if yourselves consumed 

My substance and my revenue ; from you 

I might obtain, perchance, righteous amends 

Hereafter ; you I might with vehement suit 

O'ercome, from house to house pleading aloud 

For recompense, till I at last prevail'd ; 

But now, with darts of anguish ye transfix 

My inmost soul, and I have no redress. 

He spake impassion' d, and to earth cast down 
His sceptre, weeping. Pity at the sight 
Seized all the people ; mute the assembly sat 
Long time, none dared to greet Telemachus 
With answer rough, till of them all, at last, 
Antinoiis, sole arising, thus replied. 

Telemachus, intemperate in harangue, 
High-sounding orator ! it is thy drift 
To make us all odious ; but the offence 
Lies not with us the suitors ; she alone 
Thy mother, who in subtlety excels, 
And deep-wrought subterfuge, deserves the blame 
It is already the third year, and soon 
Shall be the fourth, since with delusive art 
Practising on their minds, she hath deceived 


1 The reader is to be reminded that this is not an as- 
sembly of the suitors only, but a general one, which affords 
Telemachus an opportunity to apply himself to the feelings 
of the Ithacans at large. 


The Greecians ; message after message sent 

Brings hope to each, by turns, and promise fail*, 

But she, meantime, far otherwise intends. 

Her other arts exhausted all, she framed 

This stratagem ; a web of amplest size 

And subtlest woof beginning, thus she spake. 

Princes, my suitors ! since the noble chief 

Ulysses is no more, press not as yet 

My nuptials ; wait till I shall finish, first, 

A funeral robe (lest all my threads decay) 

Which for the ancient hero I prepare, 

Laertes, looking for the mournful hour 

When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest ; 

Else, I the censure dread of all my sex, 

Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud. 

So spake the queen, and unsuspicious, we 

With her request complied. Thenceforth, all day 

She wove the ample web, and by the aid 

Of torches ravel'd it again at night. 

Three years by such contrivance she deceived 

The Greecians ; but when (three whole years 

elapsed) 
The fourth arrived, then conscious of the fraud, 
A damsel of her train told all the truth, 
And her we found raveling the beauteous work. 
Thus, through necessity she hath, at length, 
Perform'd the task, and in her own despight. 
Now therefore, for the information clear 
Of thee thyself, and of the other Greeks, 
We answer. Send thy mother hence, with charge 
That him she wed, on whom her father's choice 
Shall fall, and whom she shall herself approve. 
But if by long procrastination still 
She persevere, wearing our patience out, 
Attentive only to display the gifts 
By Pallas so profusely dealt to her, 
Works of surpassing skill, ingenious thought, 
And subtle shifts, such as no beauteous Greek 
(For aught that we have heard) in ancient times 
E'er practised, Tyro, or Alcmena fair, 
Or fair Mycene, of whom none hi art 
E'er match' d Penelope, although we yield 
To this her last invention little praise, 
Then know, that these her suitors will consume 
So long thy patrimony and thy goods, 
As she her present purpose shall indulge, 
With which the gods inspire her. Great renown 
She to herself insures, but equal woe 
And devastation of thy wealth to thee ; 
For neither to our proper works at home 
Go we, of that be sure, nor yet elsewhere, 
Till him she wed, to whom she most inclines. 
Him prudent, then, answer'd Telemachus. 
Antinoiis ! it is not possible 
That I should thrust her forth against her will, 
Who both produced and rear'd me. Be he dead 
Or still alive, my sire is far remote ; 
And should I, voluntary, hence dismiss 
My mother to Icarius, I must much 
Refund, which hardship were and loss to me. 
So doing, I should also wrath incur 
From my offended sire, and from the gods 
Still more ; for she, departing, would invoke 
Erinnys to avenge her, and reproach 
Beside would follow me from all mankind. 
That word I, therefore never will pronounce. 
No ; if ye judge your treatment at her hands 
Injurious to you, go ye forth yourselves, 
Forsake my mansion ; seek where else ye may 
Your feasts ; consume your own ; alternate feed 


THE ODYSSEY. 


407 


Each at the other's cost. But if it seem 
Wisest in your account and hest to eat 
Voracious thus the patrimonial goods 
Of one man, rendering no account of all, 
Bite to the roots ; but know that I will cry 
Ceaseless to the eternal gods, in hope 
That Jove in retribution of the wrong, 
Shall doom you, where ye have intruded, there 
To bleed, and of your blood ask no account. 

So spake Telemachus, and while he spake, 
The thunderer from a lofty mountain-top 
Turn'd off two eagles ; on the winds, awhile, 
With outspread pinions ample side by side 
They floated ; but, ere long, hovering aloft, 
Right o'er the midst of the assembled chiefs 
They wheel'd around, clang'd all their numerous 

plumes, 
And with a downward look eyeing the throng, 
Death boded, ominous ; then rending each 
The other's face and neck, they sprang at once 
Toward the right, and darted through the town. 
Amazement universal, at that sight, 
Seized the assembly, and with anxious thought 
Each scann'd the future ; amidst whom arose 
The hero Halitherses, ancient seer, 
Offspring of Mastor ; for in judgment he 
Of portents augural, and in forecast 
Unerring, his coevals all excell'd, 
And prudent thus the multitude bespake. 

Ye men of Ithaca, give ear ! hear all ! 
Though chief my speech shall to the suitors look, 
For, on their heads devolved, comes down the woe. 
Ulysses shall not from his friends, henceforth, 
Live absent long, but, hasting to his home, 
Comes even now, and as he comes, designs 
A bloody death for these, whose bitter woes 
No few shall share, inhabitants with us 
Of pleasant Ithaca ; but let us frame 
Effectual means maturely to suppress 
Their violent deeds, or rather let themselves 
Repentant cease ; and soonest shall be best. 
Not inexpert, but well-inform'd I speak 
The future, and the accomplishment announce 
Of all which when Ulysses with the Greeks 
Embark'd for Troy, I to himself foretold. 
I said that, after many woes, and loss 
Of all his people, in the twentieth year, 
Unknown to all, he should regain his home, 
And my prediction shall be now fulfill'd. 

Him, then, Eurymachus thus answer'd rough 
The son of Polybus. Hence to thy house, 
Thou hoary dotard ! there, prophetic, teach 
Thy children to escape woes else to come. 
Birds numerous flutter in the beams of day, 
Not all predictive. Death, far hence remote 
Hath found Ulysses, and I would to heaven 
That, where he died, thyself had perish'd too : 
Thou hadst not then run o'er with prophecy 
As now, nor provocation to the wrath 
Given of Telemachus, in hope to win, 
Perchance, for thine some favour at his hands. 
But I to thee foretel, skill'd as thou art 
In legends old, (nor shall my threat be vain) 
That if by artifice thou move to wrath 
A younger than thyself, no matter whom, 
Woe first the heavier on himself shall fall, 
Nor shalt thou profit him by thy attempt ; 
And we will charge thee also with a mulct, 
Which thou shalt pay with difficulty, and bear 
The burthen of it with an aching heart. 


As for Telemachus, I him advise, 
Myself, and press the measure on his choice 
Earnestly, that he send his mother hence 
To her own father's house, who shall, himself, 
Set forth her nuptial rites, and shall endow 
His daughter sumptuously, and as he ought. 
For this expensive wooing, as I judge, 
Till then shall never cease ; since we regard 
No man — no — not Telemachus, although 
In words exuberant ; neither fear we aught 
Thy vain prognostics, venerable sir ! 
But only hate thee for their sake the more. 
Waste will continue and disorder foul 
Unremedied, so long as she shall hold 
The suitors in suspense, for, day by day, 
Our emulation goads us to the strife, 
Nor shall we, going hence, seek to espouse 
Each his own consort suitable elsewhere. 

To whom, discreet, Telemachus replied. 
Eurymachus, and ye the suitor train 
Illustrious, I have spoken ; ye shall hear 
No more this supplication urged by me. 
The gods, and all the Greeks, now know the truth. 
But give me instantly a gallant bark 
With twenty rowers, skill'd their course to win 
To whatsoever haven ; for I go 
To sandy Pylus, and shall hasten thence 
To Lacedemon, tidings to obtain 
Of my long-absent sire, or from the lips 
Of man, or by a word from Jove vouchsafed 
Himself, best source of notice to mankind. 
If, there inform'd that still my father fives 
I hope conceive of his return, although 
Distress'd, I shall be patient yet a year. 
But should I learn, haply, that he survives 
No longer, then, returning, I will raise 
At home his tomb, will with such pomp perform 
His funeral rites, as his great name demands, 
And give my mother's hand to whom I may. 

This said, he sat, and after him arose 
Mentor, illustrious Ulysses' friend, 
To whom, embarking thence, he had consign'd 
All his concerns, that the old chief might rule 
His family, and keep the whole secure. 
Arising, thus the senior, sage, began. 

Hear me, ye Ithacans ! be never king 
Henceforth, benevolent, gracious, humane 
Or righteous, but let every sceptred hand 
Rule merciless, and deal in wrong alone, 
Since none of all his people, whom he sway'd 
With such paternal gentleness and love, 
Remembers the divine Ulysses more ! 
That the imperious suitors thus should weave 
The web of mischief and atrocious wrong, 
I grudge not ; since at hazard of their heads 
They make Ulysses' property a prey, 
Persuaded that the hero comes no more. 
But much the people move me ; how ye sit 
All mute, and though a multitude, yourselves, 
Opposed to few, risk not a single word 
To check the licence of these bold intruders ! 

Then thus Liocritus, Evenor's son. 
Injurious Mentor! headlong orator! 
How darest thou move the populace against 
The suitors ? Trust me they should find it hard, 
Numerous as they are, to cope with us, 
A feast the prize. Or should the king himself 
Of Ithaca, returning, undertake 
To expel the jovial suitors from his house, 
Much as Penelope his absence mourns, 


400 


THE ODYSSEY. 


His presence should afford her little joy ; 

For fighting sole with many, he should meet 

A dreadful death. Thou, therefore, speak'st amiss. 

As for Telemachus, let Mentor him 

And Halitherses furnish forth, the friends 

Long valued of his sire, with all dispatch ; 

Though him I judge far likelier to remain 

Long time contented an inquirer here, 

Than to perform the voyage now proposed. 

Thus saying, Liocritus dissolved in haste 
The council, and the scatter'd concourse sought 
Their several homes, while all the suitors flock'd 
Thence to the palace of their absent king. 
Meantime, Telemachus from all resort 
Retiring, in the surf of the grey deep 
First laved his hands, then, thus to Pallas pray'd. 

goddess ! who wast yesterday a guest 
Beneath my roof, and didst enjoin me then 
A voyage o'er the sable deep in quest 
Of tidings of my long-regretted sire ! 
Which voyage, all in Ithaca, but most 
The haughty suitors, obstinate impede, 
Now hear my suit and gracious interpose ! 

Such prayer he made ; then Pallas, in the form, 
And with the voice of Mentor, drawing nigh, 
In accents wing'd, him kindly thus bespake. 

Telemachus ! thou shalt hereafter prove 
Nor base, nor poor in talents. If, in truth, 
Thou have received from heaven thy father's force 
Instill'd into thee, and resemblest him 
In promptness both of action and of speech, 
Thy voyage shall not useless be, or vain. 
But if Penelope produced thee not 
His son, I, then, hope not for good effect 
Of this design which, ardent, thou pursuest. 
Few sons their fathers equal ; most appear 
Degenerate ; but we find, though rare, sometimes 
A son superior even to his sire. 
And since thyself shalt neither base be found 
Nor spiritless, nor altogether void 
Of talents, such as grace thy royal sire, 
I therefore hope success of thy attempt. 
Heed not the suitors' projects ; neither wise 
Are they, nor j ust, nor aught suspect the doom 
Which now approaches them, and in one day 
Shall overwhelm them all. No long suspense 
Shall hold thy purposed enterprise in doubt, 
Such help from me, of old thy father's friend, 
Thou shalt receive, who with a bark well-oar'd 
Will serve thee, and myself attend thee forth. 
But haste, join thou the suitors and provide, 
In separate vessels stow'd, all needful stores, 
Wine in thy jars, and flour the strength of man, 
In skins close-seam'd. I will, meantime, select 
Such as shall voluntary share thy toils. 
In sea-girt Ithaca new ships and old 
Abound, and I will chuse, myself, for thee 
The prime of all, which without more delay 
We will launch out into the spacious deep. 

Thus Pallas spake, daughter of Jove ; nor long 
So greeted by the voice divine, remain'd 
Telemachus, but to his palace went 
Distress' d in heart. He found the suitors there 
Goats flaying in the hall, and fatted swine 
Roasting ; when with a laugh Antinoiis flew 
To meet him, fasten'd on his hand, and said. 

Telemachus, in eloquence sublime, 
And of a spirit not to be controul'd ! 
Give harbour in thy breast on no account 
To after-grudge or enmity, but eat, 


Far rather, cheerfully as heretofore, 

And freely drink, committing all thy cares 

To the Achaians, who shall furnish forth 

A gallant ship and chosen crew for thee, 

That thou may'st hence to Pylus with all speed, 

Tidings to learn of thy illustrious sire. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Antinoiis ! I have no heart to feast 
With guests so insolent, nor can indulge 
The pleasures of a mind at ease, with you. 
Is't not enough, suitors, that ye have used 
My noble patrimony as your own 
While I was yet a child ? now, grown mature, 
And competent to understand the speech 
Of my instructors, feeling, too, a mind 
Within me conscious of augmented powers, 
I will attempt your ruin, be assured, 
Whether at Pylus, or continuing here. 
I go, indeed, (nor shall my voyage prove 
Of which I speak, bootless or vain) I go 
An humble passenger, who neither bark 
Nor rowers have to boast my own, denied 
That honour (so ye judged it best) by you. 

He said, and from Antinoiis' hand his own 
Drew sudden. Then their delicate repast 
The busy suitors on all sides prepared, 
Still taunting as they toil'd, and with sharp speech 
Sarcastic wantoning, of whom a youth, 
Arrogant as his fellows, thus began. 

I see it plain, Telemachus intends 
Our slaughter ; either he will aids procure 
From sandy Pylus, or will bring them arm'd 
From Sparta ; such is his tremendous drift. 
Even to fruitful Ephyre, perchance, 
He will proceed, seeking some baneful herb 
Which cast into our cup, shall drug us all. 

To whom some haughty suitor thus replied. 
Who knows but that himself, wandering the sea 
From all his friends and kindred far remote, 
May perish like Ulysses \ Whence to us 
Should double toil ensue, on whom the charg8 
To parcel out his wealth would then devolve, 
And to endow his mother with the house 
For his abode whom she should chance to wed. 

So sported they ; but he, ascending, sought 
His father's lofty chamber, where his heaps 
He kept of brass and gold, garments in chests, 
And oils of fragrant scent, a copious store. 
There many a cask with season'd nectar fill'd 
The grape's pure juice divine, beside the wall 
Stood orderly arranged, waiting the hour 
(Should e'er such hour arrive) when, after woes 
Numerous, Ulysses should regain his home. 
Secure that chamber was with folding doors 
Of massy planks compact, and, night and day, 
Within it ancient Euryclea dwelt, 
Guardian discreet of all the treasures there, 
Whom, thither call'd, Telemachus address'd. 

Nurse ! draw me forth sweet wine into my jars, 
Delicious next to that which thou reservest 
For our poor wanderer ; if escaping death 
At last, divine Ulysses e'er return. 
Fill twelve, and stop them close ; pour also meal 
Well-mill'd (full twenty measures) into skins 
Close-seam'd, and mention what thou dost to none 
Place them together ; for at even- tide 
I will convey them hence, soon as the queen, 
Retiring to her couch, shall seek repose. 
For hence to Sparta will I take my course, 
And sandy Pylus, tidings there to hear 


THE ODYSSEY. 


409 


(If hear I may) of my loved sire's return. 

He ceased ; then wept his gentle nurse that sound 

Hearing, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

My child ! ah, wherefore hath a thought so rash 
Possess'd thee % whither, only and beloved, 
Seek'st thou to ramble, traveling, alas ! 
To distant climes % Ulysses is no more ; 
Dead lies the hero in some land unknown, 
And thou no sooner shalt depart, than these 
Will plot to slay thee, and divide thy wealth. 
No, stay with us who love thee. Need is none 
That thou should'st on the barren deep distress 
Encounter, roaming without hope or end. 

Whom, prudent, thus answer'd Telemachus. 
Take courage, nurse ! for not without consent 
Of the immortals I have thus resolved. 
But swear, that till eleven days be past, 
Or twelve, or till enquiry made, she learn 
Herself my going, thou wilt nought impart 
Of this my purpose to my mother's ear, 
Lest all her beauties fade by grief impair'd. 

He ended, and the ancient matron swore 
Solemnly by the gods ; which done, she fill'd 
With wine the vessels and the skins with meal, 
And he, returning, join'd the throng below. 

Then Pallas, goddess azure-eyed, her thoughts 
Elsewhere directing, all the city ranged 
In semblance of Telemachus, each man 
Exhorting, at the dusk of eve, to seek 
The gallant ship, and from Noemon, son 
Renown'd of Phronius, ask'd, herself, a bark, 
Which soon as ask'd, he promised to supply. 

Now set the sun, and twilight dimm'd the ways, 
When, di'awing down his bark into the deep, 
He gave her all her furniture, oars, arms 
And tackle, such as well-built galleys bear, 
Then moor'd her in the bottom of the bay. 
Meantime, his mariners in haste repair'd 
Down to the shore, for Pallas urged them on. 
And now, on other purposes intent, 
The goddess sought the palace, where with dews 
Of slumber drenching every suitor's eye, 
She fool'd the drunkard multitude, and dash'd 
The goblets from their idle hands away. 
They through the city reel'd, happy to leave 
The dull carousal, when the slumberous weight 
Oppressive on their eye-lids once had fallen. 
Next, Pallas azure-eyed in Mentor's form 
And with the voice of Mentor, summoning 
Telemachus abroad, him thus bespake. 

Telemachus ! already at their oars 
Sit all thy fellow-voyagers, and wait 
Thy coming ; linger not, but haste away. 

This said, Minerva led him thence, whom he 
With nimble steps follow'd, and, on the shore 
Arrived, found all his mariners prepared, 
Whom thus the princely voyager address'd. 

Haste,my companions! bring we down the stores 
Already sorted, and set forth ; but nought 
My mother knows, or any of her train 
Of this design, one matron sole except. 

He spake, and led them; they, obedient, brought 
All down, and, as Ulysses' son enjoin'd, 
Within the gallant bark the charge bestow'd. 

Then, led by Pallas, went the prince on board, 
Where down they sat, the goddess in the stern, 
And at her side Telemachus. The crew 
Cast loose the hawsers, and embarking, fill'd 
The benches. Blue-eyed Pallas from the west 
Call'd forth propitious breezes ; fresh they curl'd 


The sable deep, and, sounding, swept the waves. 
He loud-exhorting them, his people bade 
Hand, brisk, the tackle ; they, obedient, rear'd 
The pine-tree mast, which in its socket deep 
They lodged, then strain'd the cordage, and with 

thongs 
Well-twisted, drew the shining sail aloft. 
A land-breeze fill'd the canvass, and the flood 
Roar'd as she went against the steady bark 
That ran with even course her liquid way. 
The rigging, thus, of all the galley set, 
Their beakers crowning high with wine, they hail'd 
The ever-living gods, but above all 
Minerva, daughter azure-eyed of Jove. 
Thus, all night long the galley, and till dawn 
Had brighten'd into day, cleaved swift the flood. 


BOOK III. 


ARGUMENT. 

Telemachus arriving at Pylus, enquires of Nestor concern- 
ing Ulysses. Nestor relates to him all that he knows or 
has heard of the Greecians since their departure from 
the siege of Troy, but not being able to give him any 
satisfactory account of Ulysses, refers him to Menelaus. 
At evening Minerva quits Telemachus, but discovers 
herself in going. Nestor sacrifices to the goddess, and 
the solemnity ended, Telemachus sets forth for Sparta 
in one of Nestor's chariots, and accompanied by Nestor's 
son, Pisistratus. 

The sun, emerging from the lucid waves, 
Ascended now the brazen vault with light 
For the inhabitants of earth and heaven, 
When in their bark at Pylus they arrived, 
City of Neleus. On the shore they found 
The people sacrificing ; bulls they slew 
Black without spot, to Neptune azure-hair'd. 
On ranges nine of seats they sat ; each range 
Received five hundred, and to each they made 
Allotment equal of nine sable bulls. 
The feast was now begun ; these eating sat 
The entrails, those stood offering to the god 
The thighs, his portion, when the Ithacans 
Push'd right ashore, and, furling close the sails, 
And making fast their moorings, disembark'd. 
Forth came Telemachus by Pallas led, 
Whom thus the goddess azure-eyed address'd. 
Telemachus ! there is no longer room 
For bashful fear, since thou hast cross'd the flood 
With purpose to enquire what land conceals 
Thy father, and what fate hath follow'd him. 
Advance at once to the equestrian chief 
Nestor, within whose bosom lies, perhaps, 
Advice well worthy of thy search ; entreat 
Himself, that he will tell thee only truth, 
Who will not lie, for he is passing wise. 

To whom Telemachus discreet replied. 
Ah Mentor ! how can I advance, how greet 
A chief like him, unpractised as I am 
In managed phrase? Shame bids the youth beware 
How he accosts the man of many years. 

But him the goddess answer'd azure-eyed. 
Telemachus ! thou wilt, in part, thyself 
Fit speech devise, and heaven will give the rest ; 
For thou wast neither born, nor hast been train'd 
To manhood, under unpropitious powers. 

So saying, Minerva led him thence, whom he 


410 


THE ODYSSEY. 


With nimble steps attending, soon arrived 
Among the multitude. There Nestor sat, 
And Nestor's sons, while, busily the feast 
Tending, his numerous followers roasted some 
The viands, some transfix'd them with the spits. 
They seeing guests arrived, together all 
Advanced, and, grasping courteously their hands, 
Invited them to sit ; but first, the son 
Of Nestor, young Pisistratus, approach'd, 
Who, fastening on the hands of both, beside 
The banquet placed them, where the beach was 

spread 
With fleeces, and where Thrasymedes sat 
His brother, and the hoary chief his sire. 
To each, a portion of the inner parts 
He gave, then fill'd a golden cup with wine, 
Which, tasted first, he to the daughter bore 
Of Jove the Thunderer, and her thus bespake. 

Oh guest ! the king of ocean now adore ! 
For ye have chanced on Neptune's festival ; 
And, when thou hast, thyself, libation made 
Duly and prayer, deliver to thy friend 
The generous juice, that he may also make 
Libation ; for he, doubtless, seeks in prayer 
The immortals, of whose favour all have need. 
But, since he younger is, and with myself 
Coeval, first I give the cup to thee. 

He ceased, and to her hand consign'd the cup, 
Which Pallas gladly from a youth received 
So just and wise, who to herself had first 
The golden cup presented, and in prayer 
Fervent the sovereign of the seas adored. 

Hear, earth-encircler Neptune ! vouchsafe 
To us thy suppliants the desired effect 
Of this our voyage ; glory, first, bestow 
On Nestor and his offspring both, then grant 
To all the Pylians such a gi'acious boon 
As shall requite their noble offering well. 
Grant also to Telemachus and me 
To voyage hence, possess'd of what we sought 
When hither in our sable bark we came. 

So Pallas pray'd, and her own prayer herself 
Accomplish'd. To Telemachus she gave 
The splendid goblet next, and in his turn 
Like prayer, Ulysses' son also preferr'd. 
And now (the banquet from the spits withdrawn) 
They next distributed sufficient share 
To each, and all were sumptuously regaled. 
At length (both hunger satisfied and thirst) 
Thus Nestor, the Gerenian chief, began. 

Now with more seemliness we may enquire, 
After repast, what guests we have received. 
Our guests ! who are ye ? Whence have ye the 

waves 
Plough'd hither ? Come ye to transact concerns 
Commercial, or at random roam the deep 
Like pirates, who with mischief charged and woe 
To foreign states, oft hazard life themselves ? 

Him answer'd, bolder now, but still discreet, 
Telemachus : for Pallas had his heart 
With manly courage arm'd, that he might ask 
From Nestor tidings of his absent sire, 
And win himself distinction and renown. 

Oh Nestor, Neleus' son, glory of Greece ! 
Thou askest whence we are. I tell thee whence. 
From Ithaca, by the umbrageous woods 
Of Neritus o'erhung, by private need, 
Not public, urged, we come. My errand is 
To seek intelligence of the renown'd 
Ulysses ; of my noble father, praised 


For dauntless courage, whom report proclaims 

Conqueror, with thine aid, of sacred Troy. 

We have already learn'd where other chiefs 

Who fought at Ilium, died ; but Jove conceals 

Even the death of my illustrious sire 

In dull obscurity ; for none hath heard 

Or confident can answer, where he died ; 

Whether he on the continent hath fallen 

By hostile hands, or by the waves o'erwhelm'd 

Of Amphitrite, welters in the deep. 

For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I beg 

That thou Avould'st tell me his disastrous end, 

If either thou beheld' st that dread event 

Thyself, or from some wanderer of the Greeks 

Hast heard it ; for my father at his birth 

Was, sure, predestined to no common woes. 

Neither through pity, or o'erstrain'd respect 

Flatter me, but explicit all relate 

Which thou hast witness'd. If my noble sire 

E'er gratified thee by performance just 

Of word or deed at Ilium, where ye fell 

So numerous slain in fight, oh, recollect 

Now his fidelity, and tell me true. 

Then Nestor thus Gerenian hero old. 
Young friend ! since thou remind'st me, speaking 
Of all the woes which indefatigable [thus, 

We sons of the Achaians there sustain' d, 
Both those which wandering on the deep we bore 
Wherever by Achilles led in quest 
Of booty, and the many woes beside 
Which under royal Priam's spacious walls 
We suffer'd, know, that there our bravest fell. 
There warlike Ajax lies, there Peleus' son ; 
There, too, Patroclus, like the gods themselves 
In council ; and my son beloved there, 
Brave, virtuous, swift of foot, and bold in fight, 
Antilochus. Nor are these sorrows all ; 
What tongue of mortal man could all relate ? 
Should'st thou, abiding here, five years employ 
Or six inquiring of the woes endured 
By the Achaians, ere thou should'st have learn'd 
The whole, thou would'st depart, tired of the tale 
For we, nine years, stratagems of all kinds 
Devised against them, and Saturnian Jove 
Scarce crown'd the difficult attempt at last. 
There no competitor in wiles well-plann'd 
Ulysses found, so far were all surpass'd 
In shrewd invention by thy noble sire, — 
If thou indeed art his, as sure thou art, 
Whose sight breeds wonder in me, and thy speech 
His speech resembles more than might be deem'd 
Within the scope of years so green as thine. 
There, never in opinion, or in voice 
Illustrious Ulysses and myself 
Divided were, but, one in heart, contrived 
As best we might, the benefit of all. 
But after Priam's lofty city sack'd, 
And the departure of the Greeks on board 
Their barks, and when the gods had scatter'dthem, 
Then Jove imagined for the Argive host 
A sorrowful return ; for neither just 
Were all, nor prudent, therefore many found 
A fate disastrous through the vengeful ire 
Of Jove-born Pallas, who between the sons 
Of Atreus sharp contention interposed. 
They both, irregularly, and against 
Just order, summoning by night the Greeks 
To council, of whom many came with wine 
Oppress'd, promulgated the cause for which 
They had convened the people. Then it was 


THE ODYSSEY. 


411 


That Menelaus bade the general host 
Their thoughts bend homeward o'er the sacred deep, 
Which Agamemnon in no sort approved. 
His counsel was to stay them yet at Troy, 
That so he might assuage the dreadful wrath 
Of Pallas, first, by sacrifice and prayer. 
Vain hope ! he little thought how ill should speed 
That fond attempt, for, once provoked, the gods 
Are not with ease conciliated again. 
Thus stood the brothers, altercation hot 
Maintaining, till at length uprose the Greeks 
With deafening clamours, and with differing minds. 
We slept the night, but teeming with disgust 
Mutual, for Jove great woe prepared for all. 
At dawn of day we drew our galleys down 
Into the sea, and hasty put on board 
The spoils and female captives. Half the host, 
With Agamemnon, son of Atreus, stay'd 
Supreme commander, and embarking half 
Push'd forth. Swift course we made, for Neptune 

smooth 'd 
The waves before us of the monstrous deep. 
At Tenedos arrived, we there perform'd 
Sacrifice to the gods, ardent to reach 
Our native land, but unpropitious Jove, 
Not yet designing our arrival there, 
Involved us in dissention fierce again. 
For all the crews, followers of the king, 
Thy noble sire, to gratify our chief, 
The son of Atreus, chose a different course, 
And steer 'd their oary barks again to Troy. 
But I, assured that evil from the gods 
Impended, gathering all my gallant fleet, 
Fled thence in haste, and warlike Diomede 
Exhorting his attendants, also fled. 
At length, the hero, Menelaus join'd 
Our fleet at Lesbos ; there he found us held 
In deep deliberation on the length 
Of way before us, whether we should steer 
Above the craggy Chios to the isle 
Psyria, that island holding on our left, 
Or under Chios by the wind-swept heights 
Of Mimas. Then we ask'd from Jove a sign, 
And by a sign vouchsafed he bade us cut 
The wide sea to Euboea sheer athwart, 
So soonest to escape the threaten'd harm. 
Shrill sang the rising gale, and with swift prows 
Cleaving the fishy flood, we reach'd by night 
Gersestus, where arrived, we burn'd the thighs 
Of numerous bulls to Neptune, who had safe 
Conducted us through all our perilous course. 
The fleet of Diomede in safety moor'd 
On the fourth day at Argos, but myself 
Held on my course to Pylus, nor the wind 
One moment thwarted us, or died away, 
When Jove had once commanded it to blow. 
| Thus, uninform'd, I have arrived, my son ! 
Nor of the Greecians, who are saved have heard, 
Or who have perish'd ; but what news soe'er 
I have obtain' d since my return, with truth 
I will relate, nor aught conceal from thee. 

The spear-famed Myrmidons, as rumour speaks, 
By Neoptolemus, illustrious son 
Of brave Achilles led, have safe arrived ; 
Safe, Philoctetes also, son renown'd 
Of Paeas ; and Idomeneus at Crete 
Hath landed all his followers who survive 
The bloody war, the waves have swallow'd none. 
Ye have yourselves doubtless, although remote, 
Of Agamemnon heard, how he return'd, 


And how iEgisthus cruelly contrived 

For him a bloody welcome, but himself 

Hath with his own life paid the murtherous deed. 

Good is it therefore if a son survive 

The slain, sdnce Agamemnon's son hath well 

Avenged his father's death, slaying, himself, 

iEgisthus, foul assassin of his sire. 

Young friend ! (for pleased thy vigorous youth I 

And just proportion) be thou also bold, [view, 

That thine like his may be a deathless name. 

Then, prudent, him answer'd Telemachus. 
Oh Nestor, Neleus' son, glory of Greece ! 
And righteous was that vengeance ; his renown 
Achaia's sons shall far and wide diffuse, 
To future times transmitting it in song. 
Ah ! would that such ability the gods 
Would grant to me, that I, as well, the deeds 
Might punish of our suitors, whose excess 
Enormous, and whose bitter taunts I feel 
Continual, object of their subtle hate. 
But not for me such happiness the gods 
Have twined into my thread ; no, not for me 
Or for my father. Patience is our part. 

To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied. 
Young friend ! (since thou remind'st me of that 

theme) 
Fame here reports that numerous suitors haunt 
Thy palace for thy mother's sake, and there 
Much evil perpetrate in thy despight. 
But, say, endurest thou willing their controul 
Imperious, or because the people sway'd 
By some response oracular, incline 
Against thee ? But who knows ? the time may come 
When to his home restored, either alone, 
Or aided by the force of all the Greeks, 
Ulysses may avenge the wrong ; at least, 
Should Pallas azure-eyed thee love, as erst 
At Troy the scene of our unnumber'd woes, 
She loved Ulysses ; (for I have not known 
The gods assisting so apparently 
A mortal man, as him Minerva there ;) 
Should Pallas view thee also with like love 
And kind solicitude, some few of those 
Should dream perchance of wedlock never more. 

Then answer thus Telemachus return'd. 
That word's accomplishment I cannot hope ; 
It promises too much ; the thought alone 
O'erwhelms nie ; an event so fortunate 
Would, unexpected on my part, arrive, 
Although the gods themselves should purpose it. 

But Pallas him answer'd coerulean-eyed. 
Telemachus ! what word was that which leap'd 
The ivory l guard that should have fenced it in ? 
A god, so willing, could with utmost ease 
Save any man, howe'er remote. Myself, 
I had much rather, many woes endured, 
Revisit home at last happy and safe, 
Than, sooner coining, die in my own house, 
As Agamemnon perish'd by the arts 
Of base iEgisthus and the subtle queen. 
Yet not the gods themselves can save from death 
All-leveling, the man whom most they love, 
When fate ordains him once to his last sleep. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Howe'er it interest us, let us leave 


1 "EpKos odSvTWV. Prior, alluding to this expression, 
ludicrously renders it 

" When words like these in vocal breath 
Burst from his twofold hedge of teeth," 


412 


THE ODYSSEY. 


This question, Mentor ! he, I am assured, 
Returns no more, but hath already found 
A sad, sad fate by the decree of heaven. 
But I would now interrogate again 
Nestor, and on a different theme, for him 
In human rights I judge and laws expert, 
And in all knowledge beyond other men ; 
For he hath govern' d, as report proclaims, 
Three generations ; therefore in my eyes 
He wears the awful impress of a god. 
Oh Nestor, son of Neleus, tell me true ; 
What was the matter of Atrides' death, 
Wide-ruling Agamemnon ? Tell me where 
Was Menelaus ? By what means contrived 
iEgisthus to inflict the fatal blow, 
Slaying so much a nobler than himself ? 
Had not the brother of the monarch reach'd 
Achaian Argos yet, but, wandering still 
Iu other climes, by his long absence gave 
^Egisthus courage for that bloody deed ? 

Whom answer'd the Gerenian chief renown'd. 
My son ! I will inform thee true ; meantime 
Thy own suspicions border on the fact. 
Had Menelaus, hero amber-hair 'd, 
./Egisthus found living at his return 
From Ilium, never on his bones the Greeks 
Had heap'd a tomb, but dogs and ravening fowls 
Had torn him lying in the open field 
Far from the town, nor him had woman Avept 
Of all in Greece, for he had foul transgress'd. 
But we in many an arduous task engaged, 
Lay before Ilium ; he, the while, secure 
Within the green retreats of Argos, found 
Occasion apt by flattery to delude 
The spouse of Agamemnon, she, at first, 
(The royal Clytemnestra) firm refused 
The deed dishonourable ; (for she bore 
A virtuous mind, and at her side a bard 
Attended ever, whom the king, to Troy 
Departing, had appointed to the charge.) 
But when the gods had purposed to ensnare 
^Egisthus, then dismissing far remote 
The bard into a desert isle, he there 
Abandon'd him to ravening fowls a prey, 
And to his own home, willing as himself 
Led Clytemnestra. Numerous thighs he burn'd 
On all their hallow'd altars to the gods, 
And hung with tapestry, images, and gold 
Their shrines, his great exploit past hope achieved. 
We (Menelaus and myself) had sail'd 
From Troy together, but when we approach'd 
Sunium, headland of the Athenian shore, 
There Phoebus, sudden, with his gentle shafts 
Slew Menelaus' pilot while he steer'd 
The volant bark, Phrontis, Onetor's son, 
A mariner past all expert, whom none 
In steerage match'd, what time the tempest roar'd. 
Here therefore Menelaus was detain'd, 
Giving his friend due burial, and his rites 
Funereal celebrating, though in haste 
Still to proceed. But when, with all his fleet 
The wide sea traversing, he reach'd at length 
Malea's lofty foreland in his course, 
Rough passage, then, and perilous he found. 
Shrill blasts the Thunderer pour'd into his sails, 
And wild waves sent him mountainous. His ships 
There scatter'd, some to the Cydonian coast 
Of Crete he push'd, near where the Jardan flows. 
Beside the confines of Gortyna stands, 
Amid the gloomy flood, a smooth rock, steep 


Toward the sea, against whose leftward point 
Phsestus by name, the south wind rolls the surge 
Amain, which yet the rock, though small, repels. 
Hither with part he came, and scarce the crews 
Themselves escaped, while the huge billows broke 
Their ships against the rocks ; yet five he saved, 
Which winds and waves drove to the ^Egyptian 
shore. 

Thus he, provision gathering as he went 
And gold abundant, roam'd to distant lands 
And nations of another tongue. Meantime, 
yEgisthus these enormities at home 
Devising, slew Atrides, and supreme 
Ruled the subjected land ; seven years he reign'd 
In opulent Mycense, but the eighth 
From Athens brought renown'd Orestes home 
For his destruction, who of life bereaved 
iEgisthus, base assassin of his sire. 
Orestes, therefore, the funereal rites 
Performing to his shameless mother's shade 
And to her lustful paramour, a feast 
Gave to the Argives ; on which self-same day 
The warlike Menelaus, with his ships 
All treasure-laden to the brink, arrived. 

And thou, young friend ! from thy forsaken home 
Rove not long time remote, thy treasures left 
At mercy of those proud, lest they divide 
And waste the whole, rendering thy voyage vain. 
But hence to Menelaus is the course 
To which I counsel thee ; for he hath come 
Of late from distant lands, whence to escape 
No man could hope, whom tempests first had driven 
Devious into so wide a sea, from which 
Themselves the birds of heaven could not arrive 
In a whole year, so vast is the expanse. 
Go, then, with ship and shipmates, or if more 
The land delight thee, steeds thou shalt not want 
Nor chariot, and my sons shall be thy guides 
To noble Lacedsemon, the abode 
Of Menelaus ; ask from him the truth, 
Who will not lie, for he is passing wise. 

While thus he spake, the sun declined, and night 
Approaching, blue-eyed Pallas interposed. 

Oh ancient king ! well hast thou spoken all. 
But now delay not. Cut ' ye forth the tongues, 
And mingle wine, that (Neptune first invoked 
With due libation, and the other gods) 
We may repair to rest ; for even now 
The sun is sunk, and it becomes us not 
Long to protract a bauquet to the gods 
Devote, but in fit season to depart. 

So spake Jove's daughter ; they obedient heard. 
The heralds then pour'd water on their hands, 
And the attendant youths, filling the cups, 
Served them from left to right. Next all the tongues 
They cast into the fire, and every guest 
Arising, pour'd libation to the gods. 
Libation made, and all with wine sufficed, 
Godlike Telemachus and Pallas both 
Would have return'd incontinent on board, 
But Nestor urged them still to be his guests. 

Forbid it, Jove, and all the powers of heaven ! 
That ye should leave me to repair on board 
Your vessel, as I were some needy wretch 
Cloakless and destitute of fleecy stores 


1 It is said to have been customary in the days of 
Homer, when the Greeks retired from a banquet to their 
beds, to cut out the tongues of the victims, and offer them 
to the gods in particular who presided over conversation. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


413 


Wherewith to spread the couch soft for myself, 
Or for my guests. No. I have garments warm 
An ample store, and rugs of richest dye ; 
And never shall Ulysses' son beloved, 
My friend's own son, sleep on a galley's plank 
While I draw vital air ; grant also, heaven, 
That, dying, I may leave behind me sons 
Glad to accommodate whatever guest ! 

Him answer' d then Pallas coerulean-eyed. 
Old chief ! thou hast well said, and reason bids 
Telemachus thy kind commands obey. 
Let him attend thee hence, that he may sleep 
Beneath thy roof, but I return on board 
Myself to instruct my people, and to give 
All needful orders ; for among them none 
Is old as I, but they are youths alike, 
Coevals of Telemachus, with whom 
They have embark'd for friendship's sake alone. 
I therefore will repose myself on board 
This night, and to the Caucons bold in arms 
Will sail to-morrow to demand arrears 
Long time unpaid, and of no small amount. 
But, since he has become thy guest, afford 
My friend a chariot, and a son of thine 
Who shall direct his way, nor let him want 
Of all thy steeds the swiftest and the best. 

So saying, the blue-eyed goddess as upborne 
On eagles' wings, vanish'd : amazement seized 
The whole assembly, and the ancient king 
O'erwhelm'd with wonder at that sight, the hand 
Grasp'd of Telemachus, whom he thus bespake. 

My friend ! I prophesy that thou shalt prove 
Nor base, nor dastard, whom, so young, the gods 
Already take in charge ; for of the powers 
Inhabitants of heaven, none else was this 
Than Jove's own daughter Pallas, who among 
The Greecians honour'd most thy generous sire. 
But thou, queen ! compassionate us all, 
Myself, my sons, my consort ; give to each 
A glorious name, and I to thee will give 
For sacrifice an heifer of the year, 
Broad-fronted, one that never yet hath borne 
The yoke, and will incase her horns with gold. 

So Nestor pray'd, whom Pallas gracious heard. 
Then the Gerenian warrior old, before 
His sons and sons-in-law, to his abode 
Magnificent proceeded ; they (arrived 
Within the splendid palace of the king) 
On thrones and couches sat in order ranged, 
Whom Nestor welcomed, charging high the cup 
With wine of richest sort, which she who kept 
That treasure, now in the eleventh year 
First broach'd, unsealing the delicious juice. 
With this the hoary senior fill'd a cup, 
And to the daughter of Jove eegis-arm'd 
Pouring libation, offer'd fervent prayer. 

When all had made libation, and no wish 
Remain'd of more, then each to rest retired, 
And Nestor the Gerenian warrior old 
Led thence Telemachus to a carved couch 
Beneath the sounding portico prepared. 
Beside him he bade sleep the spearman bold, 
Pisistratus, a gallant youth, the sole 
Unwedded in his house of all his sons. 
Himself in the interior palace lay, 
Where couch and covering for her ancient spouse 
The consort queen had diligent prepared. 

But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Had tinged the east, arising from his bed, 
Gerenian Nestor issued forth, and sat 


Before his palace-gate on the white stones 
Resplendent as with oil, on which of old 
His father Neleus had been wont to sit, 
In council like a god ; but he had sought, 
By destiny dismiss'd long since, the shades. 
On those stones therefore now, Nestor himself, 
Achaia's guardian, sat, sceptre in hand, 
Where soon his numerous sons, leaving betimes 
The place of their repose, also appeared, 
Echephron, Stratius, Perseus, Thrasymedes, 
Aretus, and Pisistratus. They placed 
Godlike Telemachus at Nestor's side, 
And the Gerenian hero thus began. 

Sons, be ye quick — execute with dispatch 
My purpose, that I may propitiate first 
Of all the gods Minerva, who herself 
Hath honour'd manifest our hallow'd feast. 
Haste, one, into the field, to order thence 
An ox, and let the herdsman drive it home. 
Another, hasting to the sable bark 
Of brave Telemachus, bring hither all 
His friends, save two, and let a third command 
Laerceus, that he come to enwrap with gold 
The victim's horns. Abide ye here, the rest, 
And bid my female train (for I intend 
A banquet) with all diligence provide 
Seats, stores of wood, and water from the rock. 

He said, whom instant all obey'd. The ox 
Came from the field, and from the gallant ship 
The ship-mates of the brave Telemachus ; 
Next, charged with all his implements of art, 
His mallet, anvil, pincers, came the smith 
To give the horns their gilding ; also came 
Pallas herself to her own sacred rites. 
Then Nestor, hoary warrior, furnish'd gold, 
Which, hammer'd thin, the artist wrapp'd around 
The victim's horns, that seeing him attired 
So costly, Pallas might the more be pleased. 
Stratius and brave Echephron introduced 
The victim by his horns ; Aretus brought 
A laver, in one hand, with flowers emboss'd, 
And in his other hand a basket stored 
With cakes, while warlike Thrasymedes, arm'd 
With his long-hafted axe, prepared to smite 
The ox, and Perseus to receive the blood. 
The hoary Nestor consecrated first 
Both cakes and water, and with earnest prayer 
To Pallas, gave the forelock to the flames. 

When all had worship'd, and the broken cakes 
Sprinkled, then godlike Thrasymedes drew 
Close to the ox, and smote him. Deep the edge 
Enter'd, and senseless on the floor he fell. 
Then Nestor's daughters, and the consorts all 
Of Nestor's sons, with his own consort, chaste 
Eurydice, the daughter eldest-born 
Of Clymenus, in one shrill orison 
Vociferous join'd, while they, lifting the ox, 
Held him supported firmly, and the prince 
Of men, Pisistratus, his gullet pierced. 
Soon as the sable blood had ceased, and life 
Had left the victim, spreading him abroad, 
With nice address they parted at the joint 
His thighs, and wrapp'd them in the double cawl, 
Which with crude slices thin they overspread. 
Nestor burn'd incense, and libation pour'd 
Large on the hissing brands, while, him beside, 
Busy with spit and prong, stood many a youth 
Train'd to the task. The thighs consumed, each took 
His portion of the maw, then, slashing well 
The remnant, they transpierced it with the spits 


414 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Neatly, and held it reeking at the fire. 
Meantime the youngest of the daughters fair 
Of Nestor, beauteous Polycaste, laved, 
Anointed, and in vest and tunic clothed 
Telemachus, who, so refresh'd, stepp'd forth 
From the bright laver graceful as a god, 
And took his seat at ancient Nestor's side. 
The viands dress'd, and from the spits withdrawn, 
They sat to share the feast, and princely youths 
Arising, gave them wine in cups of gold. 
When neither hunger now nor thirst remain'd 
Unsated, thus Gerenian Nestor spake. 

My sons, arise ! lead forth the sprightly steeds, 
And yoke them, that Telemachus may go. 

So spake the chief, to whose command his sons, 
Obedient, yoked in haste the rapid steeds, 
And the intendant matron of the stores 
Disposed meantime within the chariot, bread 
And wine, with dainties, such as princes eat. 
Telemachus into the chariot first 
Ascended, and beside him, next, his place 
Pisistratus the son of Nestor took, 
Then seized the reins, and lash'd the coursers on. 
They, nothing loth, into the open plain 
Flew, leaving lofty Pylus soon afar. 
Thus, journeying, they shook on either side 
The yoke all day ; and now the setting sun 
To dusky evening had resign'd the roads, 
When they to Pherse came, and the abode 
Reach'd of Diocles, whose illustrious sire 
Orsilochus from Alpheus drew his birth, 
And there, with kindness entertain'd, they slept. 

But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy from the east, yoking the steeds, 
They in their sumptuous chariot sat again. 
The son of Nestor plied the lash, and forth 
Through vestibule and sounding portico 
The royal coursers, not unwilling, flew. 
A corn-invested land received them next, 
And there they brought their journey to a close, 
So rapidly they moved ; and now the sun 
Went down, and even-tide dimm'd all the ways. 


BOOK IV. 


ARGUMENT. 

Telemachus, with Pisistratus, arrives at the palace of 
Menelaus, from whom he receives some fresh informa- 
tion concerning the return of the Greecians, and is in 
particular told, on the authority of Proteus, that his 
father is detained by Calypso. The suitors, plotting 
against the life of Telemachus, lie in wait to intercept 
him in his return to Ithaca. Penelope being informed 
of his departure, and of their designs to slay him, be- 
comes inconsolable, but is relieved by a dream sent to 
her from Minerva. 

In hollow Lacedsemon's spacious vale 

Arriving, to the house they drove direct 

Of royal Menelaus ; him they found 

In his own palace, all his numerous friends 

Regaling at a nuptial banquet given 

Both for his daughter and the prince his son. 

His daughter to renown'd Achilles' heir 

He sent, to whom he had at Troy engaged 

To give her, and the gods now made her his. 

With chariots and with steeds he sent her forth 

To the illustrious city where the prince, 


Achilles' offspring, ruled the Myrmidons. 
But to his son he gave a Spartan fair, 
Alector's daughter ; from an handmaid sprang 
That son to Menelaus in his age, 
Brave Megapenthes ; for the gods no child 
To Helen gave, made mother, once, of her 
Who vied in perfect loveliness of form 
With golden Venus' self, Hermione. 

Thus all the neighbour princes and the friends 
Of noble Menelaus, feasting sat 
Within his spacious palace, among whom 
A sacred bard sang sweetly to his harp, 
While, in the midst, two dancers smote the ground 
With measured steps responsive to his song. 

And now the heroes, Nestor's noble son 
And young Telemachus, arrived within 
The vestibule, whom issuing from the hall, 
The noble Eteoneus of the train 
Of Menelaus, saw ; at once he ran 
Across the palace to report the news 
To his lord's ear, and standing at his side, 
In accents wing'd with haste thus greeted him. 

Oh Menelaus ! heaven-descended chief ! 
Two guests arrive, both strangers, but the race 
Of Jove supreme resembling each in form. 
Say, shall we loose, ourselves, their rapid steeds, 
Or hence dismiss them to some other host ? 

But Menelaus, hero golden-hair'd, 
Indignant answer'd him. Boethe's son ! 
Thou wast not, Eteoneus, heretofore, 
A babbler, who now pratest as a child. 
We have ourselves arrived indebted much 
To hospitality of other men, 
If Jove shall, even here, some pause at last 
Of woe afford us. Therefore loose, at once, 
Their steeds, and introduce them to the feast. 

He said, and issuing, Eteoneus call'd 
The brisk attendants to his aid, with whom 
He loosed their foaming coursers from the yoke. 
Them first they bound to mangers, which with oats 
And mingled barley they supplied, then thrust 
The chariot sidelong to the splendid wall 1 . 
Themselves he, next, into the royal house 
Conducted, who survey'd, wondering, the abode 
Of the heaven-favour'd king ; for on all sides 
As with the splendour of the sun or moon 
The lofty dome of Menelaus blazed. 
Satiate, at length, with wonder at that sight, 
They enter'd each a bath, and by the hands 
Of maidens laved, and oil'd, and clothed again 
With shaggy mantles and resplendent vests, 
Sat both enthroned at Menelaus' side. 
And now a maiden charged with golden ewer, 
And with an argent laver, pouring first 
Pure water on their hands, supplied them next, 
With a bright table, which the maiden, chief 
In office, furnish'd plenteously with bread 
And dainties, remnants of the last regale. 
Then came the sewer, who with delicious meats 
Dish after dish, served them, and placed beside 
The chargers cups magnificent of gold, 
When Menelaus grasp'd their hands, and said. 

Eat and rejoice, and when ye shall have shared 
Our nuptial banquet, we will, then, enquire 
Who are ye both ; for, certain, not from those 
Whose generation perishes are ye, 

1 Hesychius tells us, that the Greecians ornamented 
with much attention the front wall of their courts for the 
admiration of passengers. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


415 


But rather of some race of sceptred chiefs 
Heaven-born ; the base have never sons like you. 

So saying, he from the board lifted his own 
Distinguish'd portion, and the fatted chine 
Gave to his guests ; the savoury viands they 
With outstretch 'd hands assail'd, and when the 
No longer now of appetite they felt, [force 

Telemachus, inclining close his head 
To Nestor's son, lest others should his speech 
Witness, in whisper'd words him thus address'd. 

Dearest Pisistratus, observe, my friend ! 
How all the echoing palace with the light 
Of beaming brass, of gold and amber shines 
Silver and ivory ! for radiance such 
The interior mansion of Olympian Jove 
I deem. What wealth, how various, how immense 
Is here ! astonish'd I survey the sight ! 

But Menelaus, golden-hair'd, his speech 
O'erhearing, thus in accents wing'd replied. 

My children ! let no mortal man pretend 
Comparison with Jove ; for Jove's abode 
And all his stores are incorruptible. 
But whether mortal man with me may vie 
In the display of wealth, or whether not, 
This know, that after many toils endured, 
And perilous wanderings wide, in the eighth year 
I brought my treasures home. Remote I roved 
To Cyprus, to Phoenice, to the shores 
Of iEgypt ; ^Ethiopia's land I reach'd, 
The Erembi, the Sidonians, and the coasts 
Of Libya, where the lambs their foreheads show 
At once with horns defended, soon as yean'd. 
There, thrice within the year the flocks produce, 
Nor master, there, nor shepherd ever feels 
A dearth of cheese, of flesh, or of sweet milk 
Delicious, drawn from udders never dry. 
While, thus, commodities on various coasts 
Gathering I roam'd, another, by the arts 
Of his pernicious spouse aided, of life 
Bereaved my brother privily, and when least 
He fear'd to lose it. Therefore little joy 
To me results from all that I possess. 
Your fathers (be those fathers who they may) 
These things have doubtless told you ; for immense 
Have been my sufferings, and I have destroy'd 
A palace well inhabited and stored 
With precious furniture of every kind ; 
Such, that I would to heaven ! I own'd at home 
Though but the third of it, and that the Greeks 
Who perish'd then, beneath the walls of Troy 
Far from steed-pastured Argos, still survived. 
Yet while, sequester'd here, I frequent mourn 
My slaughter'd friends, by turns I soothe my soul 
With tears shed for them, and by turns again 
I cease ; for grief soon satiates free indulged. 
But of them all, although I all bewail, 
None mourn I so as one, whom calling back 
To memory, I both sleep and food abhor. 
For, of Achaia's sons none ever toil'd 
Strenuous as Ulysses ; but his lot 
Was woe, and unremitting sorrow mine 
For his long absence, who, if still he live, 
We know not aught, or be already dead. 
Him doubtless, old Laertes mourns, and him 
Discreet Penelope, nor less his son 
Telemachus, born newly when he sail'd. 

So saying, he kindled in him strong desire 
To mourn his father ; at his father's name 
Fast fell his tears to ground, and with both hands 
He spread his purple cloak before his eyes ; 


Which Menelaus marking, doubtful sat 

If he should leave him leisure for his tears, 

Or question him, and tell him all at large. 

While thus he doubted, Helen (as it chanced) 
Leaving her fragrant chamber, came, august 
As Dian, goddess of the golden bow. 
Adrasta, for her use, set forth a throne, 
Alcippe with soft arras cover'd it, 
And Philo brought her silver basket, gift 
Of fair Alcandra, wife of Polybus, 
Whose mansion in ^Egyptian Thebes is rich 
In untold treasure, and who gave, himself, 
Ten golden talents, and two silver baths 
To Menelaus, with two splendid tripods, 
Beside the noble gifts which, at the hand 
Of his illustrious spouse, Helen received ; 
A golden spindle, and a basket wheel'd, 
Itself of silver, and its lip of gold. 
That basket Philo, her own handmaid, placed 
At beauteous Helen's side, charged to the brim 
With slender threads, on which the spindle lay 
With wool of purple lustre wrapp'd around. 
Approaching, on her foot-stool'd throne she sat, 
And, instant, of her royal spouse enquired. 

Know, we, my Menelaus, dear to Jove ! 
These guests of ours, and whence they have arrived? 
Erroneous I may speak, yet speak I must; 
In man or woman never have I seen 
Such likeness to another, (wonder-fixt 
I gaze,) as in this stranger to the son 
Of brave Ulysses, whom that hero left 
New-born at home, when (shameless as I was) 
For my unworthy sake the Greecians sailed 
To Ilium, with fierce rage of battle fired. 

Then Menelaus, thus, the golden-hair'd. 
I also such resemblance find in him 
As thou ; such feet, such hands, the cast 1 of eye 
Similar, and the head and flowing locks. 
And even now, when I Ulysses named, 
And his great sufferings mention'd, in my cause, 
The bitter tear dropp'd from his lids, while broad 
Before his eyes his purple cloak he spread. 

To whom the son of Nestor thus replied. 
Atrides ! Menelaus ! chief renown'd ! 
He is in truth his son as thou hast said ; 
But he is modest, and would much himself 
Condemn, if, at his first arrival here, 
He should loquacious seem and bold to thee, 
To whom we listen, captived by thy voice, 
As if some god had spoken, As for me, 
Nestor, my father, the Gerenian chief 
Bade me conduct him hither, for he wish'd 
To see thee, promising himself from thee 
The benefit of some kind word or deed. 
For, destitute of other aid, he much 
His father's tedious absence mourns at home. 
So fares Telemachus ; his father strays 
Remote, and in his stead, no friend hath he 
Who might avert the mischiefs that he feels. 

To whom the hero amber-hair'd replied. 
Ye gods ! the offspring of indeed a friend 
Hath reach'd my house, of one who hath endured 
Arduous conflicts numerous for my sake ; 
And much I purposed, had Olympian Jove 
Vouchsafed us prosperous passage o'er the deep, 
To have received him with such friendship here 
As none beside. In Argos I had then 
Founded a city for him, and had raised 

1 'O<p0aAjU«»' re /SoAat. 


41G 


THE ODYSSEY. 


A palace for himself; I would have brought 

The hero hither, and his son, with all 

His people, and with all his wealth, some town 

Evacuating for his sake, of those 

Ruled by myself, and neighbouring close my own. 

Thus situate, we had often interchanged 

Sweet converse, nor had other cause at last 

Our friendship terminated or our joys, 

Than death's black cloud o'ershadowing him or me. 

But such delights could only envy move 

Even in the gods, who have, of all the Greeks, 

Amerced him only of his wish'd return. 

So saying, he kindled the desire to weep 
In every bosom. Argive Helen wept 
Abundant, Jove's own daughter ; wept as fast 
Telemachus and Menelaus both ; 
Nor Nestor's son with tearless eyes remain' d, 
Calling to mind Antilochus 1 by the son' 2 
Illustrious of the bright Aurora slain, 
Remembering whom, in accents wing'd he said. 

Atrides ! ancient Nestor, when of late 
Conversing with him, we remember'd thee, 
Pronounced thee wise beyond all human-kind. 
Now therefore, let not even my advice 
Displease thee. It affords me no delight 
To intermingle tears with my repast, 
And soon, Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Will tinge the orient. Not that I account 
Due lamentation of a friend deceased 
Blameworthy, since, to shear the locks and weep, 
Is all we can for the unhappy dead. 
I also have my grief, call'd to lament 
One, not the meanest of Achaia's sons, 
My brother ; him I cannot but suppose 
To thee well-known, although unknown to me 
Who saw him never 3 ; but report proclaims 
Antilochus superior to the most, 
In speed superior, and in feats of arms. 

To whom, the hero of the yellow locks. 
friend beloved ! since nought which thou hast said 
Or recommended now, would have disgraced 
A man of years maturer far than thine, 
(For wise thy father is, and such art thou, 
And easy is it to discern the son 
Of such a father, whom Saturnian Jove 
In marriage both and at his birth ordain'd 
To great felicity ; for he hath given 
To Nestor gradually to sink at home 
Into old age, and while he lives, to see 
His sons past others wise, and skilPd in arms) 
The sorrow into which we sudden fell 
Shall pause. Come — now remember Ave the feast ; 
Pour water on our hands, for we shall find 
(Telemachus and I) no dearth of themes 
For mutual converse when the day shall dawn. 

He ended ; then, Asphalion, at his word, 
Servant of glorious Menelaus, pour'd 
Pure water on their hands, and they the feast 
Before them with keen appetite assail'd. 
But Jove-born Helen otherwise, meantime, 
Employ'd, into the wine of which they drank 
A drug infused, antidote to the pains 
Of grief and anger, a most potent charm 
For ills of every name. Whoe'er his wine 
So medicated drinks, he shall not pour 


1 Antilochus was his brother. 

2 The son of Aurora, who slew Antilochus, was Memnon. 

3 Because Pisistratus was born after Antilochus had 
sailed to Troy. 


All day the tears down his wan cheek, although 

His father and his mother both were dead, 

Nor even though his brother or his son 

Had fallen in battle, and before his eyes. 

Such drugs Jove's daughter own'd, with skill 

prepared, 
And of prime virtue, by the wife of Thone, 
^Egyptian Polydamna, given her. 
For ^Egypt teems with drugs, yielding no few 
Which, mingled with the drink, are good, and many 
Of baneful juice, and enemies to life. 
There every man in skill medicinal 
Excels, for they are sons of Paeon all. 
That drug infused, she bade her servant pour 
The beverage forth, and thus her speech resumed. 

Atrides ! Menelaus ! dear to Jove ! 
These also are the sons of chiefs renown'd, 
(For Jove, as pleases him, to each assigns 
Or good or evil, whom all things obey) 
Now therefore, feasting at your ease reclined, 
Listen with pleasure, for myself, the while, 
Will matter seasonable interpose. 
I cannot all rehearse, nor even name 
(Omitting none) the conflicts and exploits 
Of brave Ulysses ; but with what address 
Successful, one achievement he perform'd 
At Ilium, where Achaia's sons endured 
Such hardship, will I speak. Inflicting wounds 
Dishonourable on himself, he took 
A tatter'd garb, and like a serving-man 
Enter'd the spacious city of your foes. 
So veil'd, some mendicant he seem'd, although 
No Greecian less deserved that name than he. 
In such disguise he enter'd ; all alike 
Misdeem'd him ; me alone he not deceived 
Who challenged him, but, shrewd, he turn'd away. 
At length, however, when I had myself 
Bathed him, anointed, cloath'd him, and had sworn 
Not to declare him openly in Troy 
Till he should reach again the camp and fleet, 
He told me the whole purpose of the Greeks. 
Then, (many a Trojan slaughter'd) he regain'd 
The camp, and much intelligence he bore 
To the Achaians. Oh, what wailing then 
Was heard of Trojan women ! but my heart 
Exulted, alter'd now, and wishing home ; 
For now my crime committed under force 
Of Venus' influence I deplored, what time 
She led me to a country far remote, 
A wanderer from the matrimonial bed, 
From my own child, and from my rightful lord 
Alike unblemish'd both in form and mind. 

Her answer'd then the hero golden-hair'd. 
Helen ! thou hast well spoken. All is true. 
I have the talents fathom'd and the minds 
Of numerous heroes, and have travel'd far. 
Yet never saw I with these eyes in man 
Such firmness as the calm Ulysses own'd ; 
None such as in the wooden horse he proved, 
Where all our bravest sat, designing woe 
And bloody havoc for the sons of Troy. 
Thou thither earnest, impell'd, as it should seem, 
By some divinity inclined to give 
Victory to our foes, and with thee came 
Godlike Deiphobus. Thrice round about 
The hollow ambush, striking with thy hand 
Its sides thou went'st, and by his name didst call 
Each prince of Greece, feigning his consort's voice. 
Myself with Diomede, and with divine 
Ulysses, seated in the midst, the call 


THE ODYSSEY. 


417 


Heard plain and loud ; we (Diomede and I) 
With ardour burn'd either to quit the horse 
So summon'd, or to answer from within. 
But, all impatient as we were, Ulysses 
Controul'd the rash'd design ; so there the sons 
Of the Achaians silent sat and mate, 
And of us all Anticlus would alone 
Have answer'd ; but Ulysses, with both hands 
Compressing close his lips, saved us, nor ceased 
Till Pallas thence conducted thee again. 

Then thus, discreet, Telemachus replied. 
Atrides ! Menelaus ! prince renown'd ! 
Hard was his lot, whom these rare qualities 
Preserved not, neither had his dauntless heart 
Been iron, had he 'scaped his cruel doom. 
But haste, dismiss us hence, that on our beds 
Reposed, we may enjoy sleep, needful now. 

He ceased ; then Argive Helen gave command 
To her attendant maidens to prepare 
Beds in the portico with purple rugs 
Resplendent, and with arras, overspread, 
And cover'd warm with cloaks of shaggy pile. 
Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch, 
And spread the couches ; next, the herald them 
Led forth, and in the vestibule the son 
Of Nestor and the youthful hero slept, 
Telemachus ; but in the interior house 
Atrides, with the loveliest of her sex 
Beside him, Helen of the sweeping stole. 
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Glow'd in the east, then from his couch arose 
The warlike Menelaus, fresh attired ; 
His faulchion o'er his shoulders slung, he bound 
His sandals fair to his unsullied feet, 
And like a god issuing, at the side 
Sat of Telemachus, to whom he spake. 

Hero ! Telemachus ! what urgent cause 
Hath hither led thee, to the land far-famed 
Of Lacedsemon o'er the spacious deep ? 
Public concern or private ? Tell me true. 

To whom Telemachus discreet replied. 
Atrides ! Menelaus ! prince renown'd ! 
News seeking of my sire, I have arrived. 
My household is devour'd, my fruitful fields 
Are desolated, and my palace fill'd 
With enemies, who while they mutual wage 
Proud competition for my mother's love, 
My flocks continual slaughter, and my beeves. 
For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I beg 
That thou wouldst tell me his disastrous end, 
If either thou beheld'st with thine own eyes 
His death, or from some wanderer of the Greeks 
Hast heard it ; for no common woes, alas ! 
Was he ordain'd to share even from the womb. 
Neither through pity or o'erstrain'd respect 
Flatter me, but explicit all relate 
Which thou hast witness'd. If my noble sire 
E'er gratified thee by performance just 
Of word or deed at Ilium, where ye fell 
So numerous slain in fight, oh recollect 
Now his fidelity, and tell me true ! 

Then Menelaus, sighing deep, replied. 
Gods ! their ambition is to reach the bed 
Of a brave man, however base themselves. 
But as it chances, when the hart hath laid 
Her fawns new-yean'd and sucklings yet, to rest 
Within some dreadful lion's gloomy den, 
She roams the hills, and in the grassy vales 
Feeds heedless, till the lion, to his lair 
Return'd, destroys her and her little-ones, 


So them thy sire shall terribly destroy. 
Jove, Pallas and Apollo ! oh that such 
As erst in well-built Lesbos, where he strove 
With Philomelides, and threw him flat, 
A sight at which Achaia's sons l^ejoiced, 
Such, now, Ulysses might assail them all ! 
Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs. 
But thy enquiries neither indirect 
Will I evade, nor give thee false reply, 
But all that from the ancient l of the deep 
I have received will utter, hiding nought. 

As yet the gods on ^Egypt's shore detain'd 
Me wishing home, angry at my neglect 
To heap then' altars with slain hecatombs : 
For they exacted from us evermore 
Strict reverence of their laws. There is an isle 
Amid the billowy flood, Pharos by name, 
In front of y£gypt, distant from her shore 
Far as a vessel by a sprightly gale 
Impell'd, may push her voyage in a day. 
The haven there is good, and many a ship 
Finds watering there from rivulets on the coast. 
There me the gods kept twenty days, 119 breeze 
Propitious granting, that might sweep the waves, 
And usher to her home the flying bark. 
And now had our provision, all consumed, 
Left us exhausted, but a certain nymph 
Pitying saved me. Daughter fair was she 
Of mighty Proteus, ancient of the deep, 
Idothea named ; her most my sorrows moved ; 
She found me from my followers all apart 
Wandering, (for they around the isle, with hooks 
The fishes snaring roam'd, by famine urged) 
And standing at my side, me thus bespake. 

Stranger I thou must be idiot-born, or weak 
At least in intellect, or thy delight 
Is in distress and misery, who delay'st 
To leave this island, and no egress hence 
Canst find, although thy famish'd people faint. 

So spake the goddess, and I thus replied. 
I tell thee, whosoever of the powers 
Divine thou art, that I am prison'd here 
Not willingly, but must have, doubtless, sinn'd 
Against the deathless tenants of the skies. 
Yet say (for the immortals all things know) 
What god detains me, and my course forbids 
Hence to my country o'er the fishy deep ? 

So I ; to whom the goddess all divine. 
Stranger ! I will inform thee true. A seer 
Oracular, the ancient of the deep, 
Immortal Proteus, the ^Egyptian, haunts 
These shores, familiar with all ocean's gulfs, 
And Neptune's subject. He is by report 
My father ; him if thou art able once 
To seize and bind, he will prescribe the course 
With all its measured distances, by which 
Thou shalt regain secure thy native shores. 
He will, moreover, at thy suit declare, 
Thou favour'd of the skies ! what good, what ill 
Hath in thine house befallen, while absent thou 
Thy voyage difficult perform'st and long. 

She spake, and I replied,— Thyself reveal 
By what effectual bands I may secure 
The ancient deity marine, lest, warn'd 
Of my approach, he shun me and escape. 
Hard task for mortal hands to bind a god ! 

Then thus Idothea answer'd all-divine. 
I will inform thee true. Soon as the sun 


Proteus. 


418 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Hath climb'd the middle heavens, the prophet old, 

Emerging while the breezy zephyr blows, 

And cover'd with the scum of ocean, seeks 

His spacious cove, in which outstretch'd he lies. 

The phocae ' also, rising from the waves, 

Offspring of beauteous Halosydna, sleep 

Around him, numerous, and the fishy scent 

Exhaling rank of the unfathom'd flood. 

Thither conducting thee at peep of day 

I will dispose thee in some safe recess, 

But from among thy followers thou shalt chuse 

The bravest three in all thy gallant fleet. 

And now the artifices understand 

Of the old prophet of the sea. The sum 

Of all his phocae numbering duly first, 

He will pass through them, and when all by fives 

He counted hath, will in the midst repose 

Content, as sleeps the shepherd with his flock. 

When ye shall see him stretch'd, then call to mind 

That moment all your prowess, and prevent, 

Howe'er he strive impatient, his escape. 

All changes trying, he will take the form 

Of every reptile on the earth, will seem 

A river now, and now devouring fire ; 

But hold him ye, and grasp him still the more. 

And when himself shall question you, restored 

To his own form in which ye found him first 

Reposing, then from farther force abstain ; 

Then, hero ! loose the ancient of the deep, 

And ask him, of the gods who checks thy course 

Hence to thy country o'er the fishy flood. 

So saying, she plunged into the billowy waste. 
I then, in various musings lost, my ships 
Along the sea-beach station'd sought again, 
And when I reach 'd my galley on the shore 
We supp'd, and sacred night falling from heaven, 
Slept all extended on the ocean-side. 
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy forth, pensive beside the shore 
I walk'd of ocean, frequent to the gods 
Praying devout, then chose the fittest three 
For bold assault, and worthiest of my trust. 
Meantime the goddess from the bosom wide 
Of ocean rising, brought us thence four skins 
Of phocae, and all newly-stript, a snare 
Contriving subtle to deceive her sire. 
Four cradles in the sand she scoop'd, then sat 
Expecting us, who in due time approach'd ; 
She lodged us side by side, and over each 
A raw skin cast. Horrible to ourselves 
Proved that disguise, whom the pernicious scent 
Of the sea-nourish'd phocae sore annoy'd ; 
For who would lay him down at a whale's side ? 
But she a potent remedy devised 
Herself to save us, who the nostrils soothed 
Of each with pure ambrosia thither brought 
Odorous, which the fishy scent subdued. 
All morning, patient watchers, there we lay; 
And now the numerous phocae from the deep 
Emerging, slept along the shore, and he 
At noon came also, and perceiving there 
His fatted monsters, through the flock his course 
Took regular, and summ'd them ; with the first 
He number'd us, suspicion none of fraud 
Conceiving, then couch'd also. We, at once, 
Loud-shouting flew on him, and in our arms 
Constrain'd him fast ; nor the sea-prophet old 
Call'd not incontinent his shifts to mind. 

1 Seals, or sea-calves. 


First he became a long-maned lion grim, 
Then dragon, panther then, a savage boar, 
A limpid stream, and an o'ershadowing tree. 
We persevering held him, till at length 
The ancient of the deep, skill'd as he is 
In wiles, yet weary, question'd me, and said. 

Oh Atreus' son, by what confederate god 
Instructed liest thou in wait for me, 
To seize and hold me ? what is thy desire ? 

So he ; to whom thus answer I return'd. 
Old seer ! thou know'st ; why, fraudful, should'st 

thou ask ? 
It is because I have been prison'd long 
Within this isle, whence I have sought in vain 
Deliverance, till my wonted courage fails. 
Yet say (for the immortals all things know) 
What god detains me, and my course forbids 
Hence to my country o'er the fishy deep ? 

So I ; when thus the old one of the waves. 
2 But thy plain duty was to have adored 
Jove, first, in sacrifice, and all the gods, 
That then embarking, by propitious gales 
Impell'd, thou might'st have reach'd thy country 
For thou art doom'd ne'er to behold again [soon. 
Thy friends, thy palace, or thy native shores, 
Till thou have seen once more the hallow'd flood 
Of iEgypt, and with hecatombs adored 
Devout the deathless tenants of the skies. 
Then will they speed thee whither thou desirest. 

He ended, and my heart broke at his words, 
Which bade me pass again the gloomy gulf 
To Mgypt ; tedious course, and hard to achieve ! 
Yet, though in sorrow whelm'd, I thus replied. 

Old prophet ! I will all thy will perform. 
But tell me, and the truth simply reveal ; 
Have the Achaians with their ships arrived 
All safe, whom Nestor left and I, at Troy 1 
Or of the chiefs have any in their barks, 
Or in their followers' arms found a dire death 
Unlook'd for, since that city's siege we closed ? 

1 spake, when answer thus the god return'd. 
Atrides, why these questions ? need is none 
That thou should'st all my secrets learn, which 

once 
Beveal'd, thou wouldst not long dry-eyed remain. 
Of those no few have died, and many live ; 
But leaders, two alone, in their return 
Have died, (thou also hast had war to wage) 
And one, still living, roams the boundless sea. 

Ajax 3 , surrounded by his galleys, died. 
Him Neptune, first, against the bulky rocks 
The Gyrae drove, but saved him from the deep ; 
Nor had he perish'd, hated as he was 
By Pallas, but for his own impious boast 
In frenzy utter'd, that he would^escape 
The billows, even in the gods' despight. 
Neptune that speech vain-glorious hearing, grasp'd 
His trident, and the huge Gyraean rock 
Smiting indignant, dash'd it half away ; 
Part stood, and part, on which the boaster sat 
When, first, the brainsick fury seized him, fell, 
Bearing him with it down into the gnlfs 
Of ocean, where he drank the brine, and died. 
But thy own brother in his barks escaped 

2 From the abruptness of this beginning, Virgil, proba- 
bly, who has copied the story, took the hint of his admired 
exordium. 

Nam. quis te,juvcnum confdentissime, nostras 
Egit adire domus? 
s Son of Oileus 


THE ODYSSEY. 


419 




That fate, by Juno saved ; yet when, at length, 
He should have gain'd Malea's craggy shore, 
Then, by a sudden tempest caught, he flew 
With many a groan far o'er the fishy deep 
To the land's utmost point, where once his home 
Thyestes had, but where Thyestes' son 
Dwelt then, iEgisthus. Easy lay his course 
And open thence, and as it pleased the gods, 
The shifted wind soon bore them to their home. 
He high in exultation, trod the shore 
That gave him birth, kiss'd it, and at the sight, 
The welcome sight of Greece, shed many a tear. 
Yet not unseen he landed ; for a spy, 
One whom the shrewd iEgisthus had seduced 
By promise of two golden talents, mark'd 
His coming from a rock where he had watch'd 
The year complete, lest passing unperceived, 
The king should reassert his right in arms. 
Swift flew the spy with tidings to his lord, 
And he, incontinent, this project framed 
Insidious. Twenty men, the boldest hearts 
Of all the people, from the rest he chose, 
Whom he in ambush placed, and others charged 
Diligent to prepare the festal board. 
With horses, then, and chariots forth he drove 
Full-fraught with mischief, and conducting home 
The unsuspicious king, amid the feast 
Slew him, as at his crib men slay an ox. 
Nor of thy brother's train, nor of his train 
Who slew thy brother, one survived, but all, 
Weltering in blood together, there expired. 

He ended, and his words beat on my heart 
As they would break it. On the sands I sat 
Weeping, nor life nor light desiring more. 
But when I had in dust roll'd me, and wept 
To full satiety, mine ear again 
The oracle of ocean thus address'd. 

Sit not, son of Atreus ! weeping here 
Longer, for remedy can none be found ; 
But quick arising, trial make, how best 
Thou shalt, and soonest, reach thy home again. 
For either him still living thou shalt find, 
Or ere thou come, Orestes shall have slain 
The traitor, and thine eyes shall see his tomb. 

He ceased, and I, afflicted as I was, 
Yet felt my spirit at that word refresh 'd, 
And in wing'd accents answer thus return'd. 

Of these I am inform' d ; but name the third 
Who dead or living, on the boundless deep 
Is still detain'd ; I dread, yet wish to hear. 

So I ; to whom thus Proteus in return. 
Laertes' son, the lord of Ithaca — • 
Him in an island weeping I beheld, 
Guest of the nymph Calypso, by constraint 
Her guest, and from his native land withheld 
By sad necessity : for ships well-oar'd, 
Or faithful followers hath he none, whose aid 
Might speed him safely o'er the spacious flood. 
But Menelaus, dear to Jove ! thy fate 
Ordains not thee the stroke of death to meet 
In steed-famed Argos, but far hence the gods 
Will send thee to Elysium, and the earth's 
Extremest bounds ; (there Rhadamanthus dwells, 
The golden-hair'd, and there the human kind 
Enjoy the easiest life ; no snow is there, 
No biting whiter, and no drenching shower, 
But zephyr always gently from the sea 
Breathes on them, to refresh the happy race ;) 
For that fair Helen is by nuptial bands 
Thy own, and thou art son-in-law of Jove. 


So saying, he plunged into the billowy waste. 
I then, with my brave comrades to the fleet 
Return'd, deep-musing as I went, and sad. 
No sooner had I reach'd my ship beside 
The ocean, and we all had supp'd, than night 
From heaven fell on us, and at ease reposed 
Along the margin of the sea, we slept. 
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy forth, drawing our galleys down 
Into the sacred deep, we rear'd again 
The mast, unfurl'd the sail, and to our seats 
On board returning, thresh 'd the foamy flood. 
Once more, at length, within the hallow'd stream 
Of iEgypt mooring, on the shore I slew 
Whole hecatombs, and (the displeasure thus 
Of the immortal gods appeased) I rear'd 
To Agamemnon's never-dying fame 
A tomb, and finishing it sail'd again 
With such a gale from heaven vouchsafed, as sent 
My ships swift scudding to the shores of Greece, 
But come — eleven days wait here or twelve 
A guest with me, when I will send thee hence 
Nobly and honour'd with illustrious gifts, 
With polish'd chariot, with three princely steeds, 
And with a gorgeous cup, that to the gods 
Libation pouring ever while thou livest 
From that same cup, thou may'st remember me. 

Him, prudent, then answer'd Telemachus. 
Atrides seek not to detain me here 
Long time ; for though contented I could sit 
The year beside thee, nor regret my home 
Or parents, (so delightful thy discourse 
Sounds in my ear) yet, even now, I know, 
That my attendants to the Pylian shore 
Wish my return, whom thou thus long detain'st. 
What boon soe'er thou givest me, be it such 
As I may treasured keep ; but horses none 
Take I to Ithaca ; them rather far 
Keep thou, for thy own glory. Thou art lord 
Of an extended plain, where copious springs 
The lotus, herbage of all savours, wheat, 
Pulse, and white barley of luxuriant growth. 
But Ithaca no level champaign owns, 
A nursery of goats, and yet a land 
Fairer than even pastures to the eye. 
No sea-encircled isle of ours affords 
Smooth course commodious, and expanse of meads, 
But my own Ithaca transcends them all ! 

He said ; the hero Menelaus smiled, 
And stroking tenderly his cheek, replied. 
Dear youth ! thy speech proclaims thy noble blood. 
I can with ease supply thee from within 
With what shall suit thee better, and the gift 
Of all that I possess which most excels 
In beauty, and the noblest shall be thine. 
I give thee, wrought elaborate, a cup 
Itself all silver, bound Avith lip of gold. 
It is the work of Vulcan, which to me 
The hero Phsedimus imparted, king 
Of the Sidonians, when on my return 
His house received me. That shall be thy own. 

Thus they conferr'd ; and now the busy train 
Of ' menials culinary at the gate 
Enter'd of Menelaus, chief renown'd ; 
They brought him sheep, with heart-ennobling 


1 Aanvficiov — generally signifies the founder of a feast ; 
but we are taught by Eustathius to understand by it, in 
this place, the persons employed in preparing it. 
ee2 


420 


THE ODYSSEY. 


While all their wives, their brows with frontlets 

bound, 
Came charged with bread. Thus busy they pre- 
A banquet in the mansion of the king. [pared 

Meantime, before Ulysses' palace gate 
The suitors sported with the quoit and spear 
On the smooth area, customary scene 
Of all their strife and angry clamour loud. 
There sat Antinous, and the godlike youth 
Euiymachus, superior to the rest 
And chiefs among them, to whom Phronius' son 
Noemon drawing nigh, with anxious mien 
Question'd Antinous, and thus began. 

Know we, Antinous ! or know we not, 
When to expect Telemachus at home 
Again from Pylus ? In my ship he went, 
Which now I need, that I may cross the sea 
To Elis, on whose spacious plain I feed 
Twelve mares, each suckling a mule-colt as yet 
Unbroken, but of which I purpose one 
To ferry thence, and break him into use. 

He spake, whom they astonish'd heard ; for him 
They deem'd not to Neleian Pylus gone, 
But haply into his own fields, his flocks 
To visit, or the steward of his swine. 
Then thus, Eupithes' son, Antinous, spake. 

Say true. When sail'd he forth ? of all our youth, 
Whom chose he for his followers ? his own train 
Of slaves and hirelings % hath he power to effect 
This also ? Tell me too, for I would learn — 
Took he perforce thy sable bark away, 
Or gavest it to hhn at his first demand % 

To whom Noemon, Phronius' son, replied. 
I gave it voluntary ; what could'st thou, 
Should such a prince petition for thy bark 
In such distress? Hard were it to refuse. 
Brave youths (our bravest youths except your- 
selves) 
Attend him forth ; and with them I observed 
Mentor embarking, ruler o'er them all, 
Or, if not him, a god ; for such he seem'd. 
But this much moves my wonder. Yester-morn 
1 saw, at day-break, noble Mentor here, 
Whom shipp'd for Pylus I had seen before. 

He ceased ; and to his father's house return'd ; 
They, hearing, sat aghast. Their games meantime 
Finish'd, the suitors on their seats reposed, 
To whom Eupithes' son, Antinous, next, 
Much troubled spake ; a black storm overcharged 
His bosom, and his vivid eyes flash'd fire. 

Ye gods, a proud exploit is here achieved, 
This voyage of Telemachus, by us 
Pronounced impracticable ; yet the boy 
In downright opposition to us all, 
Hath headlong launch'd a ship, and with a band 
Selected from our bravest youth, is gone. 
He soon will prove more mischievous, whose power 
Jove wither, ere we suffer its effects ! 
But give me a swift bark with twenty rowers, 
That, watching his return within the streights 
Of rocky Samos and of Ithaca, 
I may surprise him ; so shall he have sail'd 
To seek his sire, fatally for himself. 

He ceased, and loud applause heard in reply, 
With warm encouragement. Then, rising all, 
Into Ulysses' house at once they throng'd. 
Nor was Penelope left uninform'd 
Long time of their clandestine plottings deep, 
For herald Medon told her all, whose ear 
Their councils caught while in the outer-court 


He stood, and they that project framed within. 

Swift to Penelope the tale he bore, 

Who as he pass'd the gate him thus address'd. 

For what cause, herald ! have the suitors sent 
Thee foremost ? Would they that my maidens lay 
Their tasks aside, and dress the board for them \ 
Here end their wooing ! may they hence depart 
Never, and may the banquet now prepared, 
This banquet prove your 1 last ! who in such throngs 
Here meeting waste the patrimony fair 
Of brave Telemachus ; ye never, sure, 
When children, heard how gracious and how good 
Ulysses dwelt among your parents, none 
Of all his people, or in word or deed 
Injuring as great princes oft are wont, 
By favour influenced now, now by disgust. 
He no man wrong'd at any time ; but plain 
Your wicked purpose in your deeds appears, 
Who sense have none of benefits conferr'd. 

Then Medon answer thus, prudent, return'd. 
Oh queen ! may the gods grant this prove the 
But greater far and heavier ills than this [worst. 
The suitors plan, whose counsels Jove confound ! 
Their base desire and purpose are to slay 
Telemachus on his return ; for he, 
To gather tidings of his sire is gone 
To Pylus, or to Sparta's land divine. 

He said ; and where she stood, her trembling 
Fail'd under her, and all her spirits went, [knees 
Speechless she long remain'd, tears fill'd her eyes, 
And inarticulate in its passage died 
Her utterance, till at last with pain she spake. 

Herald ! why went my son ? he hath no need 
On board swift ships to ride, which are to man 
His steeds that bear him over seas remote. 
Went he, that, with himself, his very name 
Might perish from among mankind for ever ? 

Then answer, thus, Medon the wise return'd. 
I know not whether him some god impell'd 
Or his own heart to Pylus, there to hear 
News of his sire's return, or by what fate 
At least he died, if he return no more. 

He said, and traversing Ulysses' courts, 
Departed ; she, with heart-consuming woe 
O'erwhelm'd, no longer could endure to take 
Repose on any of her numerous seats, 
But on the threshold of her chamber-door 
Lamenting sat, while all her female train 
Around her moan'd, the ancient and the young, 
Whom, sobbing, thus, Penelope bespake. 

Hear me, ye maidens ! for of women born 
Coeval with me, none hath e'er received 
Such plenteous sorrow from the gods as I, 
Who first my noble husband lost, endued 
With courage lion-like, of all the Greeks 
The chief with every virtue most adorn' d, 
A prince all-excellent, whose glorious praise 
Through Hellas and all Argos flew diffused. 
And now, my darling son, — him storms have 
Far hence inglorious, and I knew it not. [snatch'd 
Ah treacherous servants ! conscious as ye were 
Of his design, not one of you the thought 
Conceived to wake me when he went on board. 
For had but the report once reach'd my ear, 
He either had not gone (how much soe'er 

1 This transition from the third to the second person 
belongs to the original, and is considered as a fine stroke 
of art in the poet, who represents Penelope in the warmth 
of her resentment, forgetting where she is, and addressing 
the suitors as if present. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


421 






He wish'd to leave me) or had left me dead. 
But haste ye, — bid my ancient servant come, 
Dolion (whom when 1 left my father's house 
He gave me, and whose office is to attend 
My numerous garden-plants) that he may seek 
At once Laertes, and may tell him all, 
Who may contrive some remedy, perchance, 
Or fit expedient, and shall come abroad 
To weep before the men who wish to slay 
Even the prince, godlike Ulysses' son. 

Then thus the gentle Euryclea spake, 
Nurse of Telemachus. Alas ! my queen ! 
Slay me, or spare, deal with me as thou wilt, 
I will confess the truth. I knew it all. 
I gave him all that he required from me, 
Both wine and bread, and at his bidding, swore 
To tell thee nought in twelve whole days to come, 
Or till, inquiry made, thou should'st thyself 
Learn his departure, lest thou should'st impair 
Thy lovely features with excess of grief. 
But lave thyself, and fresh attired, ascend 
To thy own chamber, there, with all thy train, 
To worship Pallas, who shall save, thenceforth, 
Thy son from death, what ills soe'er he meet. 
Add not fresh sorrows to the present woes 
Of the old king, for I believe not yet 
Arcesias' race entirely by the gods 
Renounced, but trust that there shall still be found 
Among them, who shall dwell in royal state, 
And reap the fruits of fertile fields remote. 

So saying, she hush'd her sorrow, and her eyes 
No longer stream'd. Then, bathed and fresh 
Penelope ascended with her train [attired, 

The upper palace, and a basket stored 
With hallow'd cakes offering, to Pallas pray'd. 

Hear,, matchless daughter of Jove segis-arm'd 1 
If ever wise Ulysses offer'd here 
The thighs of fatted kine or sheep to thee, 
Now mindful of his piety, preserve 
His darling son, and frustrate with a frown 
The cruelty of these imperious guests ! 

She said, and wept aloud, whose earnest suit 
Pallas received. And now the spacious hall 
And gloomy passages with tumult rang 
And clamour of that throng, when thus, a youth 
Insolent as his fellows, dared to speak. 

Much woo'd and long, the queen at length pre- 
pares 
To chuse another mate ', and nought suspects 
The bloody death to which her son is doom'd. 

So he ; but they, meantime, themselves remain'd 
Untaught, what course the dread concern elsewhere 
Had taken, whom Antinous thus address'd. 
Sirs ! one and all, I counsel you, beware 
Of such bold boasting unadvised ; lest one 
O'erhearing you, report your words within. 
No — rather thus, in silence, let us move 
To an exploit so pleasant to us all. 

He said, and twenty chose, the bravest there, 
With whom he sought the galley on the shore, 
Which drawing down into the deep, they placed 
The mast and sails on board, and fitting, next, 
Each oar in order to its proper groove, 
Unfurl'd and spread their canvas to the gale. " 
Their bold attendants, then, brought them their 

arms, 
And soon as in deep water they had moor'd 


i Mistaking, perhaps, the sound of her voice and imagin- 
ing that she sang — Vide Barnes in loco. 


The ship, themselves embarking, supp'd on board, 
And watch'd impatient for the dusk of eve. 

But when Penelope, the palace stairs 
Remounting, had her upper chamber reach'd, 
There, unrefresh'd with either food or wine, 
She laid her down, her noble son the theme 
Of all her thoughts, whether he should escape 
His haughty foes, or perish by their hands. 
Numerous as are the lion's thoughts, who sees, 
Not without fear, a multitude with toils 
Encircling him around, such numerous thoughts 
Her bosom occupied, till sleep at length 
Invading her, she sank in soft repose. 

Then Pallas, teeming with a new design, 
Set forth an airy phantom in the form 
Of fair Iphthima, daughter of the brave 
Icarius, and Eumelus' wedded wife 
In Pherse. Shaped like her the dream she sent 
Into the mansion of the godlike chief 
Ulysses, with kind purpose to abate 
The sighs and tears of sad Penelope. 
Entering the chamber-portal, where the bolt 
Secured it, at her head the image stood, 
And thus, in terms compassionate, began. 

Sleep'st thou, distress'd Penelope ? The gods, 
Happy in everlasting rest themselves, 
Forbid thy sorrows. Thou shalt yet behold 
Thy son again, who hath by no offence 
Incurr'd at any time the wrath of heaven. 

To whom, sweet-slumbering in the shadowy gate 
By which dreams pass, Penelope replied. 

What cause, my sister, brings thee, who art seen 
Unfrequent here, for that thou dwell 'st remote \ 
And thou enjoin'st me a cessation too 
From sorrows numerous, and which, fretting, wear 
My heart continual ; first, my spouse I lost 
With courage lion-like endow'd, a prince 
All-excellent, whose never-dying praise 
Through Hellas and all Argos flew diffused ; 
And now my only son, new to the toils 
And hazards of the sea, nor less untaught 
The arts of traffic, in a ship is gone 
Far hence, for whose dear cause I sorrow more 
Than for his sire himself, and even shake 
With terror, lest he perish by their hands 
To whom he goes, or in the stormy deep ; 
For numerous are his foes, and all intent 
To slay him, ere he reach his home again. 

Then answer thus the shadowy form return'd. 
Take courage ; suffer not excessive dread 
To overwhelm thee, such a guide he hath 
And guardian, one whom many wish their friend, 
And ever at their side, knowing her power, 
Minerva ; she compassionates thy griefs, 
And I am here, her harbinger, who speak 
As thou hast heard by her own kind command. 

Then thus Penelope the wise replied. 
Oh ! if thou art a goddess, and hast heard 
A goddess' voice, rehearse to me the lot 
Of that unhappy one, if yet he live 
Spectator of the cheerful beams of day, 
Or if, already dead, he dwell below. 

Whom answer'd thus the fleeting shadow vain. 
I will not now inform thee if thy lord 
Live, or live not. Vain words are best unspoken. 

So saying, her egress swift beside the bolt 
She made, and melted into air. Upsprang 
From sleep Icarius' daughter, and her heart 
Felt heal'd within her, by that dream distinct 
Visited in the noiseless night serene. 


422 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Meantime the suitors urged their watery way, 
To instant death devoting in their hearts 
Telemaehus. There is a rocky isle 
In the mid sea, Samos the rude between 
And Ithaca, not large, named Asteris. 
It hath commodious havens, into which 
A passage clear opens on either side, 
And there the amhush'd Greeks his coming watch'd. 


BOOK V. 


ARGUMENT. 

Mercury bears to Calypso a command from Jupiter that 
she dismiss Ulysses. She, after some remonstrances, 
promises obedience, and furnishes him with implements 
and materials, with which he constructs a raft. He 
quits Calypso's island; is persecuted by Neptune with 
dreadful tempests, but by the assistance of a sea nymph, 
after having lost his raft, is enabled to swim to Phasaeia. 

; Aurora from beside her glorious mate 

j Tithonus now arose, light to dispense [gods 

I Through earth and heaven, when the assembled 

In council sat, o'er whom high-thundering Jove 
i Presided, mightiest of the powers above. 

Amid them, Pallas on the numerous woes 

Descanted of Ulysses, whom she saw 

With grief, still prison'd in Calypso's isle. 
Jove, father, hear me, and ye other powers 
j Who live for ever, hear ! Be never king 
I Henceforth to gracious acts inclined, humane, 

Or righteous, but let every sceptred hand 
1 Rule merciless, and deal in wrong alone, 

Since none of all his people whom he sway'd 
| With such paternal gentleness and love 

Remembers, now, divine Ulysses more. 
| He, in yon distant isle a sufferer lies 
j Of hopeless sorrow, through constraint the guest 
i Still of the nymph Calypso, without means 
; Or power to reach his native shores again, 
j Alike of gallant barks and friends deprived, 
! Who might conduct him o'er the spacious deep. 
i Nor is this all, but enemies combine 
! To slay his son ere yet he can return 
j From Pylus, whither he hath gone to learn 

There, or in Sparta, tidings of his sire. 

To whom the cloud-assembler god replied. 
! What word hath pass'd thy lips, daughter beloved % 
j Hast thou not purposed that arriving soon 

At home, Ulysses shall destroy his foes ? 
; Guide thou, Telemaehus, (for well thou canst) 

That he may reach secure his native coast, 
| And that the suitors baffled may return. 

He ceased, and thus to Hermes spake, his son. 

Hermes ! (for thou art herald of our will 
I At all times) to yon bright-hair'd nymph convey 
I Our fixt resolve, that brave Ulysses thence 
\ Depai't, uncompanied by god or man. 
: Borne on a corded raft, and suffering woe 

Extreme, he on the twentieth day shall reach, 

Not sooner, Scherie the deep-soil'd, possess'd 
j By the Phseacians, kinsmen of the gods. 

They, as a god shall reverence the chief, 

And in a bark of theirs shall send him thence 

To his own home, much treasure, brass and gold 
J And raiment giving him, to an amount 
I Surpassing all that, had he safe return'd, 


He should by lot have shared of Ilium's spoil. 

Thus fate appoints Ulysses to regain 

His country, his own palace, and his friends. 

He ended, nor the Argicide refused, 
Messenger of the skies ; his sandals fair, 
Ambrosial, golden, to his feet he bound, 
Which o'er the moist wave, rapid as the wind, 
Bear him, and o'er the illimitable earth, 
Then took his rod with which, at will, all eyes 
He closes soft, or opes them wide again. 
So arm'd, forth flew the valiant Argicide. 
Alighting on Pieria, down he stoop'd 
To ocean, and the billows lightly skimm'd 
In form a sea-mew, such as in the bays 
Tremendous of the barren deep her food 
Seeking, dips oft in brine her ample wing. 
In such disguise o'er many a wave he rode, 
But reaching, now, that isle remote, forsook 
The azure deep, and at the spacious grot, 
Where dwelt the amber-tressed nymph arrived, 
Found her within. A fire on all the hearth 
Blazed sprightly, and, afar-diffused, the scent 
Of smooth-split cedar and of cypress wood 
Odorous, burning, cheer'd the happy isle. 
She, busied at the loom, and plying fast 
Her golden shuttle, with melodious voice 
Sat chaunting there ; a grove on either side, 
Alder and poplar, and the redolent branch 
Wide-spread of cy^press, skirted dark the cave. 
There many a bird of broadest pinion built 
Secure her nest, the owl, the kite, and daw 
Long-tongued, frequenter of the sandy shores. 
A garden-vine luxuriant on all sides 
Mantled the spacious cavern, cluster-hung 
Profuse ; four fountains of serenest lymph 
Their sinuous course pursuing side by side, 
Stray'd all around, and everywhere appear'd 
Meadows of softest verdure, purpled o'er 
With violets ; it was a scene to fill 
A god from heaven with wonder and delight. 
Hermes, heaven's messenger, admiring stood 
That sight, and having all survey'd, at length 
Enter' d the grotto ; nor the lovely nymph 
Him knew not soon as seen, for not unknown 
Each to the other the immortals are, 
How far soever separate their abodes. 
Yet found he not within the mighty chief 
Ulysses ; he sat weeping on the shore, 
Forlorn, for there his custom was with groans 
Of sad regret to afflict his breaking heart, 
Looking continual o'er the barren deep. 
Then thus Calypso, nymph divine, the god 
Question'd, from her resplendent throne august. 

Hermes ! possessor of the potent rod ! 
Who, though by me much reverenced and beloved, 
So seldom comest, say, wherefore comest now ? 
Speak thy desire ; I grant it, if thou ask 
Things possible, and possible to me. 
Stay not, but entering farther, at my board 
Due rites of hospitality receive. 

So saying, the goddess with ambrosial food 
Her table cover'd, and with rosy juice 
'Nectareous charged the cup. Then ate and drank 
The Argicide and herald of the slues, 
And in his soul with that repast divine 
Refresh'd, his message to the nymph declared. 

Questionest thou, a goddess, me a god ? 
I tell thee truth, since such is thy demand. 
Not willing, but by Jove constraint, I come. 
For who would, voluntary, such a breadth 


THE ODYSSEY. 


423 


Enormous measure of the salt expanse, 
Where city none is seen in which the gods 
Are served with chosen hecatombs and prayer ? 
But no divinity may the designs 
Elude, or contravert, of Jove supreme. 
He saith, that here thou hold'st the most distrest 
Of all those warriors who nine years assail'd 
The city of Priam, and (that city sack'd) 
Departed in the tenth ; but, going thence, 
Offended Pallas, who with adverse winds 
Opposed their voyage, and with boisterous waves. 
Then perish'd all his gallant friends, but him 
Billows and storms drove hither ; Jove commands 
That thou dismiss him hence without delay, 
For fate ordains him not to perish here 
From all his friends remote, but he is doom'd 
To see them yet again, and to arrive 
At his own palace in his native land. 

He said ; divine Calypso at the sound 
Shudder'd, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

Ye are unjust, ye gods, and envious past 
All others, grudging if a goddess take 
A mortal man openly to her arms ! 
So, when the rosy-finger'd Morning chose : 
Orion, though ye live yourselves at ease, 
Yet ye all envied her, until the chaste 
Diana from her golden throne dispatch'd 
A silent shaft, which slew him in Ortygia. 
So, when the golden-tressed Ceres, urged 
By passion, took lasion to her arms 
In a thrice-labour'd fallow, not untaught 
Was Jove that secret long, and hearing it, 
Indignant, slew him with his candent bolt. 
So also, ye gods, ye envy me 
The mortal man, my consort. Him I saved 
Myself, while solitary on his keel 
He rode, for with his sulphurous arrow Jove 
Had cleft his bark amid the sable deep. 
Then perish'd all his gallant friends, but him 
Billows and storms drove hither, whom I loved 
Sincere, and fondly destined to a life 
Immortal, unobnoxious to decay* 
But since no deity may the designs 
Elude or controvert of Jove supreme, 
Hence with him o'er the barren deep, if such 
The sovereign's will, and such his stern command. 
But undismiss'd he goes by me, who ships 
Myself well-oar'd and mariners have none 
To send with him athwart the spacious flood ; 
Yet freely, readily, my best advice 
I will afford him, that, escaping all 
Danger, he may regain his native shore. 

Then Hermes thus, the messenger of heaven. 
Act as thou say'st, fearing the frown of Jove, 
Lest, if provoked, he spare not even thee. 

So saying, the dauntless Argicide withdrew, 
And she (Jove's mandate heard) all-graceful went, 
Seeking the brave Ulysses ; on the shore 
She found him seated ; tears succeeding tears 
Deluged his eyes, while, hopeless of return, 
Life's precious hours to eating cares he gave 
Continual, with the nymph now charm'd no more. 
Yet, cold as she was amorous, still he pass'd 
His nights beside her in the hollow grot, 
Constrain'd, and day by day the rocks among 
Which lined the shore heart-broken sat, and oft 
While wistfully he eyed the barren deep, 
Wept, groan'd, desponded, sigh'd, and wept again. 
Then, drawing. near, thus spake the nymph divine. 
Unhappy ! weep not here, nor life consume 


In anguish ; go ; thou hast my glad consent. 
Arise to labour ; hewing down the trunks 
Of lofty trees, fashion them with the axe 
To a broad, raft, which closely floor'd above, 
Shall hence convey thee o'er the gloomy deep. 
Bread, water, and the red grape's cheering juice 
Myself will put on board, which shall preserve 
Thy life from famine ; I will also give 
New raiment for thy limbs, and will dispatch 
Winds after thee to waft thee home unharm'd, 
If such the pleasure of the gods who dwell 
In yonder boundless heaven, superior far 
To me, in knowledge and in skill to judge. 

She ceased ; but horror at that sound the heart 
Chill'd of Ulysses, and in accents wing'd 
With wonder, thus the noble chief replied. 

Ah ! other thoughts than of my safe return 
Employ thee, goddess, now, who bid'st me pass 
The perilous gulf of ocean on a raft, 
That wild expanse terrible, which even ships 
Pass not, though form'd to cleave their way with 
And joyful in propitious winds from Jove, [ease, 
No — let me never, in despight of thee, 
Embark on board a raft, nor till thou swear, 
Oh goddess ! the inviolable oath, 
That future mischief thou intend'st me none. 

He said ; Calypso, beauteous goddess, smiled, 
And, while she spake, stroking his cheek, replied. 

Thou dost asperse me rudely, and excuse 
Of ignorance hast none, far better taught ; 
What words were these? How could'st thou thus 

reply ? 
Now, hear me, Earth, and the wide Heaven above ! 
Hear, too, ye waters of the Stygian stream 
Under the earth, (by which the blessed gods 
Swear trembling, and revere the aweful oath !) 
That future mischief I intend thee none. 
No, my designs concerning thee are such 
As, in an exigence resembling thine, 
Myself, most sure, should for myself conceive. 
I have a mind more equal, not of steel 
My heart is form'd, but much to pity inclined. 
So saying, the lovely goddess with swift pace 
Led on, whose footsteps he as swift pursued. 
Within the vaulted cavern they arrived, 
The goddess and the man ; on the same throne 
Ulysses sat, whence Hermes had arisen, 
And viands of all kinds, such as sustain 
The life of mortal man, Calypso placed 
Before him, both for beverage and for food. 
She opposite to the illustrious chief 
Reposed, by her attendant maidens served 
With nectar and ambrosia. They their hands 
Stretch'd forth together to the ready feast, 
And when nor hunger more nor thirst remain'd 
Unsated, thus the beauteous nymph began. 

Laertes' noble son, for wisdom famed 
And artifice ! oh canst thou thus resolve 
To seek, incontinent, thy native shores ? 
I pardon thee. Farewell ! but could'st thou guess 
The woes which fate ordains thee to endure 
Ere yet thou reach thy country, well-content 
Here to inhabit, thou would'st keep my grot 
And be immortal, howsoe'er thy wife 
Engage thy every wish day after day. 
Yet can 1 not in stature or in form 
Myself suspect inferior aught to her, 
Since competition cannot be between 
Mere mortal beauties and a form divine. 
To whom Ulysses, ever- wise, replied. 


424 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Aweful divinity ! be not incensed. 
I know that my Penelope in form 
And stature altogether yields to thee, 
For she is mortal, and immortal thou, 
From age exempt ; yet not the less I wish 
My home, and languish daily to return. 
But should some god amid the sable deep 
Dash me again into a wreck, my soul 
Shall bear that also ; for, by practice taught, 
I have learn'd patience, having much endured 
By tempest and in battle both. Come then 
This evil also ! I am well prepared. 

He ended, and the sun sinking, resign'd 
The earth to darkness. Then in a recess 
Interior of the cavern, side by side 
Reposed, they took their amorous delight. 
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy forth, Ulysses then in haste 
Put on his vest and mantle, and the nymph 
Her snowy vesture of transparent woof, 
Graceful, redundant ; to her waist she bound 
Her golden zone, and veil'd her beauteous head, 
Then, musing, plann'd the noble chief's return. 
She gave him, fitted to the grasp, an axe 
Of iron, ponderous, double-edged, with haft 
Of olive-wood, inserted firm, and wrought 
With curious art. Then, placing in his hand 
A polish'd adze, she led, herself, the way 
To her isle's utmost verge, where tallest trees 
But dry long since and sapless stood, which best 
Might serve his purposes, as buoyant most, 
The alder, poplar, and cloud-piercing fir. 
To that tall grove she led and left him there, 
Seeking her grot again. Then slept not he, 
But, swinging with both hands the axe, his task 
Soon finish 'd ; trees full twenty to the ground 
He cast, which, dexterous, with his adze he smooth'd, 
The knotted surface chipping by a line. 
Meantime the lovely goddess to his aid [beams, 
Sharp augers brought, with which he bored the 
Then, side by side placing them, fitted each 
To other, and with long cramps join'd them all. 
Broad as an artist, skill'd in naval works, 
The bottom of a ship of burthen spreads, 
Such breadth Ulysses to his raft assign'd. 
He deck'd her over with long planks, upborne 
On massy beams ; he made the mast, to which 
He added suitable the yard ; — he framed 
Rudder and helm to regulate her course, 
With wicker-work he border'd all her length 
For safety, and much ballast stow'd within. 
Meantime, Calypso brought him for a sail 
Fittest materials, which he also shaped, 
And to his sail due furniture annex'd 
Of cordage strong, foot-ropes and ropes aloft, 
Then heaved her down with levers to the deep. 
He finish'd all his work on the fourth day, 
And on the fifth, Calypso, nymph divine, 
Dismiss'd him from her isle, but laved him first, 
And clothed him in sweet-scented garments new. 
Two skins the goddess also placed on board, 
One charged with crimson wine, and ampler one 
With water, nor a bag with food replete 
Forgot, nutritious, grateful to the taste, 
Nor yet, her latest gift, a gentle gale 
And manageable, which Ulysses spread, 
Exulting, all his canvass to receive. 
Beside the helm he sat, steering expert, 
Nor sleep fell ever on his eyes that watch'd 
Intent the Pleiads, tardy in decline 


Bootes, and the Bear, call'd else the Wain, 
Which, in his polar prison circling, looks 
Direct toward Orion, and alone 
Of these sinks never to the briny deep. 
That star the lovely goddess bade him hold 
Continual on his left through all his course. 
Ten days and seven, he, navigating, cleaved 
The brine, and on the eighteenth day, at length, 
The shadowy mountains of Phseacia's land 
Descried, where nearest to his course it lay 
Like a broad buckler on the waves afloat. 

But Neptune, now returning from the land 
Of ^Ethiopia, mark'd him on his raft 
Skimming the billows, from the mountain-tops 
Of distant Solyma 1 . With tenfold wrath 
Inflamed that sight he view'd, his brows he shook, 
And thus within himself, indignant, spake. 

So then — new counsels in the skies, it seems, 
Propitious to Ulysses, have prevail'd 
Since ./Ethiopia hath been my abode. 
He sees Phseacia nigh, where he must leap 
The boundary of his woes ; but ere that hour 
Arrive, I will ensure him many a groan. 

So saying, he grasp'd his trident, gather'd dense 
The clouds and troubled ocean ; every storm 
From every point he summon'd, earth and sea 
Darkening, and the night fell black from heaven. 
The east, the south, the heavy-blowing west, 
And the cold north- wind clear, assail'd at once 
His raft, and heaved on high the billowy flood. 
All hope, all courage, in that moment, lost, 
The hero thus within himself complain'd. 

Wretch that I am, what destiny at last 
Attends me ! much I fear the goddess' words 
All true, which threaten'd me with numerous ills 
On the wide sea, ere I should reach my home. 
Behold them all fulfill'd ! With what a storm 
Jove hangs the heavens, and agitates the deep ! 
The winds combined beat on me. Now I sink ! 
Thrice blest, and more than thrice, Achaia's sons 
At Ilium slain for the Atridse' sake ! 
Ah, would to heaven that, dying, I had felt 
That day the stroke of fate, when me the dead 
Achilles guarding, with a thousand spears 
Troy's furious host assail'd ! Funereal rites 
I then had shared, and praise from every Greek, 
Whom now the most ingloinous death awaits. 

While thus he spake, a billow on his head 
Bursting impetuous, whirl'd the raft around, 
And dashing from his grasp the helm, himself 
Plunged far remote. Then came a sudden gust 
Of mingling winds, that in the middle snapp'd 
His mast, and, hurried o'er the waves afar, 
Both sail and sail-yard fell into the flood. 
Long time submerged he lay, nor could with ease 
The violence of that dread shock surmount, 
Or rise to air again, so burthensome 
His drench'd apparel proved ; but, at the last, 
He rose, and rising, sputter'd from his lips 
The brine that trickled copious from his brows. 
Nor, harass'd as he was, resign'd he yet 
His raft, but buffeting the waves aside 
With desperate efforts, seized it, and again 
Fast seated on the middle deck, escaped. 
Then roll'd the raft at random in the flood, 
Wallowing unwieldy, toss'd from wave to wave. 
As when in autumn, Boreas o'er the plain 

' The Solymi were the ancient inhabitants of Pisidia in 
Asia Minor. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


425 


Conglomerated thorns before him drives, 
They, tangled, to each other close adhere, 
So her the winds drove wild about the deep. 
By turns the south consign'd her to be sport 
For the rude north-wind, and by turns, the east 
Yielded her to the worrying west a prey. 
But Cadmus' beauteous daughter (Ino once, 
Now named Leucothea) saw him ; mortal erst 
Was she, and trod the earth 1 , but nymph become 
Of ocean since, in honours shares divine. 
She mark'd his anguish, and, while toss'd he roam'd, 
Pitied Ulysses ; from the flood, in form 
A cormorant, she flew, and on the raft 
Close-corded perching, thus the chief address'd. 

Alas, unhappy ! how hast thou incensed 
So terribly the shaker of the shores, 
That he pursues thee with such numerous ills ? 
Sink thee he cannot, wish it as he may. 
Thus do (for I account thee not unwise) 
Thy garments putting off, let drive thy raft 
As the winds will, then swimming, strive to reach 
Phaeacia, where thy doom is to escape. 
Take this. This ribbon bind beneath thy breast, 
Celestial texture. Thenceforth every fear 
Of death dismiss, and laying once thy hands 
On the firm continent, unbind the zone, 
Which thou shalt cast far distant from the shore 
Into the deep, turning thy face away. 

So saying, the goddess gave into his hand 
The wonderous zone, and cormorant in form, 
Plunging herself into the waves again 
Headlong, was hidden by the closing flood. 
But still Ulysses sat perplex'd, and thus 
The toil-enduring hero reason'd sad. 

Alas ! I tremble lest some god design 
To ensnare me yet, bidding me quit the raft. 
But let me Avell beware how I obey 
Too soon that precept, for I saw the land 
Of my foretold deliverance far remote. 
Thus, therefore, will I do, for such appears 
My wiser course. So long as yet the planks 
Mutual adhere, continuing on board 
My raft, I will endure whatever woes ; 
But when the waves shall shatter it, I will swim, 
My sole resource then left. While thus he mused, 
Neptune a billow of enormous bulk 
Hollow'd into an overwhelming arch 
On high up-heaving, smote him. As the wind 
Tempestuous, falling on some stubble-heap, 
The arid straws dissipates every way, 
So flew the timbers. He, a single beam 
Bestriding, oar'd it onward with his feet, 
As he had urged a horse. His raiment, then, 
Gift of Calypso, putting off, he bound 
His girdle on, and prone into the sea [fell. 

With wide-spread palms prepared for swimming, 
Shore-shaker Neptune noted him ; he shook 
His aweful brows, and in his heart he said. 

Thus, suffering many miseries roam the flood, 
Till thou shalt mingle with a race of men, 
Heaven's special favourites ; yet even there 
Fear not that thou shalt feel thy sorrows light. 

He said, and scourging his bright steeds, arrived 
At iEgse, where his glorious palace stands. 

But other thoughts Minerva's mind employ'd 
Jove's daughter ; every wind binding beside, 
She lull'd them, and enjoin'd them all to sleep, 

1 The translator finding himself free to chuse between 
avhr\i(raa and ov5i}eaaa, has preferred the latter. 


But roused swift Boreas, and the billows broke 
Before Ulysses, that, dehver'd safe 
From a dire death, the noble chief might mix 
With maritime Pheeacia's sons renown'd. 

Two nights he wander'd, and two days, the flood 
Tempestuous, death expecting every hour ; 
But when Aurora, radiant-hair'd, had brought 
The third day to a close, then ceased the wind, 
And breathless came a calm ; he, nigh at hand 
The shore beheld, darting acute his sight 
Toward it, from a billow's towering top. 

Precious as to his children seems the life 
Of some fond father through disease long-time 
And pain stretch'd languid on his couch, the prey 
Of some vindictive power, but now, at last, 
By gracious heaven to ease and health restored, 
So grateful to Ulysses' sight appear'd 
Forests and hills. Impatient with his feet 
To press the shore, he swam ; but when within 
Such distance as a shout may fly, he came, 
The thunder of the sea against the rocks 
Then smote his ear ; for hoarse the billows roar'd 
On the firm land, belch 'd horrible abroad. 
And the salt spray dimm'd all things to his view. 
For neither port for ships nor sheltering cove 
Was there, but the rude coast a headland bluff 
Presented, rocks and craggy masses huge. 
Then, hope and strength exhausted both, deep- 

groan'd 
The chief, and in his noble heart complain'd. 

Alas ! though Jove hath given me to behold, 
Unhoped, the land again, and I have pass'd, 
Furrowing my way, these numerous waves, there 
No egress from the hoary flood for me. [seems 
Sharp stones hem in the waters ; wild the surge 
Raves everywhere ; and smooth the rocks arise ; 
Deep also is the shore, on which my feet 
No standing gain, or chance of safe escape. 
What if some billow catch me from the deep 
Emerging, and against the pointed rocks 
Dash me conflicting with its force in vain ? 
But should I, swimming, trace the coast in search 
Of sloping beach, haven or shelter' d creek, 
I fear lest, groaning, I be snatch'd again 
By stormy gusts into the fishy deep, 
Or lest some monster of the flood receive 
Command to seize me, of the many such 
By the illustrious Amphitrite bred ; 
For that the mighty shaker of the shores 
Hates me implacable, too well I know. 

While such discourse within himself he held, 
A huge wave heaved him on the rugged coast, 
Where flay'd his flesh had been, and all his bones 
Broken together, but for the infused 
Good counsel of Minerva azure-eyed. 
With both hands suddenly he seized the rock, 
And groaning, clench'd it till the billow pass'd. 
So baffled he that wave ; but yet again 
The refluent flood rush'd on him, and with force 
Resistless dash'd him far into the sea. 
As lobbies to the hollow polypus 
Extracted from his stony bed, adhere, 
So he, the rough rocks clasping, stripp'd his hands 
Raw, and the billows now whelm'd him again. 
Then had the hapless hero premature 
Perish'd, but for sagacity inspired 
By Pallas azure-eyed. Forth from the waves 
Emerging, where the surf burst on the rocks, 
He coasted (looking landward as he swam) 
The shore, with hope of port or level beach. 


426 


THE ODYSSEY. 


But when, still swimming, to the mouth he came 
Of a smooth -sliding river, there he deem'd 
Safest the ascent, for it was undeform'd 
By rocks, and shelter'd close from every wind. 
He felt the current, and thus, ardent, pray'd. 

Oh hear, whate'er thy name, sovereign who rulest 
This river ! at whose mouth from all the threats 
Of Neptune 'scaped, with rapture I arrive. 
Even the immortal gods the wanderer's prayer 
Respect, and such am I, who reach at length, 
Thy stream, and clasp thy knees, after long toil. 
I am thy suppliant. Oh king ! pity me. 

He said ; the river god at once repress'd 
His current, and it ceased ; smooth he prepared 
The way before Ulysses, and the land 
Vouchsafed him easy at his channel's mouth. 
There once again he bent for ease his limbs 
Both arms and knees, in conflict with the floods 
Exhausted ; swoln his body was all o'er, 
And from his mouth and nostrils stream'd the brine. 
Breathless and speechless, and of life well nigh 
Bereft he lay, through dreadful toil immense. 
But when, revived, his dissipated powers 
He recollected, loosing from beneath 
His breast the zone divine, he cast it far 
Into the brackish stream, and a huge wave 
Returning bore it downward to the sea, 
Where Ino caught it. Then, the river's brink 
Abandoning among the rushes prone 
He lay, kiss'd oft the soil, and sighing, said, 

Ah me ! what sufferings must I now sustain, 
What doom, at last, awaits me ? If I watch 
This woeful night, here, at the river's side, 
What hope but that the frost and copious dews, 
Weak as I am, my remnant small of life 
Shall quite extinguish, and the chilly air 
Breathed from the river at the dawn of day ? 
But if, ascending this declivity 
I gain the woods, and in some thicket sleep, 
(If sleep indeed can find me overtoil'd 
And cold-benumb'd) then I have cause to fear 
Lest I be torn by wild beasts and devour'd. 

Long time he mused, but at the last his course 
Bent to the woods, which not remote he saw 
From the sea-brink, conspicuous on a hill. 
Arrived, between two neighbour shrubs he crept, 
Both olives, this the fruitful, that the wild ; 
A covert, which nor rough winds blowing moist 
Could penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun 
Smite through it, or unceasing showers pervade, 
So thick a roof the ample branches form'd 
Close interwoven ; under these the chief 
Retiring, with industrious hands a bed 
Collected broad of leaves, which there he found 
Abundant strew'd, such store as had sufficed 
Two travellers or three for covering warm, 
Though winter's roughest blasts had raged the 

while. 
That bed with joy the suffering chief renown'd 
Contemplated, and occupying soon 
The middle space, hillock'd it high with leaves. 
As when some swain hath hidden deep his torch 
Beneath the embers, at the verge extreme 
Of all his farm, where, having neighbours none, 
He saves a seed or two of future flame 
Alive, doom'd else to fetch it from afar, 
So with dry leaves Ulysses overspread 
His body, on whose eyes Minerva pour'd 
The balm of sleep copious, that he might taste 
Repose again, after long toil severe. 


BOOK YI. 

ARGUMENT. 

Minerva designing an interview between the daughter of 
Alcinoiis and Ulysses, admonishes her in a dream to 
carry down her clothes to the river, that she may wash 
them, and make them ready for her approaching nup- 
tials. That task performed, the princess and her train 
amuse themselves with play; by accident they awake 
Ulysses; he comes forth from the wood, and applies 
himself with much address to Nausicaa, who compas- 
sionating his distressed condition, and being much 
affected by the dignity of his appearance, interests her- 
self in his favour, and conducts him to the city. 

There then the noble sufferer lay, by sleep 

Oppress'd and labour ; meantime, Pallas sought 

The populous city of PliEeacia's sons. 

They, in old time, in Hypereia dwelt 

The spacious, neighbours of a giant race 

The haughty Cyclops, who, endued with power 

Superior, troubled them with frequent wrongs. 

Godlike Nausithous then arose, who thence 

To Scheria led them, from all nations versed 

In arts of cultivated life, remote ; 

With bulwarks strong their city he enclosed, 

Built houses for them, temples to the gods, 

And gave to each a portion of the soil. 

But he, already by decree of fate 

Had journey 'd to the shades, and in his stead 

Alcinoiis, by the gods instructed, reign'd. 

To his abode Minerva azure-eyed 

Repair'd, neglecting nought which might advance 

Magnanimous Ulysses' safe return. 

She sought the sumptuous chamber where, in form 

And feature perfect as the gods, the young 

Nausicaa, daughter of the king, reposed. 

Fast by the pillars of the portal lay 

Two damsels, one on either side, adorn'd 

By all the Graces, and the doors were shut. 

Soft as a breathing air, she stole toward 

The royal virgin's couch, and at her head 

Standing, address'd her. Daughter she appear'd 

Of Dymas famed for maritime exploits, 

Her friend and her coeval ; so disguised 

Ccerulean-eyed Minerva thus began. 

Nausicaa ! wherefore hath thy mother borne 
A child so negligent ? Thy garments share, 
Thy most magnificent, no thought of thine. 
Yet thou must marry soon, and must provide 
Robes for thyself, and for thy nuptial train. 
Thy fame, on these concerns, and honour stand ; 
These managed well, thy parents shall rejoice. 
The dawn appearing, let us to the place 
Of washing, where thy work-mate I will be 
For speedier riddance of thy task, since soon 
The days of thy virginity shall end ; 
For thou art woo'd already by the prime 
Of all Phseacia, country of thy birth. 
Come then, — solicit at the dawn of day 
Thy royal father, that he send thee forth 
With mules and carriage for conveyance hence 
Of thy best robes, thy mantles and thy zones. 
Thus, more commodiously thou shalt perform 
The journey, for the cisterns lie remote. 

So saying, Minerva, goddess azure-eyed, 
Rose to Olympus, the reputed seat 
Eternal of the gods, which never storms 
Disturb, rains drench, or snow invades, but calm 


THE ODYSSEY. 


427 


The expanse and cloudless shines with purest day. 
There the inhabitants divine rejoice 
For ever, and (her admonition given) 
Coerulean-eyed Minerva thither flew. 

Now came Aurora bright enthroned, whose rays 
Awaken' d fair Nausicaa ; she her dream 
Remember'd wondering, and her parents sought 
Anxious to tell them. Them she found within. 
Beside the hearth her royal mother sat, 
Spinning soft fleeces with sea-purple dyed 
Among her menial maidens, but she met 
Her father whom the nobles of the land 
Had summon'd, issuing abroad to join 
The illustrious chiefs in council. At his side 
She stood, and thus her filial suit preferr'd. 

Sir x ! wilt thou lend me of the royal warns 
A sumpter-carriage ? for I wish to bear 
My costly clothes but sullied and unfit 
For use, at present, to the river-side. 
It is but seemly that thou should'st repair 
Thyself to consultation with the chiefs 
Of all Phaeacia, clad in pure attire ; 
And my own brothers five, who dwell at home, 
Two wedded, and the rest of age to wed, 
Are all desirous, when they dance, to wear 
Raiment new bleach' d; all which is my concern. 

So spake Nausicaa ; for she dared not name 
Her own glad nuptials to her father's ear, 
Who, conscious yet of all her drift, replied. 

I grudge thee neither mules, my child, nor aught 
That thou canst ask beside. Go, and my tram 
Shall furnish thee a sumpter-carriage forth 
High-built, strong-wheel'd, and of capacious size. 

So saying, he issued his command, whom quick 
His grooms obey'd. They in the court prepared 
The sumpter-carriage, and adjoin'd the mules. 
And now the virgin from her chamber, charged 
With raiment, came, which on the car she placed, 
And in the carriage-chest, meantime, the queen, 
Her mother, viands of all kinds disposed, 
And fill'd a skin with wine. Nausicaa rose 
Into her seat ; but, ere she went, received 
A golden cruse of oil from the queen's hand 
For unction of herself and of her maids. 
Then, seizing scourge and reins, she lash'd the 

mules. 
They trampled loud the soil, straining to draw 
Herself with all her vesture ; nor alone 
She went, but follow'd by her virgin train. 
At the delightful rivulet arrived 
Where those perennial cisterns were prepared 
With purest crystal of the fountain fed 
Profuse, sufficient for the deepest stains, 
Loosing the mules, they drove them forth to browze 
On the sweet herb beside the dimpled flood. 
The carriage, next, lightening, they bore in hand 
The garments down to the unsullied wave, 
And thrust them heap'd into the pools, their task 
Dispatching brisk, and with an emulous haste. 
When they had all purified, and no spot 
Could now be seen or blemish more, they spread 
The raiment orderly along the beach 
Where dashing tides had cleansed the pebbles most, 
And laving, next, and smoothing o'er with oil 
Their limbs, all seated on the river's bank, 


i In the original, she calls him pappa ! a more natural 
style of address, and more endearing. But ancient as this 
appellative is, it is also so familiar in modern use, that 
the translator feared to hazard it. 


They took repast, leaving the garments, stretch'd 

In noon-day fervour of the sun, to dry. 

Their hunger satisfied, at once arose 

The mistress and her train, and putting off 

Their head-attire, play'd wanton with the ball, 

The princess singing to her maids the while. 

Such as shaft-arm'd Diana roams the hills, 

Taygetus sky-capt, or Erymanth, 

The wild boar chasing, or fleet-footed hind, 

All joy ; the rural nymphs, daughters of Jove, 

Sport with her, and Latona's heart exults ; 

She high her graceful head above the rest 

And features lifts divine, though all be fair, 

With ease distinguishable from them all ; 

So, all her train, she, virgin pure, surpass'd. 

But when the hour of her departure thence 
Approach' d, (the mules now yoked again, and all 
Her elegant apparel folded neat) 
Minerva azure-eyed mused how to wake 
Ulysses, that he might behold the fair 
Virgin, his destined guide into the town. 
The princess, then, casting the ball toward 
A maiden of her train, erroneous threw 
And plunged it deep into the dimpling stream. 
All shriek'd ; Ulysses at the sound awoke, 
And, sitting, meditated thus the cause. 

Ah me ! what mortal race inhabit here 1 
Rude are they, contumacious and unjust \ 
Or hospitable, and who fear the gods ? 
So shrill the cry and feminine of nymphs 
Fills all the air around, such as frequent 
The hills, clear fountains, and herbaceous meads. 
Is this a neighbourhood of men endued 
With voice articulate % But what avails 
To ask ? I will myself go forth and see. 

So saying, divine Ulysses from beneath 
His thicket crept, and from the leafy wood 
A spreading branch pluck'd forcibly, design'd 
A decent screen effectual, held before. 
So forth he went, as goes the lion forth, 
The mountain-lion, conscious of his strength, 
Whom winds have vex'd and rains ; fire fills his 

eyes, 
And whether herds or flocks, or woodland deer 
He find, he rends them, and adust for blood, 
Abstains not even from the guarded fold, 
Such sure to seem in virgin eyes, the chief, 
All naked as he was, left his retreat, 
Reluctant, by necessity constrain'd. 
Him foul with sea-foam horror-struck they view'd, 
And o'er the jutting shores fled all dispersed. 
Nausicaa alone fled not ; for her 
Pallas courageous made, and from her limbs, 
By power divine, all tremour took away. 
Firm she expected him ; he doubtful stood, 
Or to implore the lovely maid, her knees 
Embracing, or, aloof standing, to ask 
In gentle terms discreet the gift of clothes, 
And guidance to the city where she dwelt. 
Him so deliberating, most, at length, 
This counsel pleased ; in suppliant terms aloof 
To sue to her, lest if he clasp'd her knees, 
The virgin should that bolder course resent. 
Then gentle, thus, and well-advised he spake. 

Oh queen ! thy earnest suppliant I approach. 
Art thou some goddess, or of mortal race ? 
For if some goddess, and from heaven arrived, 
Diana, then, daughter of mighty Jove 
I deem thee most, for such as hers appear 
Thy form, thy stature, and thy air divine. 


428 


THE ODYSSEY. 


But, if, of mortal race, thou dwell below, 

Thrice happy then, thy parents I account, 

And happy thrice thy brethren. Ah ! the joy 

Which always for thy sake, their bosom fills, 

When thee they view, all lovely as thou art, 

Entering majestic on the graceful dance. 

But him beyond all others blest I deem, 

The youth, who, wealthier than his rich compeers, 

Shall win and lead thee to his honour' d home. 

For never with these eyes a mortal form 

Beheld I comparable aught to thine, 

In man or woman. Wonder-rapt I gaze. 

Such erst, in Delos, I beheld a palm 

Beside the altar of Apollo, tall, 

And growing still ; (for thither too I sail'd, 

And numerous were my followers in a voyage 

Ordain'd my ruin) and as I then view'd 

That palm long time amazed, for never grew 

So straight a shaft, so lovely from the ground, 

So, princess ! thee with wonder I behold, 

Charm'd into fixt astonishment, by awe 

Alone forbidden to embrace thy knees, 

For I am one on whom much woe hath fallen. 

Yesterday I escaped (the twentieth day 

Of my distress by sea) the dreary deep ; 

For, all those days, the waves and rapid storms 

Bore me along, impetuous, from the isle 

Ogygia ; till at length the will of heaven 

Cast me, that I might also here sustain 

Affliction, on your shore ; for rest, I think, 

Is not for me. No. The immortal gods 

Have much to accomplish ere that day arrive. 

But, oh queen, pity me ! who after long 

Calamities endured, of all who live 

Thee first approach, nor mortal know beside 

Of the inhabitants of all the land. 

Show me your city ; give me, although coarse, 

Some covering, (if coarse covering thou canst give) 

And may the gods thy largest wishes grant, 

House, husband, concord ! for of all the gifts 

Of heaven, more precious none I deem, than peace 

'Twixt wedded pair, and union undissolved ; 

Envy torments their enemies, but joy 

Fills every virtuous breast, and most their own. 

To whom Nausicaa the fair replied. 
Since, stranger ! neither base by birth thou seem'st, 
Nor unintelligent, (but Jove, the king 
Olympian, gives to good and bad alike 
Prosperity according to his will, 
And grief to thee, which thou must patient bear) 
Now, therefore, at our land and city arrived, 
Nor garment thou shalt want, nor aught beside 
Due to a suppliant guest like thee forlorn. 
I will both show thee where our city stands, 
And who dwell here. Phaeacia's sons possess 
This land ; but I am daughter of their king 
The brave Alcinoiis, on whose sway depends 
For strength and wealth the whole Phseacian race. 

She said, and to her beauteous maidens gave 
Instant commandment : — My attendants, stay ! 
Why flee ye thus, and whither, from the sight 
Of a mere mortal ? Seems he in your eyes 
Some enemy of ours % The heart beats not, 
Nor shall it beat hereafter, which shall come 
An enemy to the Phseacian shores, 
So dear to the immortal gods are we. 
Remote, amid the billowy deep, we hold 
Our dwelling, utmost of all human-kind, 
And free from mixture with a foreign race, 
This man, a miserable wanderer comes, 


Whom we are bound to cherish, for the poor 
And stranger are from Jove, and trivial gifts 
To such are welcome. Bring ye therefore food 
And wine, my maidens, for the guest's regale, 
And lave him where the stream is shelter'd most. 

She spake ; they stood, and by each other's words 
Encouraged, placed Ulysses where the bank 
O'erhung the stream, as fair Nausicaa bade, 
Daughter of king Alcinoiis the renown'd. 
Apparel also at his side they spread, 
Mantle and vest, and next, the limpid oil 
Presenting to him in the golden cruse, 
Exhorted him to bathe in the clear stream. 
Ulysses then the maidens thus bespake. 

Ye maidens, stand apart, that I may cleanse 
Myself, my shoulders from the briny surf, 
And give them oil which they h&ve wanted long. 
But in your presence I bathe not, ashamed 
To show myself unclothed to female eyes. 

He said ; they went, and to Nausicaa told 
His answer ; then the hero in the stream 
His shoulders laved, and loins incrusted rough 
With the salt spray, and with his hands the scum 
Of the wild ocean from his locks express' d. 
Thus wash'd all over, and refresh'd with oil, 
He put the garments on, Nausicaa's gift. 
Then Pallas, progeny of Jove, his form 
Dilated more, and from his head diffused 
His curling locks like hyacinthine flowers. 
As when some artist, by Minerva made 
And Vulcan wise to execute all tasks 
Ingenious, binding with a golden verge 
Bright silver, finishes a graceful work, 
Such grace the goddess o'er his ample chest 
Copious diffused, and o'er his manly brows. 
Retiring, on the beach he sat, with grace 
And dignity illumed, where, viewing him, 
The virgin princess with amazement mark'd 
His beauty, and her damsels thus bespake. 

My white -arm' d maidens, listen to my voice ! 
Not hated, sure, by all above, this man 
Among Phseacia's godlike sons arrives. 
At first I deem'd him of plebeian sort 
Dishonourable, but he now assumes 
A near resemblance to the gods above. 
Ah ! would to heaven it were my lot to call 
Husband, some native of our land like him 
Accomplish'd, and content to inhabit here ! 
Give him, my maidens, food, and give him wine. 

She ended ; they, obedient to her will, 
Both wine and food, dispatchful, placed, and glad, 
Before Ulysses ; he rapacious ate, 
Toil-suffering chief, and drank, for he had lived 
From taste of aliment long time estranged. 

On other thoughts meantime intent, her charge 
Of folded vestments neat the princess placed 
Within the royal wain, then yoked the mules, 
And to her seat herself ascending, call'd 
Ulysses to depart, and thus she spake. 

Up, stranger, seek the city. I will lead 
Thy steps toward my royal father's house, 
Where all Phseacia's nobles thou shalt see. 
But thou (for I account thee not unwise) 
This course pursue,. While through the fields we 
And labours of the rural hind, so long [pass, 

With my attendants follow fast the mules 
And sumpter-carriage. I will be thy guide. 
But, once the summit gain'd, on which is built 
Our city with proud bulwarks fenced around, 
And laved on both sides by its pleasant port 




THE ODYSSEY. 


429 


Of narrow entrance, where our gallant barks 
Line all the road, each station' d in her place, 
And where, adjoining close the splendid fane 
Of Neptune, stands the forum with huge stones 
From quarries thither drawn, constructed strong, 
In which the rigging of their barks they keep 
Sail-cloth and cordage, and make smooth their 
(For bow and quiver the Phseacian race [oars ; 
Heed not, but masts and oars, and ships well- 
poised, 
With which exulting they divide the flood) 
Then, cautious, I would shun their bitter taunts 
Disgustful, lest they mock me as I pass ; 
For of the meaner people some are coarse 
In the extreme, and it may chance that one, 
The basest there, seeing us shall exclaim, — 
What handsome stranger of athletic form 
Attends the princess ? Where had she the chance 
To find him ? We shall see them wedded soon. 
Either she hath received some vagrant guest 
From distant lands, (for no land neighbours ours) 
Or by her prayers incessant won, some god 
Hath left the heavens to be for ever hers. 
'Tis well if she have found, by her own search, 
An husband for herself, since she accounts 
The nobles of Phseacia, who her hand 
Solicit numerous, worthy to be scorn'd. — 
Thus will they speak injurious. I should blame 
A virgin guilty of such conduct much, 
Myself, who reckless of her parents' will, 
Should so familiar with a man consort, 
Ere celebration of her spousal rites. 
But mark me, stranger ! following my advice, 
Thou shalt the sooner at my father's hands 
Obtain safe conduct and conveyance home. 
Sacred to Pallas a delightful grove 
Of poplars skirts the road, which we shall reach 
Ere long ; within that grove a fountain flows, 
And meads encircle it ; my father's farm 
Is there, and his luxuriant garden-plot ; 
A shout might reach it from the city-walls. 
There wait, till in the town arrived, we gain 
My father's palace, and when reason bids 
Suppose us there, then entering thou the town, 
Ask where Alcinous dwells, my valiant sire. 
Well known is his abode, so that with ease 
A child might lead thee to it, for in nought 
The other houses of our land the house 
Resemble, in which dwells the hero, king 
Alcinous. Once within the court received 
Pause not, but, with swift pace advancing, seek 
My mother ; she beside a column sits 
In the hearth's blaze, twirling her fleecy threads 
Tinged with sea-purple, bright, magnificent, 
With all her maidens orderly behind. 
There also stands my father's throne, on which 
Seated, he drinks and banquets like a god. 
Pass that ; then suppliant clasp my mother's knees, 
So shalt thou quickly win a glad return > 
To thy own home, however far remote. 
Her favour once, and her kind aid secured, 
Thenceforth thou may'st expect thy friends to see, 
Thy dwelling, and thy native soil again. [mules 
So saying, she with her splendid scourge the 
Lash'd onward. They (the stream soon left behind) 
With even footsteps graceful smote the ground j 
But so she ruled them, managing with art 
The scourge, as not to leave afar, although 
Following on foot, Ulysses and her train. 
The sun had now declined, when in that grove 


Renown'd, to Pallas sacred, they arrived, 
In which Ulysses sat, and fervent thus 
Sued to the daughter of Jove segis-arm'd. 

Daughter invincible of Jove supreme ! 
Oh, hear me ! hear me now, because when erst 
The mighty shaker of the shores incensed 
Toss'd me from wave to wave, thou heard'st me not. 
Grant me among Phseacia's sons, to find 
Benevolence and pity of my woes ! 

He spake, whose prayer well-pleased the goddess 
But reverencing the brother l of her sire, [heard, 
Appear'd not to Ulysses yet, whom he 
Pursued with fury to his native shores. 


BOOK VII. 

ARGUMENT. 

Nausieaa returns from the river, whom Ulysses follows. 
He halts, hy her direction, at a small distance from the 
palace, which at a convenient time he enters. He is 
well received hy Alcinous and his queen; and having 
related to them the manner of his being cast on the 
shore of Scheria, and received from Alcinous the promise 
of safe conduct home, retires to rest. 


Such prayer Ulysses, toil-worn chief renown'd, 

To Pallas made ; meantime the virgin, drawn 

By her stout mules, Phseacia's city reach'd, 

And, at her father's house arrived, the car 

Stay'd in the vestibule ; her brothers five, 

All godlike youths, assembled quick around, 

Released the mules, and bore the raiment in. 

Meantime, to her own chamber she return'd, 

Where, soon as she arrived, an ancient dame 

Eurymedusa, by peculiar charge 

Attendant on that service, kindled fire. 

Sea-rovers her had from Epirus brought 

Long since, and to Alcinous she had fallen 

By public gift, for that he ruled, supreme, 

Phseacia, and as oft as he harangued 

The multitude, was reverenced as a god. 

She waited on the fair Nausieaa, she 

Her fuel kindled, and her food prepared. 

And now Ulysses from his seat arose 

To seek the city, around whom, his guard 

Benevolent, Minerva, cast a cloud, 

Lest, haply, some Phseacian should presume 

To insult the chief, and question whence he came. 

But ere he enter' d yet the pleasant town, 

Minerva azure-eyed met him, in form 

A blooming maid, bearing her pitcher forth. 

She stood before him, and the noble chief 

Ulysses, of the goddess thus enquired. 

Daughter ! wilt thou direct me to the house 
Of brave Alcinous, whom this land obeys ? 
For I have here arrived, after long toil, 
And from a country far remote, a guest 
To all who in Phseacia dwell, unknown. 

To whom the goddess of the azure-eyes. 
The mansion of thy search, stranger revered ! 
Myself will show thee ; for not distant dwells 
Alcinous from my father's own abode : 
But hush ! be silent — I will lead the way ; _ 
Mark no man ; question no man ; for the sight 
Of strangers is unusual here, and cold 
The welcome by this people shown to such. 

1 Neptune. 


430 


THE ODYSSEY. 


They, trusting in swift ships, by the free grant 
Of Neptune traverse his wide waters, borne 
As if on wings, or with the speed of thought. 

So spake the goddess, and with nimble pace 
Led on, whose footsteps he, as quick, pursued. 
But still the seaman-throng through whom he pass'd 
Perceived him not ; Minerva, goddess dread, 
That sight forbidding them, whose eyes she dimm'd 
With darkness shed miraculous around 
Her favourite chief. Ulysses, wondering, mark'd 
Their port, their ships, their forum, the resort 
Of heroes, and their battlements sublime 
Fenced with sharp stakes around, a glorious show ! 
But when the king's august abode he reach'd, 
Minerva azure-eyed, then, thus began. 

My father ! thou behold st the house to which 
Thou badest me lead thee. Thou shalt find our 
And high-born princes banqueting within, [chiefs 
But enter fearing nought, for boldest men 
Speed ever best, come whencesoe'er they may. 
First thou shalt find the queen, known by her name 
Areta ; lineal in descent from those 
Who gave Alcinoiis birth, her royal spouse. 
Neptune begat Nausitholis, at the first, 
On Periboea, loveliest of her sex, 
Latest-born daughter of Eurymedon, 
Heroic king of the proud giant race, 
Who, losing all his impious people, shared 
The same dread fate himself. Her Neptune loved, 
To whom she bore a son, the mighty prince 
Nausithoiis, in his day king of the land. 
Nausithous himself two sons begat, 
Rhexenor and Alcinoiis. Phoebus slew 
Pvhexenor at his home, a bridegroom yet, 
Who, father of no son, one daughter left, 
Areta, wedded to Alcinoiis now, 
And whom the sovereign in such honour holds, 
As woman none enjoys of all on earth 
Existing, subjects of an husband's power. 
Like veneration she from all receives 
Unfeign'd, from her own children, from himself 
Alcinoiis, and from all Phseacia's race, 
Who, gazing on her as she were divine, 
Shout when she moves in progress through the 
For she no wisdom wants, but sits, herself, [town. 
Arbitress of such contests as arise 
Between her favourites, and decides aright. 
Her countenance once and her kind aid secured, 
Thou may'st thenceforth expect thy friends to see, 
Thy dwelling, and thy native soil again. 

So Pallas spake, goddess coerulean-eyed, 
And o'er the untillable and barren deep 
Departing, Scheria left, land of delight, 
Whence reaching Marathon, and Athens next, 
She pass'd into Erectheus' fair abode. 
Ulysses, then, toward the palace moved 
Of king Alcinoiis, but immersed in thought 
Stood, first, and paused, ere with his foot he press'd 
The brazen threshold ; for a light he saw 
As of the sun or moon illuming clear 
The palace of Phaeacia's mighty king. 
Walls plated bright with brass, on either side 
Stretch'd from the portal to the interior house, 
With azure cornice crown'd ; the doors were gold 
Which shut the palace fast ; silver the posts 
Rear'd on a brazen threshold, and above, 
The lintels, silver, architraved with gold. 
Mastiffs, in gold and silver, lined the approach 
On either side, by art celestial framed 
Of Vulcan, guardians of Alcinoiis' gate 


For ever, unobnoxious to decay. 

Sheer from the threshold to the inner house 

Fixt thrones the walls, through all their length, 

adorn'd, 
With mantles overspread of subtlest warp 
Transparent, work of many a female hand. 
On these the princes of Pheeacia sat, 
Holding perpetual feasts, while golden youths 
On all the sumptuous altars stood, their hands 
With burning torches charged, which, night by 
Shed radiance over all the festive throng, [night, 
Full fifty female menials served the king 
In household offices ; the rapid mills 
These turning, pulverize the mellow'd grain, 
Those, seated orderly, the purple fleece 
Wind off, or ply the loom, restless as leaves 
Of lofty poplars fluttering in the breeze ; 
1 Bright as with oil the new-wrought texture shone. 
Far as Phseacian mariners all else 
Surpass, the swift ship urging through the floods, 
So far in tissue-work the women pass 
All others, by Minerva's self endow'd 
With richest fancy and superior skill. 
Without the court, and to the gates adjoin'd 
A spacious garden lay, fenced all around 
Secure, four acres measuring complete. 
There grew luxuriant many a lofty tree, 
Pomegranate, pear, the apple blushing bright, 
The honied fig, and unctuous olive smooth. 
Those fruits, nor winter's cold nor summer's heat 
Fear ever, fail not, wither not, but hang 
Perennial, while unceasing zephyr breathes 
Gently on all, enlarging these, and those 
Maturing genial ; in an endless course 
Pears after pears to full dimensions swell, 
Figs follow figs, grapes clustering grow again 
Where clusters grew, and (every apple stript) 
The boughs soon tempt the gatherer as before. 
There too, Avell-rooted, and of fruit profuse, 
His vineyard grows ; part, wide-extended, basks 
In the sun's beams ; the arid level glows ; 
In part they gather, and in part they tread 
The wine-press, while, before the eye, the grapes 
Here put their blossom forth, there, gather fast 
Their blackness. On the garden's verge extreme 
Flowers of all hues smile all the year, arranged 
With neatest art judicious ; and amid 
The lovely scene two fountains welling forth, 
One visits, into every part diffused, 
The garden-ground, the other soft beneath 
The threshold steals into the palace-court, 
Whence every citizen his vase supplies. 

Such were the ample blessings on the house 
Of king Alcinoiis by the gods bestow'd. 

Ulysses wondering stood, and when, at length, 
Silent he had the whole fair scene admired, 
With rapid step enter'd the royal gate. 
The chiefs he found and senators within 
Libation pouring to the vigilant spy 
Mercurius, whom with wine they worshipp'd last 
Of all the gods, and at the hour of rest. 
Ulysses, toil-worn hero, through the house 
Pass'd undelaying, by Minerva thick 
With darkness circumfused, till he arrived 


1 Kaipoatccv &' uQovzcav airoXdQeTai vypbv eAaiov. 

Pope has given no translation of this line in the text of 
his work, but has translated it in a note. It is variously 
interpreted by commentators; the sense which is here 
given of it is that recommended by Eustathius. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


431 


Where king Alcinoiis and Areta sat. 
Around Areta's knees his arms he cast, 
And in that moment, broken clear away 
The cloud all went, shed on him from above. 
Dumb sat the guests, seeing the unknown chief, 
And wondering gazed. He thus his suit preferr'd. 

Areta, daughter of the godlike prince 
Rhexenor ! suppliant at thy knees I fall, 
Thy royal spouse imploring, and thyself, 
(After ten thousand toils) and these your guests, 
To whom heaven grant felicity, and to leave 
Their treasures to their babes, with all the rights 
And honours, by the people's suffrage, theirs ! 
But oh vouchsafe me, who have wanted long 
And ardent wish'd my home, without delay 
Safe conduct to my native shores again ! 

Such suit he made, and in the ashes sat 
At the hearth-side ; they mute long time remain' d, 
Till, at the last, the ancient hero spake 
Echeneus, eldest of Phseacia's sons, 
With eloquence beyond the rest endow'd, 
Rich in traditionary lore, and wise 
In all, who thus, benevolent, began. 

Not honourable to thyself, king ! 
Is such a sight, a stranger on the ground 
At the hearth-side seated, and in the dust. 
Meantime, thy guests, expecting thy command, 
Move not ; thou therefore raising by his hand 
The stranger, lead him to a throne, and bid 
The heralds mingle wine, that we may pour 
To thunder-bearing Jove, the suppliant's friend. 
Then let the cateress for thy guest produce 
Supply, a supper from the last regale. 

Soon as those words Alcinoiis heard, the king, 
Upraising by his hand the prudent chief 
Ulysses from the hearth, he made him sit 
On a bright throne, displacing for his sake 
Laodamas his son, the virtuous youth 
Who sat beside him, and whom most he loved. 
And now, a maiden charged with golden ewer 
And with an argent laver, pouring, first, 
Pure water on his hands, supply'd him, next, 
With a resplendent table, which the chaste 
Directress of the stores furnish'd with bread 
And dainties, remnants of the last regale. 
Then ate the hero toil-inured, and drank, 
And to his herald thus Alcinoiis spake. 

Pontonous ! mingling wine, bear it around 
To every guest in turn, that we may pour 
To thunder-bearer Jove, the stranger's friend, 
And guardian of the suppliant's sacred rights. 

He said ; Pontonous, as he bade, the wine 
Mingled delicious, and the cups dispensed 
With distribution regular to all. 
When each had made libation, and had drunk 
Sufficient, then, Alcinoiis thus began. 

Phseacian chiefs and senators, I speak 
The dictates of my mind, therefore attend ! 
Ye all have feasted ; — to your homes and sleep. 
We will assemble at the dawn of day 
More senior chiefs, that we may entertain 
The stranger here, and to the gods perform 
Due sacrifice ; the convoy that he asks 
Shall next engage our thoughts, that free from 
And from vexation, by our friendly aid [pain 

He may revisit, joyful and with speed, 
His native shore, however far remote. 
No inconvenience let him feel or harm, 
Ere his arrival ; but, arrived, thenceforth 
He must endure whatever lot the Fates 


Spun for him in the moment of his birth. 
But should he prove some deity from heaven 
Descended, then the immortals have in view 
Designs not yet apparent ; for the gods 
Have ever from of old reveal'd themselves 
At our solemnities, have on our seats 
Sat with us evident, and shared the feast ; 
And even if a single traveller 
Of the Pheeacians meet them, all reserve 
They lay aside ; for with the gods we boast 
As near affinity as do themselves 
The Cyclops, or the giant race profane 1 . 

To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. 
Alcinoiis ! think not so. Resemblance none 
In figure or in lineaments I bear 
To the immortal tenants of the skies, 
But to the sons of earth ; if ye have known 
A man afflicted with a weight of woe 
Peculiar, let me be with him compared ; 
Woes even passing his could I relate, 
And all inflicted on me by the gods.- 
But let me eat, comfortless as I am, 
Uninterrupted ; for no call is loud 
As that of hunger in the ears of man ; 
Importunate, unreasonable, it constrains 
His notice, more than all his woes beside. 
So, I much sorrow feel, yet not the less 
Hear I the blatant appetite demand 
Due sustenance, and with a voice that drowns 
Even all my sufferings, till itself be filPd. 
But expedite ye at the dawn of day 
My safe return into my native land, 
After much misery ; and let life itself 
Forsake me, may I but once more behold 
All that is mine, in my own lofty abode. 

He spake, whom all applauded, and advised, 
Unanimous, the guest's conveyance home, 
Who had so fitly spoken. When, at length, 
All had libation made and were sufficed, 
Departing to his house, each sought repose. 
But still Ulysses in the hall remain'd, 
Where, godlike king, Alcinoiis at his side 
Sat, and Areta ; the attendants clear'd [arm'd, 
Meantime the board, and thus the queen white- 
(Marking the vest and mantle which he wore, 
And which her maidens and herself had made) 
In accents wing'd with eager haste began. 

Stranger ! the first inquiry shall be mine ; 
Who art, and whence ? From whom received'st 

thou these ? 
Saidst not — I came a wanderer o'er the deep ? 

To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. 
Oh queen ! the task were difficult to unfold 
In all its length the story of my woes, 
For I have numerous from the gods received ; 
But I will answer thee as best I may. 
There is a certain isle, Ogygia, placed 
Far distant in the deep ; there dwells, by man 
Alike unvisited and by the gods, 
Calypso, beauteous nymph, but deeply skill'd 
In artifice, and terrible hi power, 
Daughter of Atlas. Me alone my fate 
Her miserable inmate made, when Jove 

i The Scholiast explains the passage thus— We resemble 
the gods in righteousness as much as the Cyclops and 
giants resembled each other in impiety. But in this sense 
of it there is something intricate and contrary to Homer's 
manner. We have seen that they derived themselves 
from Neptune, which sufficiently justifies the above inter- 
pretation. 


432 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Had riven asunder with his candent bolt 
My bark in the mid-sea. There perish'd all 
The valiant partners of my toils, and I 
My vessel's keel embracing day and night 
With folded arms, nine days was borne along. 
But on the tenth dark night, as pleased the gods, 
They drove me to Ogygia, where resides 
Calypso, beauteous nymph, dreadful in power ; 
She rescued, cherish 'd, fed me, and her wish 
Was to confer on me immortal life, 
Exempt for ever from the sap of age. 
But me her offer'd boon sway'd not. Seven years 
I there abode continual, with my tears 
Bedewing ceaseless my ambrosial robes, 
Calypso's gift divine ; but when, at length, 
(Seven years elapsed) the circling eighth arrived, 
She then, herself, my quick departure thence 
Advised, by Jove's own mandate overawed, 
Which even her had influenced to a change. 
On a well-corded raft she sent me forth 
With numerous presents ; bread she put and wine 
On board, and clothed me in immortal robes ; 
She sent before me also a fair wind 
Fresh-blowing, but not dangerous. Seventeen days 
I sail'd the flood continual, and descried, 
On the eighteenth, your shadowy mountains tall, 
I When my exulting heart sprang at the sight, 
! All wretched as I was, and still ordain'd 
To strive with difficulties many and hard 
From adverse Neptune ; he the stormy winds 
Exciting opposite, my watery way 
Impeded, and the waves heaved to a bulk 
Immeasurable, such as robb'd me soon 
Deep-groaning, of the raft, my only hope ; 
For her the tempest scatter'd, and myself 
This ocean measured swimming, till the winds 
And mighty waters cast me on your shore. 
Me there emerging, the huge waves had dash'd 
Full on the land, where, incommodious most, 
The shore presented only roughest rocks, 
But, leaving it, I swam the deep again, 
Till now, at last, a river's gentle stream 
Received me, by no rocks deform'd, and where 
No violent winds the shelter'd bank annoy'd. 
I flung myself on shore, exhausted, weak, 
Needing repose ; ambrosial night came on, 
When from the Jove-descended stream with- 
drawn, 
I in a thicket laid me down on leaves 
Which I had heap'd together,, and the gods 
O'erwhelm'd my eye-lids with a flood of sleep. 
There under wither'd leaves, forlorn, I slept 
All the long night, the morning, and the noon, 
But balmy sleep, at the decline of day, 
Broke from me ; then, your daughter's train I 

heard 
Sporting, with whom she also sported, fair 
And graceful as the gods. To her I kneel'd. 
She, following the dictates of a mind 
Ingenuous, pass'd in her behaviour all 
Which even ye could from an age like hers 
Have hoped ; for youth is ever indiscreet. 
She gave rae plenteous food, with richest wine 
Refresh'd my spirit, taught me where to bathe, 


And clothed me as thou seest ; thus, though a prey 
To many sorrows, I have told thee truth. 

To whom Alcinoiis answer thus return'd. 
My daughter's conduct, I perceive, hath been 
In this erroneous, that she led thee not 
Hither, at once, with her attendant train, 
For thy first suit was to herself alone. 

Thus then Ulysses, wary chief, replied. 
Blame not, hero, for so slight a cause 
Thy faultless child ; she bade me follow them, 
But I refused, by fear and awe restrain'd, 
Lest thou should st feel displeasure at that sight 
Thyself ; for we are all, in every clime, 
Suspicious, and to worst constructions prone. 

So spake Ulysses, to whom thus the king. 
I bear not, stranger ! in my breast an heart 
Causeless irascible ; for at all times 
A temperate equanimity is best. 
And oh, I would to heaven, that, being such 
As now thou art, and of one mind with me, 
Thouwould'st accept my daughter, would'st become 
My son-in-law, and dwell contented here ! 
House would I give thee, and possessions too, 
Were such thy choice ; else, if thou chuse it not, 
No man in all Phseacia shall by force 
Detain thee. Jupiter himself forbid ! 
For proof, I will appoint thee convoy hence 
To-morrow ; and while thou by sleep subdued 
Shalt on thy bed repose, they with their oars 
Shall brush the placid flood, till thou arrive 
At home, or at what place soe'er thou would'st, 
Though far more distant than Eubcea lies, 
Remotest isle from us, by the report 
Of ours, who saw it when they thither bore 
Golden-hair'd Rhadamanthus o'er the deep, 
To visit earth-born Tityus. To that isle 
They went ; they reach'd it, and they brought him 

thence 
Back to Phseacia, in one day, with ease. 
Thou also shalt be taught what ships I boast 
Unmatch'd in swiftness, and how far my crews 
Excel, upturning with their oars the brine. 

He ceased : Ulysses toil-inured his words 
Exulting heard, and praying thus replied. 
Eternal father ! may the king perform 
His whole kind promise ! grant him in all lands 
A never-dying name, and grant to me 
To visit safe my native shores again ! 

Thus they conferr'd ; and now Areta bade 
Her fair attendants dress a fleecy couch 
Under the portico, with purple rugs 
Resplendent, and with arras spread beneath, 
And over all with cloaks of shaggy pile. 
Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch, 
And, as she bade, prepared in haste a couch 
Of depth commodious, then, returning, gave 
Ulysses welcome summons to repose. [rest. 

Stranger ! thy couch is spread. Hence to thy 
So they — Thrice grateful to his soul the' thought 
Seem'd of repose. There slept Ulysses then, 
On his carved couch, beneath the portico, 
But in the inner house Alcinoiis found 
His place of rest, and hers with royal state 
Prepared, the queen his consort, at his side. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


433 


BOOK VIII. 


ARGUMENT. 

The Phaeacians consult on the subject of Ulysses. Prepa- 
ration is made for his departure. Alcinotis entertains 
them at his table. Games follow the entertainment. 
Demodocus the bard sings, first the loves of Mars and 
Venus, then the introduction of the wooden horse into 
Troy. Ulysses, much affected by his song, is questioned 
by Alcinous, whence, and who he is, and what is the 
cause of his sorrow. 


But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Blush'd in the east, then from his bed arose 
The sacred might of the Phseacian king. 
Then uprose also, city-waster chief, 
Ulysses, whom the king Alcinous 
Led forth to council at the ships convened. 
There, side by side, on polish'd stones they sat 
Frequent ; meantime, Minerva in the form 
Of king Alcinous' herald ranged the town, 
With purpose to accelerate the return 
Of brave Ulysses to his native home, 
And thus to every chief the goddess spake. 

Phseacian chiefs and senators, away ! 
Haste all to council on the stranger held, 
Who hath of late beneath Alcinoiis' roof 
Our king arrived, a wanderer o'er the deep, 
But in his form, majestic as a god. 

So saying, she roused the people, and at once 
The seats of all the senate-court were fill'd 
With fast-assembling throngs, no few of whom 
Had mark'd Ulysses with admiring eyes. 
Then Pallas o'er his head and shoulders broad 
Diffusing grace celestial, his whole form 
Dilated, and to statelier height advanced, 
That worthier of all reverence he might seem 
To the Phaeacians, and might many a feat 
Achieve, with which they should assay his force. 

When, therefore, the assembly now was full, 
Alcinous, them addressing, thus began. 

Phseacian chiefs and senators ! I speak 
The dictates of my mind, therefore attend. 
This guest, unknown to me, hath, wandering, found 
My palace, either from the east arrived, 
Or from some nation on our western side. 
Safe conduct home he asks, and our consent 
Here wishes ratified, whose quick return 
Be it our part, as usual, to promote ; 
For at no time the stranger, from what coast 
Soe'er, who hath resorted to our doors, 
Hath long complain'd of his detention here. 
Haste — draw ye down into the sacred deep 
A vessel of prime speed, and from among 
The people, fifty and two youths select, 
Approved the best ; then lashing fast the oars, 
Leave her, that at my palace ye may make 
Short feast, for which myself will all provide. 
Thus I enjoin the crew; but as for those 
Of sceptred rank, I bid them all alike 
To my own board, that here we may regale 
The stranger nobly, and let none refuse. 
Call, too, Demodocus, the bard divine, 
To share my banquet, whom the gods have blest 
With powers of song delectable, unmatch'd 
By any, when his genius once is fired. 

He ceased, and led the way, whom follow'd all 
The sceptred senators, while to the house 
An hbvald hasted of the bard divine. 


Then, fifty mariners and two, from all 

The rest selected, to the coast repair' d, 

And, from their station on the sea-bank, launch'd 

The galley down into the sacred deep. 

They placed the canvass and the mast on board, 

Arranged the oars, unfurl'd the shining sail, 

And leaving her in depth of water moor'd, 

All sought the palace of Alcinous. 

There soon the portico, the court, the hall 

Were fill'd with multitudes of young and old, 

For whose regale the mighty monarch slew 

Two beeves, twelve sheep, and twice four fatted 

brawns. 
They flay'd them first, then busily their task 
Administering, prepared the joyous feast. 
And now the herald came, leading with care 
The tuneful bard ; dear to the muse was he, 
Who yet appointed him both good and ill, 
Took from him sight, but gave him strains divine. 
For him Pontonoiis in the midst disposed 
An argent-studded throne, thrusting it close 
To a tall column, where he hung his lyre 
Above his head, and taught him where it hung. 
He set before him, next, a polish'd board 
And basket, and a goblet fill'd with wine 
For his own use, and at his own command. 
Then, all assail'd at once the ready feast, 
And when nor hunger more nor thirst they felt, 
Then came the muse, and roused the bard to sing 
Exploits of men renown'd ; it was a song, 
In that day to the highest heaven extoll'd. 
He sang of a dispute kindled between 
The son of Peleus, and Laertes' l son, 
Both seated at a feast held to the gods. 
That contest Agamemnon, king of men, 
Between the noblest of Achaia's host 
Hearing, rej'oiced ; for when in Pytho erst 
He pass'd the marble threshold to consult 
The oraele of Apollo, such dispute 
The voice divine had to his ear announced ; 
For then it was that, first, the storm of war 
Came rolling on, ordain'd long time to afflict 
Troy and the Greecians, by the will of Jove. 

So sang the bard illustrious ; then his robe 
Of purple dye with both hands o'er his head 
Ulysses drew, behind its ample folds 
Veiling his face, through fear to be observed 
By the Phseacians weeping at the song ; 
And ever as the bard harmonious ceased, 
He wiped his tears, and, drawing from his brows 
The mantle, pour'd libation to the gods. 
But when the chiefs (for they delighted heard 
Those sounds) solicited again the bard, • 
And he renew'd the strain, then covering close 
His countenance, as before, Ulysses wept. 
Thus, unperceived by all, the hero mourn'd, 
Save by Alcinous ; he alone his tears, 
(Beside him seated) mark'd, and his deep sighs 
O'erhearing, the Phaeacians thus bespake. 

Phseacia's chiefs and senators, attend ! 
We have regaled sufficient, and the harp 
Heard to satiety, companion sweet 
And seasonable of the festive hour. 

i Agamemnon having enquired at Delphos, at what time 
the Trojan war should end, was answered, that the con- 
clusion of it should happen at a time when a dispute 
should arise between two of his principal commanders. 
That dispute occurred at the time here alluded to, Achilles 
recommending force as most likely to reduce the city, 
and Ulysses stratagem. 


434 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Now go we forth for honourable proof 
Of our address in games of every kind, 
That this our guest may to his friends report, 
At home arrived, that none like us have learn'd 
To leap, to box. to wrestle, and to run. 

So saying, he led them forth, whose steps the 
All follow'd, and the herald hanging high [guests 
The sprightly lyre, took by his hand the bard 
Demodocus, whom he the self-same way 
Conducted forth by which the chiefs had gone 
Themselves, for that great spectacle prepared. 
They sought the forum; countless swarm'd the 

throng 
Behind them as they went, and many a youth 
Strong and courageous to the strife arose. 
Upstood Acroneus and Ocyalus, 
Elatreus, Nauteus, Prymneus, after whom 
Anchialus with Anabeesineus 
Arose, Eretmeus, Ponteus, Proreus bold, 
Amphialus and Thoon. Then arose, 
In aspect dread as homicidal Mars, 
Euryalus, and for his graceful form 
(After Laodamas) distinguished most 
Of all Phasacia's sons, Naubolides. 
Three also from Alcinous sprung, arose, 
Laodamas, his eldest ; Halius, next, 
His second-born ; and godlike Clytoneus. 
Of these, some started for the runner's prize. 
1 They gave the race its limits. All at once 
Along the dusty champaign swift they flew. 
But Clytoneus, illustrious youth, outstripp'd 
All competition ; far as mules surpass 
Slow oxen furrowing the fallow ground, 
So far before all others he arrived 
Victorious, where the throng'd spectators stood. 
Some tried the wrestler's toil severe, in which 
Euryalus superior proved to all. 
In the long leap Amphialus prevail'd ; 
Elatreus most successful hurl'd the quoit, 
And at the cestus 2 , last, the noble son 
Of Scheria's king, Laodamas excell'd. 
When thus with contemplation of the games 
All had been gratified, Alcinous' son 
Laodamas, arising, them address' d. 

Friends ! ask we now the stranger, if he boast 
Proficiency in aught. His figure seems 
Not ill ; in thighs, and legs, and arms he shows 
Much strength, and in his brawny neck ; nor youth 
Hath left him yet, though batter'd he appears 
With numerous troubles, and misfortune-flaw'd. 
Nor know I hardships in the world so sure 
To break the strongest down, as those by sea. 

Then answer thus Euryalus return'd. 
Thou hast well said, Laodamas ; thyself 
Approaching, speak to him, and call him forth. 

Which when Alcinous' noble offspring heard, 
Advancing from his seat, amid them all 
He stood, and to Ulysses thus began. 

Stand forth, oh guest, thou also : prove thy skill 
(If any such thou boast) in games like ours, 
Which likeliest thou hast learn'd ; for greater praise 
Hath no man, while he lives, than that he know 
His feet to exercise and hands aright. 

1 To'hti 5' airh uvcraris tctuto dpS/xos — This expres- 
sion is by the commentators generally understood to be 
significant of the effort which they made at starting, but 
it is not improbable that it relates merely to the measure- 
ment of the course, otherwise, KapiraAiuws inerovTO — 
will be tautologous. 

2 In boxing. 


Come then ; make trial ; scatter wide thy cares ; 
We will not hold thee long ; the ship is launch'd 
Already, and the crew stand all prepared. 

To whom replied the wily chief renown'd. 
Wherefore, as in derision, have ye call'd 
Me forth, Laodamas, to these exploits % 
No games have I, but many a grief, at heart, 
And with far other struggles worn, here sit 
Desirous only of conveyance home, 
For which both king and people I implore. 

Then him Euryalus aloud reproach 1 d. 
I well believed it, friend ! in thee the guise 
I see not of a man expert in feats 
Athletic, of which various are perform' d 
In every land ; thou rather seem'st with ships 
Familiar ; one accustom'd to controul 
Some crew of trading mariners ; well-learn'd 
In stowage, pilotage, and wealth acquired 
By rapine, but of no gymnastic powers. 

To whom Ulysses, frowning dark, replied. 
Thou hast ill spoken, sir, and like a man 
Regardless whom he wrongs. Therefore the gods 
Give not endowments graceful in each kind, 
Of body, mind, and utterance, all to one. 
This man in figure less excels, yet Jove 
Crowns him with eloquence ; his hearers charm'd 
Behold him, while with modest confidence 
He bears the prize of fluent speech from all, 
And in the streets is gazed on as a god ! 
Another, in his form the powers above 
Resembles, but no grace around his words 
Twines itself elegant. So, thou in form 
Hast excellence to boast ; a god employ'd 
To make a master-piece in human shape, 
Could but produce proportions just as thine ; 
Yet hast thou an untutor'd intellect. 
Thou much hast moved me ; thy unhandsome phrase 
Hath roused my wrath ; I am not, as thou say'st, 
A novice in these sports, but took the lead 
In all, while youth and strength were on my side. 
But I am now in bands of sorrow held, 
And of misfortune, having much endured 
In war, and buffeting the boisterous waves. 
Yet, though with misery worn, I will essay 
My strength among you ; for thy words had teeth 
Whose bite hathpinch'd and pain'd me to the proof. 

He said ; and mantled as he was, a quoit 
Upstarting, seized, in bulk and weight all those 
Tx'anscending far, by the Pheeacians used. « 
Swiftly he swung, and from his vigorous hand 
Sent it. Loud sang the stone, and as it flew 
The maritime Phseacians low inclined 
Their heads beneath it ; over all the marks, 
And far beyond them, sped the flying rock. 
Minerva in a human form, the cast 
Prodigious measured, and aloud exclaim'd. 

Stranger 1 the blind himself might with his hands 
Feel out the 'vantage here. Thy quoit disdains 
Fellowship with a crowd, borne far beyond. 
Fear not a losing game ; Phseacian none 
Will reach thy measure, much less overcast. 

She ceased ; Ulysses, hardy chief, rejoiced 
That in the circus he had found a judge 
So favourable, and with brisker tone, 
As less in wrath, the multitude address'd. 

Young men, reach this, and I will quickly heave 
Another such, or yet a heavier quoit. 
Then, come the man whose courage prompts him 
To box, to wrestle with me, or to run ; [forth 

For ye have chafed me much, and I decline 


THE ODYSSEY. 


435 


No strife with any here, but challenge all 

Phseacia, save Laodamas alone. 

He is mine host. Who combats with his friend ? 

To call to proof of hardiment the man 

Who entertains him in a foreign land, 

Would but evince the challenger a fool, 

Who, so, should cripple his own interest there. 

As for the rest, I none refuse, scorn none, 

But wish for trial of you, and to match 

In opposition fair my force with yours. 

There is no game athletic in the use 

Of all mankind, too difficult for me ; 

I handle well the polish'd bow, and first 

Amid a thousand foes strike whom I mark, 

Although a throng of warriors at my side 

Imbattled, speed their shafts at the same time. 

Of all Achaia's sons who erst at Troy 

Drew bow, the sole who bore the prize from me 

Was Philoctetes ; I resign it else 

To none now nourish'd with the fruits of earth. 

Yet mean I no comparison of myself 

With men of antient times, with Hercules, 

Or with Oechalian Eurytus, who, both, 

The gods themselves in archery defied. 

Soon, therefore, died huge Eurytus, ere yet 

Old age he reach'd ; him, angry to be call'd 

To proof of archership, Apollo slew. 

But if ye name the spear, mine flies a length 

By no man's arrow reach'd ; I fear no foil 

From the Phseacians, save in speed alone ; 

For I have suffer'd hardships, dash'd and drench'd 

By many a wave, nor had I food on board 

At all times, therefore am I much unstrung. 

He spake, and silent the Pheeacians sat, 
Of whom alone Alcinous thus replied. 

Since, stranger, not ungraceful is thy speech, 
Who hast but vindicated in our ears 
Thy question'd prowess, angry that this youth 
Reproach'd thee in the presence of us all, 
That no man qualified to give his voice 
In public might affront thy courage more ; 
Now mark me, therefore, that in time to come, 
While feasting with thy children and thy spouse, 
Thou may'st inform the heroes of thy land 
Even of our proficiency in arts 
By Jove enjoin'd us in our father's days. 
We boast not much the boxer's skill, nor yet 
The wrestler's ; but light-footed in the race 
Are we, and navigators well inform'd. 
Our pleasures are the feast, the harp, the dance, 
Garments for change ; the tepid bath ; the bed. 
Come, ye Phseacians, beyond others skill'd 
To tread the circus with harmonious steps, 
Come, play before us ; that our guest, arrived 
In his own country, may inform his friends 
How far in seamanship we all excel, 
In running, in the dance, and in the song. 
Haste ! bring ye to Demodocus his lyre 
Clear-toned, left somewhere in our hall at home. 
So spake the god-like king, at whose command 
The herald to the palace quick return'd 
To seek the charming lyre. Meantime arose 
Nine arbiters, appointed to intend 
The whole arrangement of the public games, 
To smooth the circus floor, and give the ring 
Its compass, widening the attentive throng. 
Ere long the herald came, bearing the harp, 
With which Demodocus supplied, advanced 
Into the middle area, around whom 
Stood blooming youths, all skilful in the dance. 


With footsteps justly timed all smote at once 

The sacred floor ; Ulysses wonder- fixt, 

The ceaseless play of twinkling i feet admired. 

Then tuning his sweet chords, Demodocus 
A jocund strain began, his theme, the loves 
Of Mars and Cytherea chaplet-crown'd ; 
How first, clandestine, they embraced beneath 
The roof of Vulcan ; her, by many a gift 
Seduced, Mars won, and with adulterous lust 
The bed dishonour'd of the king of fire. 
The Sun, a witness of their amorous sport, 
Bore swift the tale to Vulcan ; he, apprized 
Of that foul deed, at once his smithy sought, 
In secret darkness of his inmost soul 
Contriving vengeance ; to the stock he heaved 
His anvil huge, on which he forged a snare 
Of bands indissoluble, by no art 
To be untied, durance for ever firm. 
The net prepared, he bore it, fiery-wroth 
To his own chamber and his nuptial couch, 
Where stretching them from post to post,he wrapp'd 
With those fine meshes all his bed around, 
And hung them numerous from the roof, diffused 
Like spider's filaments, which not the gods 
Themselves could see, so subtle were the toils. 
When thus he had encircled all his bed 
On every side, he feign'd a journey thence 
To Lemnos, of all cities that adorn 
The earth, the city that he favours most. 
Nor kept the god of the resplendent reins 
Mars, drowsy watch, but seeing that the famed 
Artificer of heaven had left his home, 
Flew to the house of Vulcan, hot to enjoy 
The goddess with the wreath -encircled brows. 
She, newly from her potent sire return'd 
The son of Satui-n, sat. Mars, entering, seized 
Her hand, hung on it, and thus urged his suit. 

To bed, my fair, and let us love ! for lo ! 
Thine husband is from home, to Lemnos gone, 
And to the Sintians, men of barbarous speech. 
He spake, nor she was loth, but bedward too 
Like him inclined ; so then, to bed they went, 
And as they laid them down, down stream'd the 
Around them, labour exquisite of hands [net 

By ingenuity divine inform'd. 
Small room they found, so prison'd ; not a limb 
Could either lift, or move, but felt at once 
Entanglement from which was no escape. 
And now the glorious artist, ere he yet 
Had reach'd the Lemnian isle, limping, return'd 
From his feign'd journey, for his spy the Sun 
Had told him all. With aching heart he sought 
His home, and, standing in the vestibule, 
Frantic with indignation roar'd to heaven, 
And roar'd again, summoning all the gods. — 
Oh Jove ! and all ye powers for ever blest ! 
Here ! hither look, that ye may view a sight 
Ludicrous, yet too monstrous to be borne, 
How Venus always with dishonour loads 
Her cripple spouse, doating on fiery Mars ! 
And wherefore ? for that he is fair in form 
And sound of foot, I ricket-boned, and weak. 
Whose fault is this ? Their fault, and theirs alone 
Who gave me being ; ill-employ'd were they 


1 The translator is indebted to Mr. Gray for an epithet 
more expressive of the original (Map/uapvyds) than any 
other, perhaps, in all our language. See the Ode on the 
Progress of Poetry : 

" To brisk notes in cadence beating, 
Glance their many-twinkling feet." 
f f 2 


436 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Begetting me, one better far unborn. 
See where they couch together on my bed 
Lascivious ! ah, sight hateful to my eyes ! 
Yet cooler wishes will they feel, I ween, 
To press my bed hereafter ; here to sleep 
Will little please them, fondly as they love. 
But these my toils and tangles will suffice 
To hold them here, till Jove shall yield me bach 
Complete, the sum of all my nuptial gifts 
Paid to him for the shameless strumpet's sake 
His daughter, as incontinent as fair. 

He said, and in the brazen-floor'd abode 
Of Jove the gods assembled. Neptune came 
Earth-circling power ; came Hermes friend of man, 
And regent of the far-commanding bow, 
Apollo also came ; but chaste reserve 
Bashful kept all the goddesses at home. 
The gods, by whose beneficence all live, 
Stood in the portal ; infinite arose 
The laugh of heaven, all looking down intent 
On that shrewd project of the smith divine, 
And, turning to each other, thus they said. 

Bad works speed ill. The slow o'ertakes the swift. 
So Vulcan, tardy as he is, by craft 
Hath outstript Mars, although the fleetest far 
Of all who dwell in heaven, and the light-heel'd 
Must pay the adulterer's forfeit to the lame. 

So spake the powers immortal ; then the king 
Of radiant shafts thus question'd Mercury, [god ! 
Jove's son, heaven's herald, Hermes, bounteous 
Would'st thou such stricture close of bands endure 
For golden Venus lying at thy side ? 

Whom answer'd thus the messenger of heaven. 
Archer divine ! yea, and with all my heart ; 
And be the bands which wind us round about 
Thrice these, innumerable, and let all 
| The gods and goddesses in heaven look on, 
So I may clasp Vulcan's fair spouse the while. 
He spake ; then laugh'd the immortal powers 
again. 
But not so Neptune ; he with earnest suit 
The glorious artist urged to the release 
Of Mars, and thus in accents wing'd he said. 

Loose him ; accept my promise ; he shall pay 
Full recompense in presence of us all. 

Then thus the limping smith far-famed replied. 
Earth-circler Neptune, spare me that request. 
1 Lame suitor, lame security. What bands 
Could I devise for thee among the gods, 
Should Mars, emancipated once, escape, 
Leaving both debt and durance far behind ? 

Him answer'd then the shaker of the shores. 
I tell thee, Vulcan, that if Mars by flight 
Shun payment, I will pay, myself, the fine. 
To whom the glorious artist of the skies. 
Thou must not, canst not, shalt not be refused. 
So saying the might of Vulcan loosed the snare, 
[ And they, detain'd by those coercive bands 
No longer, from the couch upstarting flew, 
! Mars into Thrace, and to her Paphian home 
i The queen of smiles, where deep in myrtle groves 
i Her incense-breathing altar stands embower'd. 
Her there, the Graces laved, and oils diffused 

1 The original line has received such a variety of inter- 
pretations, that a translator seems free to choose. It has, 
however, a proverbial turn, which I have endeavoured to 
i preserve, and have adopted that sense of the words which 
i appears best to accord with what immediately follows. 
| Vulcan pleads his own inability to enforce the demand, as 
I a circumstance that made Neptune's promise unacceptable. 


O'er all her form ambrosial, such as add 
Fresh beauty to the gods for ever young, 
And clothed her in the loveliest robes of heaven. 

Such was the theme of the illustrious bard. 
Ulysses with delight that song, and all 
The maritime Pheeacian concourse heard. 

Alcinoiis, then, (for in the dance they pass'd 
All others) call'd his sons to dance alone, 
Halius and Laodamas ; they gave 
The purple ball into their hands, the work 
Exact of Polybus ; one, resupine, 
Upcast it high toward the dusky clouds, 
The other springing into air, with ease 
Received it, ere he sank to earth again. 
When thus they oft had sported with the ball 
Thrown upward, next with nimble interchange 
They pass'd it to each other many a time, 
Footing the plain, while every youth of all 
The circus clapp'd his hands, and from beneath 
The din of stamping feet fill'd all the air. 

Then, turning to Alcinoiis, thus the wise 
Ulysses spake. Alcinoiis ! mighty king ! 
Illustrious above all Phseacia's sons ! 
Incomparable are ye in the dance, 
Even as thou said'st. Amazement-fixt I stand ! 

So he, whom hearing, the imperial might 
Exulted of Alcinoiis, and aloud 
To his oar-skill'd Pheeacians thus he spake. 

Phseacian chiefs and senators, attend ! 
Wisdom beyond the common stint I mark 
In this our guest ; good cause in my account, 
For which we should present him with a pledge 
Of hospitality and love. The chiefs 
Are twelve, who, highest in command, controul 
The people, and the thirteenth chief am I. 
Bring each a golden talent, with a vest 
Well-bleach'd, and tunic ; gratified with these, 
The stranger to our banquet shall repair 
Exulting ; bring them all without delay ; 
And let Euryalus by word and gift 
Appease him, for his speech was unadvised. 

He ceased, whom all applauded, and at once 
Each sent his herald forth to bring the gifts, 
When thus Euryalus his sire address'd. 

Alcinoiis ! o'er Phseacia's sons supreme ! 
I will appease our guest as thou command'st. 
This sword shall be his own, the blade all steel, 
The hilt of silver, and the unsullied sheath 
Of ivory recent from the carver's hand. 
A gift like this he shall not need despise. 

So saying, his silver-studded sword he gave 
Into his grasp, and courteous, thus began. 

Hail, honour'd stranger ! and if word of mine 
Have harm'd thee, rashly spoken, let the winds 
Bear all remembrance of it swift away ! 
May the gods give thee to behold again 
Thy wife, and to attain thy native shore, 
Whence absent long, thou hast so much endured ! 

To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. 
Hail also thou, and may the gods, my friend, 
Grant thee felicity, and may never want 
Of this thy sword touch thee in time to come. 
By whose kind phrase appeased my wrath subsides! 

He ended, and athwart his shoulders threw 
The weapon bright-emboss'd. Now sank the sun, 
And those rich gifts arrived, which to the house 
Of king Alcinoiis the heralds bore. 
Alcinoiis' sons received them, and beside 
Their royal mother placed the precious charge. 
The king then led the way, at whose abode 


THE ODYSSEY. 


437 


Arrived, again they press'd their lofty thrones, 
And to Areta thus the monarch spake. 

Haste, bring a coffer ; bring thy best, and store 
A mantle and a sumptuous vest within ; 
Warm for him, next, a brazen bath, by which 
Refresh'd, and viewing in fair order placed 
The noble gifts by the Phseacian lords 
Conferr'd on him, he may the more enjoy 
Our banquet, and the bard's harmonious song. 
I give him also this my golden cup 
Splendid, elaborate ; that, while he lives, 
What time he pours libation forth to Jove 
And all the gods, he may remember me. 

He ended, at whose words Areta bade 
Her maidens with dispatch place o'er the fire 
A tripod ample-womb'd ; obedient they 
Advanced a laver to the glowing hearth, 
Water infused, and kindled wood beneath. 
The flames encircling bright the bellied vase, 
Warm'd soon the flood within. Meantime, the queen 
Producing from her chamber-stores a chest 
All-elegant, within it placed the gold 
And raiment, gifts of the Phseacian chiefs, 
With her own gifts, the mantle and the vest, 
And in wing'd accents to Ulysses said. 

Now take, thyself, the coffer's lid in charge ; 
Girdle it quickly with a cord, lest loss 
Befal thee on thy way, while thou perchance 
Shalt sleep secure on board the sable bark. 

Which when Ulysses heard, hero renown'd, 
Adjusting close the lid, he cast a cord 
Around it, which with many a mazy knot 
He tied, by Circe taught him long before. 
And now, the mistress of the household charge 
Summon'd him to his bath ; glad he beheld 
The steaming vase, uncustom'd to its use 
E'er since his voyage from the isle of fair 
Calypso, although, while a guest with her, 
Ever familiar with it, as a god. 
Laved by attendant damsels, and with oil 
Refresh'd, he put his sumptuous tunic on 
And mantle, and proceeding from the bath 
To the symposium, join'd the numerous guests ; 
But, as he pass'd, the princess all divine 
Beside the pillars of the portal lost 
In admiration of his graceful form, 
Stood, and in accents wing'd him thus address'd. 

Hail, stranger ! at thy native home arrived 
Remember me, thy first deliverer here. 

To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. 
Nausicaa ! daughter of the noble king 
Alcinoiis ! So may Jove, high-thundering mate 
Of Juno, grant me to behold again 
My native land, and my delightful home, 
As, even there, I will present my vows 
To thee, adoring thee as I adore 
The gods themselves, virgin, by whom I live ! 

He said, and on his throne beside the king 
Alcinoiis sat. And now they portion'd out 
The feast to all, and charged the cups with wine, 
And introducing by his hand the bard 
Phseacia's glory, at the column's side 
The herald placed Demodocus again. 

Then, carving forth a portion from the loins 
Of a huge brawn, of which uneaten still 
Large part and delicate remain'd, thus spake 
Ulysses — Herald ! bear it to the bard 
For his regale, whom I will soon embrace 
In spite of sorrow ; for respect is due 
And veneration to the sacred bard 


From all mankind, for that the muse inspires 
Herself his song, and loves the tuneful tribe. 

He ended, and the herald bore his charge 
To the old hero, who with joy received 
That meed of honour at the bearer's hand. 
Then, all, at once, assail'd the ready feast, 
And hunger now, and thirst both satisfied, 
Thus to Demodocus Ulysses spake. 

Demodocus ! I give thee praise above 
All mortals, for that either thee the muse 
Jove's daughter teaches, or the king, himself, 
Apollo ; since thou so record'st the fate, 
With such clear method, of Achaia's host, 
Their deeds heroic, and their numerous toils, 
As thou hadst present been thyself, or learnt 
From others present there, the glorious tale. 
Come, then, proceed ; that rare invention sing, 
The horse of wood, which by Minerva's aid 
Epeus framed, and which Ulysses erst 
Convey'd into the citadel of Troy 
With warriors fill'd, who laid all Ilium waste. 
These things rehearse regular, and myself 
Will, instant, publish in the ears of all 
Thy fame, reporting thee a bard to whom 
Apollo free imparts celestial song. 

He ended ; then Apollo with full force 
Rush'd on Demodocus, and he began 
What time the Greeks, first firing their own camp, 
Steer'd all their galleys from the shore of Troy. 
Already, in the horse conceal'd, his band 
Around Ulysses sat ; for Ilium's sons 
Themselves had drawn it to the citadel, 
And there the mischief stood. Then, strife arose 
Among the Trojans compassing the horse, 
And threefold was the doubt ; whether to cleave 
The hollow trunk asunder, or updrawn 
Aloft, to cast it headlong from the rocks, 
Or to permit the enormous image, kept 
Entire, to stand an offering to the gods, 
Which was their destined course ; for Fate had fix'd 
Their ruin sure, when once they had received 
Within their walls that engine huge, in which 
Sat all the bravest Greecians with the fate 
Of Ilium charged, and slaughter of her sons. 
He sang, how, from the horse effused, the Greeks 
Left their capacious ambush, and the town 
Made desolate. To others, in his song, 
He gave the praise of wasting all beside, 
But told how, fierce as Mars, Ulysses join'd 
With godlike Menelaus, to the house 
Flew of Deiphobus ; him there engaged 
In direst fight he sang, and through the aid 
Of glorious Pallas, conqueror over all. 

So sang the bard illustrious, at whose song 
Ulysses melted, and tear after tear 
Fell on his cheeks. As when a woman weeps 
Her husband, who hath fallen in defence 
Of his own city and his babes before 
The gates ; she, sinking, folds him in her arms, 
And, gazing on him as he pants and dies, 
Shrieks at the sight ; meantime, the enemy 
Smiting her shoulders with the spear, to toil 
Command her and to bondage far away, 
And her cheek fades with horror at the sound : 
Ulysses, so, from his moist lids let fall 
The frequent tear. Unnoticed by the rest 
Those drops, but not by king Alcinoiis, fell, 
Who, seated at his side, his heavy sighs 
Remark'd, and the Phseacians thus bespake. " 

Phseacian chiefs and senators, attend ! 


438 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Now let Demodocus enjoin his harp 

Silence, for not alike grateful to all 

His music sounds ; during our feast, and since 

The bard divine began, continued flow 

The stranger's sorrows, by remembrance caused 

Of some great woe which wraps his soul around. 

Then, let the bard suspend his song, that all 

(As most befits the occasion) may rejoice, 

Both guest and hosts together ; since we make 

This voyage, and these gifs confer, in proof 

Of hospitality and unfeign'd love, 

Judging, with all wise men, the stranger-guest 

And suppliant worthy of a brother's place. 

And thou conceal not, artfully reserved, 

What I shall ask, far better plain declared 

Than smother'd close ; who art thou ? speak thy 

name, 
The name by which thy father, mother, friends 
And fellow-citizens, with all who dwell 
Around thy native city, in times past 
Have known thee ; for of all things human none 
Lives altogether nameless, whether good 
Or whether bad, but every man receives 
Even hi the moment of his birth, a name. 
Thy country, people, city, tell ; the mark 
At which my ships, intelligent, shall aim, 
That they may bear thee thither ; for our ships 
No pilot need or helm, as ships are wont, 
But know, themselves, our purpose ; know beside 
All cities, and all fruitful regions well 
Of all the earth, and with dark clouds involved 
Plough rapid the rough deep, fearless of harm, 
(Whate'er betide) and of disastrous wreck. 
Yet thus, long since, my father I have heard 
Nausithoiis speaking ; Neptune, he would say, 
Is angry with us, for that safe we bear 
Strangers of every nation to then* home ; 
And he foretold a time when he would smite 
In vengeance some Phseacian gallant bark 
Returning after convoy of her charge, 
And fix her in the sable flood, transformed 
Into a mountain, right before the town. 

So spake my hoary sire, which let the god 
At his own pleasure do, or leave undone. 
But tell me truth, and plainly. Where have been 
Thy wanderings ? in what regions of the earth 
Hast thou arrived ? what nations hast thou seen, 
What cities? say, how many hast thou found 
Harsh, savage and unjust ? how many, kind 
To strangers, and disposed to fear the gods ? 
Say also, from what secret grief of heart 
Thy sorrows flow, oft as thou hear'st the fate 
Of the Achaians, or of Ilium sung? 
That fate the gods prepared ; they spin the thread 
Of man's destruction, that in after days 
The bard may make the sad event his theme. 
Perish'd thy father or thy brother there? 
Or hast thou at the siege of Ilium lost 
Father-in-law, or son-in-law ? for such 
Are next and dearest to us after those 
Who share our own descent ; or was the dead 
Thy bosom-friend, whose heart was as thy own ? 
For worthy as a brother of our love 
The constant friend and the discreet I deem. 


BOOK IX. 

ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses discovers himself to the Phaeacians, and begins 
the history of his adventures. He destroys Ismarus, 
city of the Ciconians; arrives among the Lotophagi; 
and afterwards at the land of the Cyclops. He is im- 
prisoned by Polypheme in his cave, who devours six of 
his companions; intoxicates the monster with wine, 
blinds him while he sleeps, and escapes from him. 

Then answer, thus, Ulysses wise return' d. 
Alcinous ! king ! illustrious above all 
Phseacia's sons ! pleasant, it is to hear 
A bard like this, sweet as the gods in song. 
The world, in my account, no sight affords 
More gratifying, than a people blest 
With cheerfulness and peace, a palace throng'd 
With guests in order ranged, listening to sounds 
Melodious, and the steaming tables spread 
With plenteous viands, while the cups, with wine 
From brimming beakers fill'd, pass brisk around. 
No lovelier sight know I. But thou, it seems, 
Thy thoughts hast turn'd to ask me whence my 

groans 
And tears, that I may sorrow still the more. 
What first, what next, what last shall I rehearse, 
On whom the gods have shower'd such various 

woes ? 
Learn first my name, that even in this land 
Remote I may be known, and that escaped 
From all adversity, I may requite 
Hereafter, this your hospitable care 
At my own home, however distant hence. 
I am Ulysses, fear'd in all the earth 
For subtlest wisdom, and renown'd to heaven, 
The offspring of Laertes ; my abode 
Is sun-burnt Ithaca ; there waving stands 
The mountain Neritus his numerous boughs, 
And it is neighbour'd close by clustering isles 
All populous ; thence Samos is beheld, 
Dulichium, and Zacynthus forest-clad. 
Flat on the deep she lies, farthest removed 
Toward the west, while, situate apart, 
Her sister islands face the rising day ; 
Rugged she is, but fruitful nurse of sons 
Magnanimous ; nor shall these eyes behold, 
Elsewhere, an object dear and sweet as she. 
Calypso, beauteous goddess, in her grot 
Detain'd me, wishing me her own espoused ; 
JEsean Circe also, skill'd profound 
In potent arts, within her palace long 
Detain'd me, wishing me her own espoused ; 
But never could they warp my constant mind. 
So much our parents and our native soil 
Attract us most, even although our lot 
Be fair and plenteous in a foreign land. 
But come— my painful voyage, such as Jove 
Gave me from Ilium, I will now relate. 

From Troy the winds bore me to Ismarus, 
City of the Ciconians ; them I slew, 
And laid their city waste ; whence bringing forth 
Much spoil with all their wives, I portion'd it 
With equal hand, and each received a share. 
Next, I exhorted to immediate flight 
My people ; but in vain ; they madly scorn'd 
My sober counsel, and much wine they drank, 
And sheep and beeves slew numerous on the shore. 
Meantime, Ciconians to Ciconians call'd, 
Their neighbours summoning, a mightier host 


THE ODYSSEY. 


439 


And braver, natives of the continent, 
Expert, on horses mounted, to maintain 
Fierce fight, or if occasion bade, on foot. 
Numerous they came as leaves, or vernal flowers 
At day-spring. Then by the decree of Jove, 
Misfortune found us. At the ships we stood 
Piercing each other with the brazen spear, 
And till the morning brighten'd into noon, 
Few as we were, we yet withstood them all ; 
But when the sun verged westward, then the 

Greeks 
Fell back and the Ciconian host prevail'd. 
Six warlike Greecians from each galley's crew 
Perish'd in that dread field ; the rest escaped. 

Thus after loss of many we pursued 
Our course, yet, difficult as was our flight, 
Went not till first we had invoked by name 
Our friends whom the Ciconians had destroy'd. 
But cloud-assembler Jove assail'd us soon 
With a tempestuous north-wind ; earth alike 
And sea with storms he over-hung, and night 
Fell fast from heaven. Their heads deep-plunging 
Our galleys flew, and rent, and rent again [oft 
Our tatter'd sail-cloth crackled in the wind. 
We, fearing instant death, within the barks 
Our canvass lodged, and toiling strenuous, reach'd 
At length the continent. Two nights we lay 
Continual there, and two long days consumed 
With toil and grief; but when the beauteous morn 
Bright-hair'd had brought the third day to a close, 
(Our masts erected, and white sails unfurl'd) 
Again we sat on board ; meantime, the winds 
Well managed by the steersman, urged us on. 
And now, all danger pass'd, I had attain'd 
My native shore, but, doubling in my course 
Malea, waves and currents and north-winds 
Constrain'd me devious to Cythera's isle. 
Nine days by cruel storms thence was I borne 
Athwart the fishy deep, but on the tenth 
Reach'd the Lotophagi, a race sustain'd 
On sweetest fruit alone. There quitting ship, 
We landed and drew water, and the crews 
Beside the vessels took their evening cheer. 
When, hasty, we had thus our strength renew'd, 
I order'd forth my people to inquire 
(Two I selected from the rest, with whom 
I join'd an herald, third) what race of men 
Might there inhabit. They, departing, mix'd 
With the Lotophagi ; nor hostile aught 
Or savage the Lotophagi devised 
Against our friends, but offer'd to their taste 
The lotus ; of which fruit what man soe'er 
Once tasted, no desire felt he to come 
With tidings back, or seek his country more, 
But rather wish'd to feed on lotus still 
With the Lotophagi, and to renounce [strain'd 
All thoughts of home. Them, therefore, I con- 
Weeping on board, and dragging each beneath 
The benches, bound him there. Then, all in haste, 
I urged my people to ascend again 
Their hollow barks, lest others also, fed 
With fruit of lotus, should forget their home. 
They quick embark'd, and on the benches ranged 
In order, thresh'd with oars the foamy flood. 

Thence, o'er the deep proceeding sad, we reach'd 
The land at length, where, ' giant-sized and free 
From all constraint of law, the Cyclops dwell. 


1 So the Scholium interprets in this place, the word 


They, trusting to the gods, plant not, or plough, 

But earth unsow'd, untill'd, brings forth for them 

All fruits, wheat, barley, and the vinous grape 

Large-cluster'd, nourish'd by the showers of Jove. 

No councils they convene, no laws contrive, 

But in deep caverns dwell, found on the heads 

Of lofty mountains, judging each supreme 

His wife and children, heedless of the rest. 

In front of the Cyclopean haven lies, 

A level island, not adjoining close 

Their land, nor yet remote, woody and rude. 

There, wild-goats breed numberless, by no foot 

Of man molested ; never huntsman there, 

Inured to winter's cold and hunger, roams 

The dreary woods, or mountain-tops sublime ; 

No fleecy flocks dwell there, nor plough is known, 

But the unseeded and unfurrow'd soil, 

Year after year a wilderness by man 

Untrodden, food for blatant goats, supplies. 

For no ships crimson-prow 'd the Cyclops own, 

Nor naval artizan is there, whose toil 

Might furnish them with oary barks, by which 

Subsists all distant commerce, and which bear 

Man o'er the deep to cities far remote 

Who might improve the peopled isle, that seems 

Not sterile in itself, but apt to yield, 

In their due season, fruits of every kind. 

For stretch'd beside the hoary ocean lie 

Green meadows moist, where vines would never fail ; 

Light is the land, and they might yearly reap 

The tallest crops, so unctuous is the glebe. 

Safe is its haven also, where no need 

Of cable is or anchor, or to lash 

The hawser fast ashore, but pushing in 

His bark, the mariner might here abide 

Till rising gales should tempt him forth again. 

At bottom of the bay runs a clear stream 

Issuing from a cove hemm'd all around 

With poplars ; down into that bay we steer'd 

Amid the darkness of the night, some god 

Conducting us ; for all unseen it lay, 

Such gloom involved the fleet, nor shone the moon 

From heaven to light us, veil'd by pitchy clouds. 

Hence, none the isle descried, nor any saw 

The lofty surge roll'd on the strand, or ere 

Our vessels struck the ground; but when they 

struck, 
Then, lowering all our sails we disembark'd, 
And on the sea-beach slept till dawn appear'd. 
Soon as Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy forth, we with admiring eyes 
The isle survey' d, roaming it wide around. 
Meantime, the nymphs, Jove's daughters, roused 

the goats 
Bred on the mountains, to supply with food 
The partners of my toils ; then, bringing forth 
Bows and long-pointed javelins from the ships, 
Divided all into three separate bands 
We struck them, and the gods gave us much prey. 
Twelve ships attended me, and every ship 
Nine goats received by lot ; myself alone 
Selected ten. All day, till set of sun, 
We eating sat goat's flesh, and drinking wine 
Delicious without stint ; for dearth was none 
Of ruddy wine on board, but much remain'd, 
With which my people had their jars supplied 
What time we sack'd Ciconian Ismarus. 
Thence looking forth toward the neighbour-land 
Where dwell the Cyclops, rising smoke we saw, 
And voices heard, their own, and of their flocks. 


440 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Now sank the sun, and (night o'ershadowing all) 
We slept along the shore ; but when again, 
The rosy-finger'd daughter of the dawn 
Look'd forth, my crews convened, I thus began. 

Companions of my course ! here rest ye all, 
Save my own crew, with whom I will explore 
This people, whether wild they be, unjust, 
And to contention given, or well-disposed 
To strangers, and a race who fear the gods. 

So speaking, I embark'd, and bade embark 
My followers, throwing, quick, the hawsers loose. 
They, entering at my word, the benches fill'd 
Well-ranged, and thresh'd with oars the foamy 

flood. 
Attaining soon that neighbour-land, we found 
At its extremity, fast by the sea, 
A cavern, lofty, and dark-brow'd above 
With laurels ; in that cavern slumbering lay 
Much cattle, sheep, and goats, and a broad court 
Enclosed it, fenced with stones from quarries hewn, 
With spiry firs, and oaks of ample bough. 
Here dwelt a giant vast, who far remote 
His flocks fed solitary, converse none 
Desiring, sullen, savage, and unjust. 
Monster, in truth, he was, hideous in form, 
Resembling less a man by Ceres' gift 
Sustain'd, than some aspiring mountain-crag 
Tufted with wood, and standing all alone. 
Enjoining, then, my people to abide 
Fast by the ship which they should closely guard, 
I went ; but not without a goat-skin fill'd 
With sable wine which I had erst received 
From Maron, offspring of Evanthes, priest 
Of Phcebus guardian god of Ismarus, 
Because through reverence of him, we had saved 
Himself, his wife and children ; for he dwelt 
Amid the grove umbrageous of his god. 
He gave me, therefore, noble gifts ; from him 
Seven talents I received of beaten gold, 
A beaker, argent all, and after these 
No fewer than twelve jars with wine replete, 
Rich, unadulterate, drink for gods ; nor knew 
One servant, male or female, of that wine 
In all his house ; none knew it, save himself, 
His wife, and the intendant of his stores. 
Oft as they drank that luscious juice, he slaked 
A single cup with twenty from the stream, 
And, even then, the beaker breath'd abroad 
A scent celestial, which whoever smelt, 
Thenceforth no pleasure found it to abstain. 
Charged with an ample goat-skin of this wine 
I went, and with a wallet well supplied, 
But felt a sudden presage in my soul 
That, haply, with terrific force endued, 
Some savage would appear, strange to the laws 
And privileges of the human race. 
Few steps convey'd us to his den, but him 
We found not ; he his flocks pastured abroad. 
His cavern entering, we with wonder gazed 
Around on all ; his strainers hung with cheese 
Distended wide ; with lambs and kids his penns 
Close-throng'd we saw, and folded separate 
The various charge ; the eldest all apart, 
Apart the middle-aged, and the new-yean'd 
Also apart. His pails and bowls with whey 
Swam all, neat vessels into which he milk'd. 
Me then my friends first importuned to take 
A portion of his cheeses, then to drive 
Forth from the sheep-cotes to the rapid bark 
His kids and lambs, and plow the brine again. 


But me they moved not, happier had they moved ! 

I wish'd to see him, and to gain, perchance, 

Some pledge of hospitality at his hands, 

Whose form was such, as should not much bespeak 

When he appear'd, our confidence or love. 

Then, kindling fire we offer'd to the gods, 

And of his cheeses eatmg, patient sat [came 

Till home he trudged from pasture. Charged he 

With dry wood bundled, an enormous load, 

Fuel by which to sup. Loud crash'd the thorns 

Which down he cast before the cavern's mouth, 

To whose interior nooks we trembling flew. 

At once he drove into his spacious cave 

His batten'd flock, all those which gave him milk, 

But all the males, both rams and goats, he left 

Abroad, excluded from the cavern-yard. 

Upheaving, next, a rocky barrier huge 

To his cave's mouth, he thrust it home. That weight 

Not all the oxen from its place had moved 

Of twenty and two wains ; with such a rock 

Immense his den he closed. Then down he sat, 

And as he milk'd his ewes and bleating goats 

All in their turns, her yeanling gave to each j 

Coagulating, then, with brisk dispatch, 

The half of his new milk, he thrust the curd 

Into his wicker sieves, but stored the rest 

In pans and bowls — his customary drink. 

His labours thus perform'd, he kindled, last, 

His fuel, and discerning us, enquired, 

Who are ye, strangers \ from what distant shore 
Roam ye the waters I traffick ye % or bound 
To no one port, wander, as pirates use, 
At large the deep, exposing life themselves, 
And enemies of all mankind beside ? [growl 

He ceased; we, dash'd with terror, heard the 
Of his big voice, and view'd his form uncouth, 
To whom, though sore appall'd, I thus replied. 

Of Greece are we, and, bound from Ilium home, 
Have wander'd wide the expanse of ocean, sport 
For every wind, and driven from our course, 
Have here arrived ; so stood the will of Jove. 
We boast ourselves of Agamemnon's train, 
The son of Atreus, at this hour the chief 
Beyond all others under heaven renown'd, 
So great a city he hath sack'd, and slain 
Such numerous foes ; but since we reach, at last, 
Thy knees, we beg such hospitable fare, 
Or other gift, as guests are wont to obtain. 
Illustrious lord ! respect the gods, and us 
Thy suitors ; suppliants are the care of Jove 
The hospitable ; he their wrongs resents, 
And where the stranger sojourns, there is he. 

I ceased, when answer thus he, fierce, return'd. 
Friend ! either thou art fool, or hast arrived 
Indeed from far, who bidd'st me fear the gods 
Lest they be wroth. The Cyclops little heeds 
Jove segis-arm'd, or all the powers of heaven. 
Our race is mightier far ; nor shall myself, 
Through fear of Jove's hostility, abstain 
From thee or thine, unless my choice be such. 
But tell me now. Where touch'd thy gallant bark 
Our country, on thy first arrival here ? 
Remote, or nigh ? for I would learn the truth. 

So spake he, tempting me ; but, artful, thus, 
I answer'd, penetrating his intent. 

My vessel, Neptune, shaker of the shores, 
At yonder utmost promontory dash'd 
In pieces, hurling her against the rocks 
With winds that blew right thither from the sea, 
And I, with these alone, escaped alive. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


441 


So I, to whom, relentless, answer none 
He deign'd, but, with his arms extended, sprang 
Toward my people, of whom seizing two 
At once, like whelps against his cavern-floor 
He dash'd them, and their brains spread on the 

ground. 
These, piece-meal hewn, for supper he prepared, 
And, like a mountain-lion, neither flesh 
Nor entrails left, nor yet their marrowy bones. 
We, viewing that tremendous sight, upraised 
Our hands to Jove, all hope and courage lost. 
When thus the Cyclops had with human flesh 
Fill'd his capacious belly, and had quaff 'd 
Much undiluted milk, among his flocks 
Outstretch'd immense, he pressed his cavern-floor. 
Me, then, my courage prompted to approach 
The monster with my sword drawn from the sheath, 
And to transfix him where the vitals wrap 
The liver ; but maturer thoughts forbad. 
For so, we also had incurr'd a death 
Tremendous, wanting power to thrust aside 
The rocky mass that closed his cavern-mouth 
By force of hand alone. Thus many a sigh 
Heaving, we watch'd the dawn. But when, at 

length, 
Aurora, day-spring's daughter Tosy-palm'd 
Look'd forth, then kindling fire, his flocks he milk'd 
In order, and her yeanling kid or lamb 
Thrust under each. When thus he had perform'd 
His wonted task, two seizing, as before, 
He slew them for his next obscene regale. 
His dinner ended, from the cave he drove 
His fatted flocks abroad, moving with ease 
That ponderous barrier, and replacing it 
As he had only closed a quiver's lid. 
Then, hissing them along, he drove his flocks 
Toward the mountain, and me left, the while, 
Deep ruminating how I best might take 
Vengeance, and by the aid of Pallas vvin 
Deathless renown. This counsel pleased me most. 
Beside the sheep-cote lay a massy club 
Hewn by the Cyclops from an olive stock, 
Green, but which dried, should serve him for a staff. 
To us considering it, that staff appear'd 
Tall as the mast of a huge trading-bark, 
Impell'd by twenty rowers o'er the deep. 
Such seem'd its length to us, and such its bulk. 
Part amputating, (an whole fathom's length) 
I gave my men that portion, with command 
To shave it smooth. They smooth'd it, and myself, 
Shaping its blunt extremity to a point, 
Season'd it in the fire ; then covering close 
The weapon, hid it under iitter'd straw, 
For much lay scatter'd on the cavern-floor. 
And now I bade my people cast the lot 
Who of us all should take the pointed brand, 
And grind it in his eye when next he slept. 
The lots were cast, and four were chosen, those 
Whom most I wish'd, and I was chosen fifth. 
At even-tide he came, his fleecy flocks 
Pasturing homeward, and compell'd them all 
Into his cavern, leaving none abroad, 
Either through some surmise, or so inclined 
By influence, haply, of the gods themselves. 
The huge rock pull'd into his place again 
At the cave's mouth, he sitting, milk'd his sheep 
And goats in order, and her kid or lamb 
Thrust under each ; thus, all his work dispatch'd, 
Two more he seized, and to his supper fell. 
I then approaching to him, thus address'd 


The Cyclops, holding in my hand a cup 

Of ivy-wood, well-charged with ruddy wine. 

Lo, Cyclops ! this is wine. Take this and drink 
After thy meal of man's flesh. Taste and learn 
What precious liquor our lost vessel bore. 
I brought it hither, purposing to make 
Libation to thee, if to pity inclined 
Thou wouldst dismiss us home. But, ah, thy rage 
Is insupportable ! thou cruel one ! 
Who, thinkest thou, of all mankind, henceforth 
Will visit thee guilty of such excess ? [pleased 

I ceased. He took and drank, and 1 hugely 
With that delicious beverage, thus enquired. 

Give me again, and spare not. Tell me, too, 
Thy name, incontinent, that I may make 
Requital,, gratifying also thee 
With somewhat to thy taste. We Cyclops own 
A bounteous soil, which yields us also wine 
From clusters large, nourish'd by showers from 
But this — oh this is from above — a stream [Jove ; 
Of nectar and ambrosia, all divine ! 

He ended, and received a second draught, 
Like measure. Thrice I bore it to his hand, 
And, foolish, thrice he drank. But when the fumes 
Began to play around the Cyclops' brain, 
With show of amity I thus replied. 

Cyclops ! thou hast my noble name enquired, 
Which I will tell thee. Give me, in return, 
Thy promised boon, some hospitable pledge. 
My name is Outis 2 ; Outis I am call'd 
At home, abroad, wherever I am known. 

So I ; to whom he, savage, thus replied. 
Outis, when I have eaten all his friends, 
Shall be my last regale. Be that thy boon. 

He spake, and downward sway'd, fell resupine, 
With his huge neck aslant. All-conquering sleep 
Soon seized him. From his gullet gush'd the wine 
With human morsels mingled, many a blast 
Sonorous issuing from his glutted maw. 
Then thrusting far the spike of olive-wood 
Into the embers glowing on the hearth, 
I heated it, and cheer' d my friends, the while, 
Lest any should, through fear, shrink from his part. 
But when that stake of olive-wood, though green, 
Should soon have flamed, for it was glowing hot, 
I bore it to his side. Then all my aids 
Around me gather'd, and the gods infused 
Heroic fortitude into our hearts. 
They, seizing the hot stake rasp'd to a point, 
Bored his eye with it, and myself, advanced 
To a superior stand, twirl'd it about. 
As when a swipwright with his Avimble bores 
Tough oaken timber, placed on either side 
Below, his fellow-artists strain the thong 
Alternate, and the restless iron spins, 
So, grasping hard the stake pointed with fire, 

1 Alv5)s. 

2 Clarke, who has preserved this name in his marginal 
version, contends strenuously, and Avith great reason, that 
Outis ought not to he translated : and in a passage which 
he quotes from the Acta eruditorum, we see much fault 
found with Giphanius and other interpreters of Homer for 
having translated it. It is certain that in Homer the word 
is declined not as ovtls-tivos, which signifies no man, hut 
as ovrts-ridos, making ovtlv in the accusative, conse- 
quently as a proper name. It is sufficient that the am- 
biguity was such as to deceiva the friends of the Cyclops. 
Outis is said by some (perhaps absurdly) to have been a 
name given to Ulysses on account of his having larger ears 
than common. 


442 


THE ODYSSEY. 


We twirl'd it in his eye ; the bubbling blood 
Boil'd round about the brand ; his pupil sent 
A scalding vapour forth that singed his brow, 
And all his eye-roots crackled in the flame. 
As when the smith an hatchet or large axe 
Tempering with skill, plunges the hissing blade 
Deep in cold-water, (whence the strength of steel) 
So hiss'd his eye around the olive-wood. 
The howling monster with his outcry fill'd 
The hollow rock, and I, with all my aids, 
Fled terrified. He, plucking forth the spike 
From his burnt socket, mad with anguish, cast 
The implement all bloody far away. 
Then, bellowing, he sounded forth the name 
Of every Cyclops dwelling in the caves 
Around him, on the wind-swept mountain-tops ; 
They at his cry flocking from every part, 
Circled his den, and of his ail enquired. 

What grievous hurt hath caused thee, Poly- 
Thus yelling to alarm the peaceful ear [pheme ! 
Of night, and break our slumbers ? Fear'st thou 

lest 
Some mortal man drive off thy flocks ? or fear'st 
Tlryself to die by cunning or by force ? 

Them answer'd, then, Polypheme from his cave. 
Oh, friends ! I die, and Outis gives the blow. 

To whom with accents wing'd his friends without. 
If no man l harm thee, but thou art alone, 
And sickness feel'st, it is the stroke of Jove, 
And thou must bear it ; yet invoke for aid 
Thy father Neptune, sovereign of the floods. 

So saying, they went ; and in my heart I laugh'd 
That by the fiction only of a name, 
Slight stratagem ! I had deceived them all. [grief, 

Then groan' d the Cyclops wrung with pain and 
And, fumbling with stretch'd hands, removed the 
rock [down 

From his cave's mouth, which done, he sat him 
Spreading his arms athwart the pass, to stop 
Our egress with his flocks abroad; so dull, 
It seems, he held me, and so ill-advised. 
I, pondering what means might fittest prove 
To save from instant death, (if save I might) 
My people and myself, to every shift 
Inclined, and various counsels framed, as one 
Who strove for life, conscious of woe at hand. 
To me, thus meditating, this appear'd 
The likeliest course. The rams well-thriven were 
Thick-fleeced, full-sized, with wool of sable hue. 
These, silently, with osier twigs on which 
The Cyclops, hideous monster, slept, I bound, 
Three in one leash ; the intermediate rams 
Bore each a man, whom the exterior two 
Preserved, concealing him on either side. 
Thus each was borae by three, and I, at last, 
The curl'd back seizing of a ram, (for one 
I had reserved far stateliest of them all) 
Slipp'd underneath his belly, and both hands 
Enfolding fast in his exuberant fleece, 
Clung ceaseless to him as I lay supine. 
We, thus disposed, waited with many a sigh 
The sacred dawn ; but when, at length, arisen, 
Aurora, day-spring's daughter rosy-palm'd 
Again appear'd, the males of all his flocks 
Rush'd forth to pasture, and his ewes, the while 
Stood bleating, unrelieved from the distress 

1 Otitis, as a name, could only denote him who hore it; 
but as a noun, it signifies no man, which accounts suffi- 
ciently for the ludicrous mistake of his brethren. 


Of udders overcharged. Their master, rack'd 
With pain intolerable, handled yet 
The backs of all, inquisitive, as they stood, 
But, gross of intellect, suspicion none 
Conceived of men beneath their bodies bound. 
And now (none left beside) the ram approach'd 
With his own wool burthen'd, and with myself, 
Whom many a fear molested. Polypheme 
The giant stroked him as he sat, and said, 

My darling ram ! why, latest of the flock 
Comest thou, whom never, heretofore, my sheep 
Could leave behind, but stalking at their head, 
Thou first was wont to crop the tender grass, 
First to arrive at the clear stream, and first 
With ready will to seek my sheep-cote here 
At evening ; but, thy practice changed, thou comest, 
Now last of all. Feel'st thou regret, my ram ! 
Of thy poor master's eye, by a vile wretch 
Bored out, who overcame me first with wine, 
And by a crew of vagabonds accursed, 
Followers of Outis, whose escape from death 
Shall not be made to-day ? Ah ! that thy heart 
Were as my own, and that distinct as I 
Thou could'st articulate, so shouldst thou tell, 
Where hidden, he eludes my furious wrath. 
Then, dash'd against the floor his spatter'd brain 
Should fly, and I should lighter feel my harm 
From Outis, wretch base-named and nothing- worth. 

So saying, he left him to pursue the flock. 
When thus drawn forth, we had, at length, escaped 
Few paces from the cavern and the court, 
First, quitting my own ram, I loosed my friends, 
Then, turning seaward many a thriven ewe 
Sharp-hoof 'd, we drove them swiftly to the ship. 
Thrice welcome to our faithful friends we came 
From death escaped, but much they mourn'd the 
I suffer' d not their tears, but silent shook [dead. 
My brows, by signs commanding them to lift 
The sheep on board, and instant plow the main. 
They, quick embarking, on the benches sat 
Well ranged, and thresh'd with oars the foamy flood ; 
But distant now such length as a loud voice 
May reach, I hail'd with taunts the Cyclops' ear. 

Cyclops ! when thou devouredst in thy cave 
With brutal force my followers, thou devour'dst 
The followers of no timid chief, or base. 
Vengeance was sure to recompense that deed 
Atrocious. Monster ! who wast not afraid 
To eat the guest shelter'd beneath thy roof! 
Therefore the gods have well requited thee. 

I ended; he, exasperate, raged the more, 
And rending from its hold a mountain-top, 
Hurl'd it toward us ; at our vessel's stern 
Down came the mass, nigh sweeping in its fall 
The rudder's head. The ocean at the plunge 
Of that huge rock, high on its refluent flood 
Heaved, irresistible, the ship to land. 

1 seizing, quick, our longest pole on board, 
Back thrust her from the coast, and by a nod 
In silence given, bade my companions ply 
Strenuous their oars, that so we might escape. 

2 Procumbent, each obey'd, and when, the flood 
Cleaving 3, we twice that distance had obtain'd, 

2 TrponeaoisTes. 

Olli certamine summo 

Procumbunt. Virgil. 

3 The seeming incongruity of this verse with the 22nd 
line above it, " But distant," &c, is reconciled by suppo- 
sing that Ulysses exerted his voice, naturally loud, in an 
extraordinary manner on this second occasion. See Clarke- 


THE ODYSSEY. 


443 


Again I hail'd the Cyclops ; but my friends 
Earnest dissuaded me on every side. 

Ah, rash Ulysses ! why with taunts provoke 
The savage more, who hath this moment hurl'd 
A weapon, such as heaved the ship again 
To land, where death seem'd certain to us all ? 
For had he heard a cry, or but the voice 
Of one man speaking, he had all our heads 
With some sharp rock, and all our timbers crush'd 
Together, such vast force is in his arm. 

So they, but my courageous heart remain'd 
Unmoved, and thus again, incensed, I spake. 

Cyclops ! should any mortal man inquire 
To whom thy shameful loss of sight thou owest, 
Say, to Ulysses, city-waster chief, 
Laertes' son, native of Ithaca. 

I ceased, and with a groan thus he replied. 
Ah me ! an ancient oracle I feel 
Accomplish'd. Here abode a prophet erst, 
A man of noblest form, and in his art 
Unrival'd, Telemus Eurymedes. 
He, prophesying to the Cyclops-race, 
Grew old among us, and presaged my loss 
Of sight, in future, by Ulysses' hand. 
I therefore watch'd for the arrival here, 
Always, of some great chief, for stature, bulk 
And beauty praised, and clothed with wonderous 

might. 
But now — a dwarf, a thing impalpable, 
A shadow, overcame me first by wine, 
Then quench'd my sight. Come hither, my guest ! 
Return, Ulysses ! hospitable cheer 
Awaits thee, and my prayers I will prefer 
To glorious Neptune for thy prosperous course ; 
For I am Neptune's offspring, and the god 
Is proud to be my sire ; he, if he please, 
And he alone can heal me ; none beside 
Of powers immortal, or of men below. 

He spake, to whom I answer thus return'd. 
I would that of my life and soul amerced, 
I could as sure dismiss thee down to hell, 
As none shall heal thine eye — not even he. 

So I ; then pray'd the Cyclops to his sire 
With hands upraised toward the starry heaven. 

Hear, earth-encircler Neptune, azure-hair'd ! 
If I indeed am thine, and if thou boast 
Thyself my father, grant that never more 
Ulysses, leveler of hostile towers, 
Laertes' son, of Ithaca the fair, 
Behold his native home ! but if his fate 
Decree him yet to see his friends, his house, 
His native country, let him deep-distress'd 
Return and late, all his companions lost, 
Indebted for a ship to foreign aid, 
And let affliction meet him at his door. 

He spake, and ocean's sovereign heard his prayer. 
Then lifting from the shore a stone of size 
Far more enormous, o'er his head he whirl'd 
The rock, and his immeasurable force 
Exerting all, dismiss'd it. Close behind 
The ship, nor distant from the rudder's head, 
Down came the mass. The ocean at the plunge 
Of such a weight, high on its refluent flood 
Tumultuous, heaved the bark well nigh to land. 

But when we reach'd the isle where we had left 
Our numerous barks, and where my people sat 
Watching with ceaseless sorrow our return, 
We thrust our vessel to the sandy shore, 
Then disembark'd, and of the Cyclops' sheep 
Gave equal share to all. To me alone 


My fellow-voyagers the ram consign'd 

In distribution, my peculiar meed. 

Him, therefore, to cloud-girt Saturnian Jove 

I offer'd on the shore, burning his thighs 

In sacrifice ; but Jove my hallow'd rites 

Reck'd not, destruction purposing to all 

My barks, and all my followers o'er the deep. 

Thus, feasting largely, on the shore we sat 

Till even-tide, and quaffing generous wine ; 

But when day fail'd, and night o'ershadow'd all, 

Then on the shore we slept ; and when again 

Aurora, rosy daughter of the dawn, 

Look'd forth, my people, anxious, I enjoin'd 

To climb their barks, and cast the hawsers loose. 

They, all obedient, took their seats on board 

Well-ranged, and thresh'd with oars the foamy flood. 

Thus, 'scaping narrowly, we roam'd the deep 

With aching hearts and with diminish'd crews. 


BOOK X. 

ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses, in pursuit of his narrative, relates his arrival at 
the island of iEolus, his departure thence, and the un- 
happy occasion of his return thither The monarch of 
the winds dismisses him at last with much asperity. 
He next tells of his arrival among the Lsestrygonians, 
by whom his whole fleet, together with their crews, are 
destroyed, his own ship and crew excepted. Thence he 
is driven to the island of Circe. By her the half of his 
people are transformed into swine. Assisted by Mercury, 
he resists her enchantments himself, and prevails with 
the goddess to recover them to their former shape. In 
consequence of Circe's instructions, after having spent a 
complete year in her palace, he prepares for a voyage to 
the infernal regions. 

We came to the iEolian isle ; there dwells 

.ZEolus, son of Hippotas, beloved 

By the immortals, in an isle afloat. 

A brazen wall impregnable on all sides 

Girds it, and smooth its rocky coast ascends. 

His children in his own fair palace born, 

Are twelve ; six daughters, and six blooming sons. 

He gave his daughters to his sons to wife ; 

They with their father hold perpetual feast 

And with their royal mother, still supplied 

With dainties numberless ; the sounding dome 

Is fill'd with savoury odours all the day, 

And with their consorts chaste at night they sleep 

On stateliest couches with rich arras spread. 

Their city and their splendid courts we reach'd. 

A month complete he, friendly, at his board 

Regaled me, and enquiry made minute 

Of Ilium's fall, of the Achaian fleet, 

And of our voyage thence. I told him all. 

But now, desirous to embark again, 

I ask'd dismission home, which he approved, 

And well provided for my prosperous course. 

He gave me, furnish'd by a bullock flay'd 

In his ninth year, a bag ; every rude blast 

Which from its bottom turns the deep, that bag 

Imprison'd held ; for him Saturnian Jove 

Hath officed arbiter of all the winds, 

To rouse their force, or calm them, at his will. 

He gave me them on board my bark, so bound 

With silver twine that not a breath escaped, 

Then order'd gentle Zephyrus to fill 


444 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Our sails propitious. Order vain, alas ! 
So fatal proved the folly of my friends. 

Nine days continual, night and day we sail'd, 
And on the tenth my native land appear'd. 
Not far remote my Ithacans I saw 
Fires kindling on the coast ; but me with toil 
Worn, and with watching, gentle sleep subdued ; 
For constant I had ruled the helm, nor given 
That charge to any, fearful of delay. 
Then, in close conference combined, my crew 
Each other thus bespake — he carries home 
Silver and gold from iEolus received, 
Offspring of Hippotas, illustrious chief ; — 
And thus a mariner the rest harangued. 

Ye gods ! what city or what land soe'er 
Ulysses visits, how is he beloved 
By all, and honour'd ! many precious spoils 
He homeward bears from Troy ; but we return 
(We who the self-same voyage have perform'd) 
With empty hands. Now also he hath gain'd 
This pledge of friendship from the king of winds. 
But come — be quick — search we the bag, and 

learn 
What stores of gold and silver it contains. 

So he, whose mischievous advice prevail'd. 
They loosed the bag ; forth issued all the winds, 
And caught by tempests o'er the billowy waste, 
Weeping they flew, far, far from Ithaca. 
I then, awaking, in my noble mind 
Stood doubtful, whether from my vessel's side 
Immersed to perish in the flood, or calm 
To endure my sorrows, and consent to live. 
I calm endured them ; but around my head 
Winding my mantle, lay'd me down below, 
While adverse blasts bore all my fleet again 
To the iEolian isle ; then groan'd my people. 

We disembark'd and drew fresh water there, 
And my companions, at their galleys' sides 
All seated took repast ; short meal we made, 
When, with an herald and a chosen friend, 
I sought once more the hall of iEolus. 
Him banqueting with all his sons we found, 
And with his spouse ; we, entering, on the floor 
Of his wide portal sat, whom they amazed 
Beheld, and of our coming thus enquired. 

Return'd ? Ulysses ! by what adverse power 
Repulsed hast thou arrived ? we sent thee hence 
Well -fitted forth to reach thy native isle, 
Thy palace, or what place soe'er thou would'st. 

So they — to whom, heart-broken, I replied. 
My worthless crew have wrong'd me, nor alone 
My worthless crew, but sleep ill-timed, as much. 
Yet heal, O friends, my hurt ; the power is yours ! 

So I their favour woo'd. Mute sat the sons, 
But thus their father answer'd. Hence — be gone — 
Leave this our isle, thou most obnoxious wretch 
Of all mankind. I should, myself, transgress, 
Receiving here, and giving conduct hence 
To one detested by the gods as thou. 
Away — for hated by the gods thou comest. 

So saying, he sent me from his palace forth, 
Groaning profound ; thence, therefore, o'er the 

deep 
We still proceeded sorrowful, our force 
Exhausting ceaseless at the toilsome oar, 
And through our own imprudence, hopeless now 
Of other furtherance to our native isle. 
Six days we navigated, day and night, 
The briny flood, and on the seventh reach'd 
The city erst by Lamus built sublime, 


Proud Lsestrigonia, with the distant gates. 

1 The herdsman, there, driving his cattle home, 

Summons the shepherd with his flocks abroad. 

The sleepless there might double wages earn, 

Attending now the herds, now tending sheep, 

For the night-pastures, and the pastures grazed 

By day, close border, both, the city walls. 

To that illustrious port we came, by rocks 

Uninterrupted flank'd on either side 

Of towering height, while prominent the shores 

And bold, converging at the haven's mouth 

Leave narrow pass. We push'd our galleys in, 

Then moor'd them side by side ; for never surge 

There lifts its head, or great or small, but clear 

We found, and motionless, the shelter'd flood. 

Myself alone, staying my bark without, 

Secured her well with hawsers to a rock 

At the land's point, then climb 'd the rugged steep, 

And spying stood the country. Labours none 

Of men or oxen in the land appear'd, 

Nor aught beside saw we, but from the earth 

Smoke rising ; therefore of my friends I sent 

Before me two, adding an herald third, 

To learn what race of men that country fed. 

Departing, they an even track pursued 

Made by the waggons bringing timber down 

From the high mountains to the town below. 

Before the town a virgin bearing forth 

Her ewer they met, daughter of him who ruled 

The Laestrygonian race, Antiphatas. 

Descending from the gate, she sought the fount 

Artacia ; for their custom was to draw 

From that pure fountain for the city's use. 

Approaching they accosted her, and ask'd 

What king reign'd there, and over whom he 

reign'd. 
She gave them soon to know where stood sublime 
The palace of her sire ; no sooner they 
The palace enter'd, than within they found, 
In size resembling an huge mountain-top, 
A woman, whom they shudder'd to behold. 
She forth from council summon'd quick her 

spouse 
Antiphatas, who teeming came with thoughts 
Of carnage, and arriving seized at once 
A Greecian, whom, next moment, he devoured. 
With headlong terror the surviving two 
Fled to the ships. Then sent Antiphatas 
His voice through all the town, and on all sides, 
Hearing that cry, the Lsestrygonians flock'd 
Numberless, and in size resembling more 
The giants than mankind. They from the rocks 
Cast down into our fleet enormous stones, 
A strong man's burthen each ; dire din arose 
Of shatter'd galleys and of dying men, 
Whom spear'd like fishes to their home they bore, 
A loathsome prey. While them within the port 
They slaughter'd, I (the falchion at my side 
Drawn forth) cut loose the hawser of my ship, 
And all my crew enjoin'd with bosoms laid 
Prone on their oars, to fly the threaten'd woe. 
They, dreading instant death, tugg'd resupine 
Together, and the galley from beneath 

i It is supposed by Eustathius that the pastures being 
infested by gad-flies and other noxious insects in the day- 
time, they drove their sheep a-field in the morning, which 
by their wool were defended from them, and their cattle 
in the evening, when the insects had withdrawn. It is 
one of the few passages in Homer that must lie at the 
mercy of conjecture. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


445 


Those ' beetling rocks into the open sea 
Shot gladly ; but the rest all perish'd there. 
Proceeding thence, we sigh'd, and roam'd the 
waves, 
Glad that we lived, but sorrowing for the slain. 
We came to the iEsean isle ; there dwelt 
The awful Circe, goddess amber-hair' d, 
Deep skill'd in magic song, sister by birth 
Of the all-wise JEsetes ; them the Sun, 
Bright luminary of the world, begat 
On Perse, daughter of Oceanus. 
Our vessel there, noiseless, we push'd to land 
Within a spacious haven, thither led 
By some celestial power. We disembark'd, 
And on the coast two days and nights entire 
Extended lay, worn with long toil, and each 
The victim of his heart-devouring woes. 
Then with my spear, and with my faulchion arm'd, 
I left the ship to climb with hasty steps 
An airy height, thence, hoping to espy 
Some works of man, or hear perchance, a voice. 
Exalted on a rough rock's craggy point 
I stood, and on the distant plain, beheld 
Smoke which from Circe's palace through the 

gloom 
Of trees and thickets rose. That smoke discern'd, 
I ponder'd next if thither I should haste, 
Seeking intelligence. Long time I mused, 
But chose at last, as my discreeter course, 
To seek the sea-beach and my bark again, 
And, when my crew had eaten, to dispatch 
Before me, others, who should first enquire. 
But, ere I yet had reach'd my gallant bark, 
Some god with pity viewing me alone 
In that untrodden solitude, sent forth 
An antler'd stag full-sized into my path. 
His woodland pastures left, he sought the stream, 
For he was thirsty, and already parch'd 
By the sun's heat. Him issuing from his haunt, 
Sheer through the back beneath his middle spine 
I wounded, and the lance sprang forth beyond. 
Moaning he fell, and in the dust expired. 
Then treading on his breathless trunk, I pluck'd 
My weapon forth, which leaving there reclined, 
I tore away the osiers with my hands 
And sallows green, and to a fathom's length 
Twisting the gather'd twigs into a band, 
Bound fast the feet of my enormous prey, 
And, slinging him athwart my neck, repair'd 
Toward my sable bark, propp'd on my lance, 
Which now to carry shoulder'd as before 
Surpass'd my power, so bulky was the load. 
Arriving at the ship, there I let fall 
My burthen, and with pleasant speech and kind, 
Man after man addressing, cheer'd my crew. 

My friends ! we suffer much, but shall not seek 
The shades, ere yet our destined hour arrive. 
Behold a feast ! and we have wine on board ; — 
Pine not with needless famine ; rise and eat. 

I spake ; they readily obey'd, and each 
Issuing at my word abroad, beside 
The galley stood, admiring, as he lay, 
The stag, for of no common bulk was he. 
At length, their eyes gratified to the full 
With that glad spectacle, they laved their hands, 
And preparation made of noble cheer. 
That day complete, till set of sun, we spent 

» The word has the authority of Shakspeare, and signi- 
fies overhanging. 


Feasting deliciously without restraint, 
And quaffing generous wine : but when the sun 
Went down, and darkness overshadow'd all, 
Extended then on ocean's bank we lay ; 
And when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy forth, convening all my crew 
To council, I arose, and thus began. 

My fellow- voyagers, however worn 
With numerous hardships, hear ! for neither west 
Know ye, nor east, where rises, or where sets 
The all-enlight'ning sun. But let us think, 
If thought perchance may profit us, of which 
Small hope I see ! for when I lately climb 'd 
Yon craggy rock, plainly I could discern 
The land encompass'd by the boundless deep. 
The isle is flat, and in the midst I saw 
Dun smoke ascending from an oaken bower. 
So I, whom hearing, they all courage lost, 
And at remembrance of Antiphatas 
The Lsestrygonian, and the Cyclops' deeds, 
Ferocious feeder on the flesh of man, 
Mourn'd loud and wept, but tears could nought 

avail. 
Then, numbering man by man, I parted them 
In equal portions, and assign'd a chief 
To either band, myself to these, to those 
Godlike Eurylochus. This done, we cast 
The lots into the helmet, and at once 
Forth sprang the lot of bold Eurylochus. 
He went, and with him of my people march'd 
Twenty and two, all weeping ; nor ourselves 
Wept less, at separation from our friends. 
Low in a vale, but on an open spot, 
They found the splendid house of Circe, built 
With hewn and polish'd stones ; compass'd she 

dwelt 
By lions on all sides and mountain-wolves 
Tamed by herself with drugs of noxious powers. 
Nor were they mischievous, but as my friends 
Approach'd, arising on their hinder feet, 
Paw'd them in blandishment, and wagg'd the tail. 
As, when from feast he rises, dogs around 
Their master fawn, accustom'd to receive 
The sop conciliatory from his hand, 
Around my people, so, those talon'd wolves 
And lions fawn'd. They, terrified, that troop 
Of savage monsters horrible beheld. 
And now before the goddess' gates arrived, 
They heard the voice of Circe singing sweet 
Within, while, busied at the loom, she wove 
An ample web immortal, such a work 
Transparent, graceful, and of bright design 
As hands of goddesses alone produce. 
Thus then Polites, prince of men, the friend 
Highest in my esteem, the rest bespake. 

Ye hear the voice, comrades, of one who weaves 
An ample web within, and at her task 
So sweetly chaunts that all the marble floor 
Re-echoes ; human be she or divine 
I doubt, but let us call, that we may learn. 

He ceased ; they call'd ; soon issuing at the 
sound, 
The goddess open'd wide her splendid gates, 
And bade them in ; they, heedless, all complied, 
All save Eurylochus, who fear'd a snare. 
She, introducing them, conducted each 
To a bright throne, then gave them Pramnian wine, 
With grated cheese, pure meal, and honey new, 
But medicated with her poisonous drugs 
Their food, that in oblivion they might lose 


446 


THE ODYSSEY. 


The wish of home. She gave them, and they 

drank, — 
When smiting each with her enchanting wand, 
She shut them in her sties. In head, in voice, 
In body, and in bristles they became 
All swine, yet intellected as before, 
And at her hand were dieted alone 
With acorns, chesnuts, and the cornel -fruit, 
Food grateful ever to the groveling swine. 

Back flew Euryloehus toward the ship, 
To tell the woeful tale : struggling to speak 
Yet speechless, there he stood, his heart transfixt 
With anguish, and his eyes deluged with tears. 
Me boding terrors occupied. At length, 
When, gazing on him, all had oft enquired, 
He thus rehearsed to us the dreadful change. 

Renown'd Ulysses ! as thou badest, we went 
Through yonder oaks ; there, bosom'd in a vale, 
But built conspicuous on a swelling knoll 
With polish'd rock, we found a stately dome. 
Within, some goddess or some woman wove 
An ample web, caroling sweet the while. 
They call'd aloud ; she, issuing at the voice, 
Unfolded, soon, her splendid portals wide, 
And bade them in. Heedless they enter'd, all, 
But I remain'd, suspicious of a snare. 
Ere long the whole band vanish'd, none I saw 
Thenceforth, though, seated there, long time I 
watch'd. 

He ended ; I my studded faulchion huge 
Athwart my shoulder cast, and seized my bow, 
Then bade him lead me thither by the way 
Himself had gone ; but with both hands my knees 
He clasp'd, and in wing'd accents sad exclaim'd. 

My king ! ah lead me not unwilling back, 
But leave me here ; for confident I judge 
That neither thou wilt bring another thence, 
Nor come thyself again. Hence — fly we swift 
With these, for we, at least, may yet escape. 

So he, to whom this answer I return'd. 
Euryloehus ! abiding here, eat thou 
And drink thy fill beside the sable bark ; 
I go ; necessity forbids my stay. 

So saying, I left the galley and the shore. 
But ere that awful vale entering, I reach'd 
The palace of the sorceress, a god 
Met me, the bearer of the golden wand, 
Hermes. He seem'd a stripling in his prime, 
His cheeks clothed only with their earliest down, 
For youth is then most graceful ; fast he lock'd 
His hand in mine, and thus, familiar, spake. 

Unhappy ! whither, wandering o'er the hills, 
Stranger to all this region, and alone, 
Go'st thou ? Thy people — they within the walls 
Are shut of Circe, where as swine close-pent 
She keeps them. Comest thou to set them free ? 
I tell thee, never wilt thou thence return 
Thyself, but wilt be prison'd with the rest. 
Yet hearken — I will disappoint her wiles, 
And will preserve thee. Take this precious drug ; 
Possessing this, enter the goddess* house 
Boldly, for it shall save thy life from harm. 
Lo ! I reveal to thee the cruel arts 
Of Circe ; learn them. She will mix for thee 
A potion, and will also drug thy food 
With noxious herbs ; but she shall not prevail 
By all her power to change thee ; for the force 
Superior of this noble plant, my gift, 
Shall baffle her. Hear still what I advise. 
When she shall smite thee with her slender rod, 


With faulchion drawn and with death-threatening 
Rush on her ; she will bid thee to her bed [looks 
Affrighted ; then beware. Decline not thou 
Her love, that she may both release thy friends, 
And may with kindness entertain thyself. 
But force her swear the dreaded oath of heaven 
That she will other mischief none devise 
Against thee, lest she strip thee of thy might, 
And quenching all thy virtue, make thee vile. 

So spake the Argicide, and from the earth 
That plant extracting, placed it in my hand, 
Then taught me all its powers. Black was the root, 
Milk-white the blossom ; Moly is its name 
In heaven ; not easily by mortal man 
Dug forth, but all is easy to the gods. 
Then, Hermes through the island-woods repair'd 
To heaven, and I to Circe's dread abode, 
In gloomy musings busied as I went. 
Within the vestibule arrived, where dwelt 
The beauteous goddess, staying there my steps 
I call'd aloud ; she heard me, and at once 
Issuing, threw her splendid portals wide, 
And bade me in. I follow'd, heart-distress'd. 
Leading me by the hand to a bright throne 
With ardent studs embellish'd, and beneath 
Foot-stool'd magnificent, she made me sit. 
Then mingling for me in a golden cup 
My beverage, she infused a drug, intent 
On mischief ; but when I had drunk the draught 
Unchanged, she smote me with her wand, and said. 

Hence — seek the sty. There wallow with thy 
friends. 
She spake ; I drawing from beside my thigh 
My faulchion keen, with death-denouncing looks 
Rush'd on her ; she with a shrill scream of fear 
Ran under my raised arm, seized fast my knees 
And in wing'd accents plaintive thus began. 

Who ? whence ? thy city and thy birth declare. 
Amazed I see thee with that potion drench'd 
Yet unenchanted ; never man before 
Once pass'd it through his lips, and lived the same ; 
But in thy breast a mind inhabits, proof 
Against all charms. Come then — I know thee well. 
Thou art Ulysses artifice-renown'd, 
Of whose arrival here in his return 
From Ilium, Hermes of the golden wand 
Was ever wont to tell me. Sheath again 
Thy sword, and let us on my bed reclined," 
Mutual embrace, that we may trust thenceforth 
Each other, without jealousy or fear. 

The goddess spake, to whom I thus replied. 
Circe ! canst thou bid me meek become 
And gentle, who beneath thy roof detain'st 
My fellow-voyagers transform'd to swine ? 
And fearing my escape, invitest thou me 
Into thy bed, with fraudulent pretext 
Of love, that there enfeebling by thy arts 
My noble spirit, thou may'st make me vile ? 
No — trust me — never will I share thy bed 
Till first, oh goddess, thou consent to swear 
That dread all-binding oath, that other harm 
Against myself thou wilt imagine none. 

I spake. She swearing as I bade, renounced 
All evil purpose, and (her solemn oath 
Concluded) I ascended, next, her bed 
Magnificent. Meantime, four graceful nymphs 
Attended on the service of the house, 
Her menials, from the fountains sprung and groves, 
And from the sacred streams that seek the sea. 
Of these, one cast fine linen on the thrones, 


THE ODYSSEY. 


447 


Which, next, with purple arras rich she spread ; 
Another placed before the gorgeous seats 
Bright tables, and set on baskets of gold. 
The third, an argent beaker fill'd with wine 
Delicious, which in golden cups she served ; 
The fourth brought water, which she warm'd within 
An ample vase, and when the simmering flood 
Sang in the tripod, led me to a bath, 
And laved me with the pleasant stream profuse 
Pour'd o'er my neck and body, till my limbs, 
Refresh'd, all sense of lassitude resign'd. 
When she had bathed me, and with limpid oil 
Anointed me, and clothed me in a vest 
And mantle, next, she led me to a throne 
Of royal state, with silver studs emboss'd, 
And footstool'd soft beneath ; then came a nymph 
With golden ewer charged and silver bowl, 
Who pour'd pure water on my hands, and placed 
The polish'd board before me, which with food 
Various, selected from her present stores, 
The cateress spread, then, courteous, bade me eat. 
But me it pleased not ; with far other thoughts 
My spirit teem'd, on vengeance more intent. 
Soon, then, as Circe mark'd me on my seat 
Fast-rooted, sullen, nor with outstretch'd hands 
Deigning to touch the banquet, she approach'd, 
And in wing'd accents suasive thus began. 

Why sits Ulysses like the dumb, dark thoughts 
His only food ? loaths he the touch of meat, 
And taste of wine ? Thou fear'st, as I perceive, 
Some other snare, but idle is that fear, 
For I have sworn the inviolable oath. 

She ceased, to whom this answer I return'd. 
How can I eat ? what virtuous man and just, 

Circe ! could endure the taste of wine 

Or food, till he should see his prison'd friends 
Once more at liberty 1 If then thy wish 
That I should eat and drink be true, produce 
My captive people ; let us meet again. 

So I ; then Circe, bearing in her hand 
Her potent rod, went forth, and opening wide 
The door, drove out my people from the sty, 
In bulk resembling brawns of the ninth year. 
They stood before me ; she through all the herd 
Proceeding, with an unctuous antidote 
Anointed each, and at the wholesome touch 
All shed the swinish bristles by the drug, 
Dread Circe's former magic gift, produced. 
Restored at once to manhood, they appear'd 
More vigorous far, and sightlier than before. 
They knew me, and with grasp affectionate 
Hung on my hand. Tears follow'd, but of joy, 
And with loud cries the vaulted palace rang. 
Even the awful goddess felt, herself, 
Compassion, and, approaching me, began. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Hence to the shore, and to thy gallant bark ; 
First, hale her safe aground, then, hiding all 
Your arms and treasures in the caverns, come 
Thyself again, and hither lead thy friends. 

So spake the goddess, and my generous mind 
Persuaded ; thence repairing to the beach, 

1 sought my ship ; arrived, 1 found my crew 
Lamenting miserably, and their cheeks 
With tears bedewing ceaseless at her side. 
As when the calves within some village rear'd 
Behold, at eve, the herd returning home 

From fruitful meads where they have grazed their 
No longer in the stalls contain'd, they rush [fill, 
With many a frisk abroad, and, blaring oft, 


With one consent, all dance their dams around ; 
So they, at sight of me, dissolved in tears 
Of rapturous joy, and each his spirit felt 
With like affections warm'd as he had reach'd 
Just then his country, and his city seen, 
Fair Ithaca, where he was born and rear'd. 
Then in wing'd accents tender thus they spake. 

Noble Ulysses ! thy appearance fills 
Our soul with transports, such as we should feel 
Arrived in safety on our native shore. 
Speak — say how perish'd our unhappy friends ? 

So they ; to whom this answer mild I gave. 
Hale we our vessel first ashore, and hide 
In caverns all our treasures and our arms, 
Then, hasting hence, follow me, and ere long 
Ye shall behold your friends, beneath the roof 
Of Circe banqueting and drinking wine 
Abundant, for no dearth attends them there. 

So I ; whom all with readiness obey'd, 
All save Eurylochus ; he sought alone 
To stay the rest, and, eager, interposed. 

Ah whither tend we, miserable men ? 
Why covet ye this evil, to go down 
To Circe's palace ? she will change us all 
To lions, wolves, or swine, that we may guard 
Her palace, by necessity constrain'd. 
So some were prisoners of the Cyclops erst, 
When, led by rash Ulysses, our lost friends 
Intruded needlessly into his cave, 
And perish'd by the folly of their chief. 

He spake, whom hearing, occupied I stood 
In self-debate, whether, my faulchion keen 
Forth-drawing from beside my sturdy thigh, 
To tumble his lopp'd head into the dust, 
Although he were my kinsman in the bonds 
Of close affinity ; but all my friends 
As with one voice, thus gently interposed. 

Noble Ulysses ! we will leave him here 
Our vessel's guard, if such be thy command, 
But us lead thou to Circe's dread abode. 

So saying they left the galley, and set forth 
Climbing the coast ; nor would Eurylochus 
Beside the hollow bark remain, but join'd 
His comrades, by my dreadful menace awed. 
Meantime the goddess, busily employ'd, 
Bathed and refresh'd my friends with limpid oil, 
And clothed them. We, arriving, found them all 
Banqueting in the palace ; there they met ; 
These ask'd and those rehearsed the wondrous tale, 
And the recital made, all wept aloud 
Till the wide dome resounded. Then approach'd 
The graceful goddess, and address'd me thus. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Provoke ye not each other, now, to tears. 
I am not ignorant, myself, how dread 
Have been your woes, both on the fishy deep, 
And on the land by force of hostile powers. 
But come — Eat now, and drink ye wine, that so 
Your freshen'd spirit may revive, and ye 
Courageous grow again, as when ye left 
The rugged shores of Ithaca, your home. 
For now, through recollection, day by day, 
Of all your pains and toils, ye are become 
Spiritless, strengthless, and the taste forget 
Of pleasure, such have been your numerous woes. 

She spake, whose invitation kind prevail'd, 
And won us to her will. There then we dwelt 
The year complete, fed with delicious fare 
Day after day, and quaffing generous wine. 
But when (the year fulfill'd) the circling hours 


448 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Their course resumed, and the successive months 
With all their tedious days were spent, my Mends 
Summoning me abroad, thus greeted me. 

Sir ! recollect thy country, if indeed 
The fates ordain thee to revisit safe 
That country, and thy own glorious abode. 

So they ; whose admonition I received 
Well-pleased. Then, all the day, regaled we sat 
At Circe's board with savoury viands rare, 
And quaffing richest wine ; but when, the sun 
Declining, darkness overshadow'd all, 
Then, each within the dusky palace took 
Custom'd repose, and to the goddess' bed 
Magnificent ascending, there I urged 
My earnest suit, which gracious she received, 
And in wing'd accents earnest thus I spake. 

Circe ! let us prove thy promise true ; 
Dismiss us hence. My own desires, at length, 
Tend homeward vehement, and the desires 
No less of all my friends, who with complaints 
Unheard by thee, wear my sad heart away. 

So I ; to whom the goddess in return. 
Laertes' noble son, Ulysses famed 
For deepest wisdom ! dwell not longer here, 
Thou and thy followers, in my abode 
Reluctant. But your next must be a course 
Far different ; hence departing, ye must seek 
The dreary house of Ades and of dread 
Persephone, there to consult the seer 
Theban Tiresias, prophet blind, but blest 
With faculties which death itself hath spared. 
To him alone, of all the dead, hell's queen 
Gives still to prophesy, while others flit 
Mere forms, the shadows of what once they were. 

She spake, and by her words dash'd from my soul 
All courage ; weeping on the bed I sat, 
Reckless of life and of the light of day. 
But when, with tears and rolling to and fro 
Satiate, I felt relief, thus I replied. 

Circe ! with what guide shall I perform 
This voyage, unperform'd by living man ? 

1 spake, to whom the goddess quick replied. 
Brave Laertiades ! let not the fear 

To want a guide distress thee. Once on board, 
Your mast erected, and your canvass white 
Unfurl'd, sit thou ; the breathing north shall waft 
Thy vessel on. But when ye shall have cross'd 
The broad expanse of ocean, and shall reach 
The oozy shore, where grow the poplar groves 
And fruitless willows wan of Proserpine, 
Push thither through the gulfy deep thy bark, 
And, landing, haste to Pluto's murky abode. 
There, into Acheron runs not alone 
Dread Pyriphlegethon, but Cocytus loud, 
From Styx derived ; there also stands a rock, 
At whose broad base the roaring rivers meet. 
There, thrusting, as I bid, thy bark ashore, 
hero ! scoop the soil, opening a trench 
Ell-broad on every side ; then pour around 
Libation consecrate to all the dead, 
First, milk with honey mixt, then luscious wine, 
Then water, sprinkling, last, meal over all. 
Next supplicate the unsubstantial forms, 
Fervently of the dead, vowing to slay, 
(Return'd to Ithaca) in thy own house, 


An heifer barren yet, fairest and best 
Of all thy herds, and to enrich the pile 
With delicacies such as please the shades ; 
But, in peculiar, to Tiresias vow 
A sable ram, noblest of all thy flocks. 
When thus thou hast propitiated with prayer 
All the illustrious nations of the dead, 
Next thou shalt sacrifice to them a ram 
And sable ewe, turning the face of each 
Right toward Erebus, and look thyself, 
Meantime, askance toward the river's course. 
Souls numerous, soon, of the departed dead 
Will thither flock ; then strenuous urge thy friends, 
Flaying the victims which thy ruthless steel 
Hath slain, to burn them, and to sooth by prayer 
Illustrious Pluto and dread Proserpine. 
While thus is done, thou seated at the foss, 
Faulchion in hand, chase thence the airy forms 
Afar, nor suffer them to approach the blood, 
Till with Tiresias thou have first conferr'd. 
Then, glorious chief ! the prophet shall himself 
Appear, who will instruct thee, and thy course 
Delineate, measuring from place to place 
Thy whole return athwart the fishy flood. 

While thus she spake, the golden dawn arose, 
When, putting on me my attire, the nymph 
Next, cloth'd herself, and girding to her waist 
With an embroider' d zone her snowy robe 
Graceful, redundant, veil'd her beauteous head. 
Then, ranging the wide palace, I aroused 
My followers, standing at the side of each — 

Up ! sleep no longer ! let us quick depart, 
For thus the goddess hath, herself, advised. 

So I, whose early summons my brave friends 
With readiness obey'd. Yet even thence 
I brought not all my crew. There was a youth, 
Youngest of all my train, Elpenor ; one 
Not much in estimation for desert 
In arms, nor prompt in understanding more, 
Who overcharged with wine, and covetous 
Of cooler air, high on the palace-roof 
Of Circe slept, apart from all the rest. 
Awaken'd by the clamour of his friends 
Newly arisen, he also sprang to rise, 
And in his haste, forgetful where to find 
The deep-descending stairs, plunged through the 

roof. 
With neck-bone broken from the vertebrae 
Outstretch'd he lay ; his spirit sought the shades. 

Then, thus to my assembling friends I spake. 
Ye think, I doubt not, of an homeward course, 
But Circe points me to the drear abode 
Of Proserpine and Pluto, to consult 
The spirit of Tiresias, Theban seer. 

I ended, and the hearts of all alike 
Felt consternation ; on the earth they sat 
Disconsolate, and plucking each his hair, 
Yet profit none of all their sorrow found. 

But while we sought my galley on the beach 
With tepid tears bedewing, as we went, 
Our cheeks, meantime the goddess to the shore 
Descending, bound within the bark a ram 
And sable ewe, passing us unperceived. 
For who hath eyes that can discern a god 
Going or coming, if he shun the view ? 


THE ODYSSEY. 


449 


BOOK XI. 


ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses relates to Alcinous his voyage to the infernal 
regions, his conference there with the prophet Tiresias 
concerning his return to Ithaca, and gives him an 
account of the heroes, heroines, and others whom he saw 
there. 


Arriving on the shore, and launching, first, 

Our bark into the sacred deep, we set 

Our mast and sails, and stow'd secure on board 

The ram and ewe, then, weeping, and with hearts 

Sad and disconsolate, embark'd ourselves. 

And now, melodious Circe, nymph divine, 

Sent after us a canvass-stretching breeze, 

Pleasant companion of our course, and we 

(The decks and benches clear'd) untoiling sat, 

While managed gales sped swift the bark along. 

All day, with sails distended, o'er the deep 

She flew, and when the sun, at length, declined, 

And twilight dim had shadow'd all the ways, 

Approach'd the bourn of ocean's vast profound. 

The city, there, of the Cimmerians stands 

With clouds and darkness veil'd, on whom the sun 

Deigns not to look with his beam-darting eye, 

Or when he climbs the starry arch, or when 

Earthward he slopes again his westering l wheels, 

But sad night canopies the woeful race. 

We haled the bark aground, and landing there 

The ram and sable ewe, journey'd beside 

The deep, till we arrived where Circe bade. 

Here, Perimedes' son Eurylochus 

Held fast the destined sacrifice, while I 

Scoop'd with my sword the soil, opening a trench 

Ell-broad on every side, then pour'd around 

Libation consecrate to all the dead, 

First, milk with honey mixt, then luscious wine, 

Then water, sprinkling, last, meal over all. 

This done, adoring the unreal forms 

And shadows of the dead, I vow'd to slay, 

(Return'd to Ithaca) in my own abode, 

A heifer barren yet, fairest and best 

Of all my herds, and to enrich the pile 

With delicacies, such as please the shades. 

But, in peculiar, to the Theban seer, 

I vow'd a sable ram, largest and best 

Of all my flocks. When thus I had implored 

With vows and prayer, the nations of the dead, 

Piercing the victims next, I turn'd them both 

To bleed into the trench ; then swarming came 

From Erebus the shades of the deceased, 

Brides, youths unwedded, seniors long with woe 

Oppress'd, and tender girls yet new to grief. 

Came also many a warrior by the spear 

In battle pierced, with armour gore-distain'd, 

And all the multitude around the foss 

Stalk'd shrieking dreadful ; me pale horror seized. 

I next, importunate, my people urged, 

Flaying the victims which myself had slain, 

To burn them, and to supplicate in prayer 

Illustrious Pluto and dread Proserpine. 

Then down I sat, and with drawn falchion chased 

The ghosts, nor suffer'd them to approach the 

blood, 
Till with Tiresias I should first confer. 
The spirit, first, of my companion came, 

1 Milton. 


Elpenor ; for no burial honours yet 
Had he received, but we had left his corse 
In Circe's palace, tombless, undeplored, 
Ourselves by pressure urged of other cares. 
Touch'd with compassion seeing him, I wept, 
And in wing'd accents brief him thus bespake. 

Elpenor ! how earnest thou into the realms 
Of darkness ? Hast thou, though on foot, so far 
Outstripp'd my speed, who in my bark arrived % 

So I, to whom with tears he thus replied. 
Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Fool'd by some daemon and the intemperate bowl, 
I perish'd in the house of Circe ; there 
The deep-descending steps heedless I miss'd, 
And fell precipitated from the roof. 
With neck-bone broken from the vertebrae 
Outstretch'd I lay ; my spirit sought the shades. 
But now, by those whom thou hast left at home, 
By thy Penelope, and by thy sire, 
The gentle nourisher of thy infant growth, 
And by thy only son Telemachus 
I make my suit to thee. For, sure, I know 
That from the house of Pluto safe return'd, 
Thou shalt ere long thy gallant vsssel moor 
At the ^Eaean isle. Ah ! there arrived 
Remember me. Leave me not undeplored 
Nor uninhumed, lest for my sake, the gods 
In vengeance visit thee ; but with my arms 
(What arms soe'er I left) burn me, and raise 
A kind memorial of me on the coast, 
Heap'd high with earth ; that an unhappy man 
May yet enjoy an unforgotten name. 
Thus do at my request, and on my hill 
Funereal, plant the oar with which I row'd, 
While yet I lived a mariner of thine. 

He spake, to whom thus answer I return'd. 
Poor youth ! I will perform thy whole desire. 

Thus we, there sitting, doleful converse held, 
With outstretch'd faulchion, I, guarding the blood, 
And my companion's shadowy semblance sad 
Meantime discoursing me on various themes. 
The soul of my departed mother, next, 
Of Anticleia came, daughter of brave 
Autolycus ; whom, when I sought the shores 
Of Ilium, I had living left at home. 
Seeing her, with compassion touch'd, I wept, 
Yet even her, (although it pain'd my soul) 
Forbade, relentless, to approach the blood, 
Till with Tiresias I should first confer. 
Then came the spirit of the Theban seer 
Himself, his golden sceptre in his hand, 
Who knew me, and, enquiring, thus began. 

Why, hapless chief ! leaving the cheerful day, 
Arrivest thou to behold the dead, and this 
Unpleasant land ? but, from the trench awhile 
Receding, turn thy faulchion keen away, 
That I may drink the blood, and tell thee truth. 

He spake ; I thence receding, deep infix'd 
My sword bright-studded in the sheath again. 
The noble prophet then, approaching, drank 
The blood, and satisfied, address'd me thus. 

Thou seek'st a pleasant voyage home again, 
Renown'd Ulysses ! but a god will make 
That voyage difficult ; for, as I judge, 
Thou wilt not pass by Neptune unperceived, 
Whose anger follows thee, for that thou hast 
Deprived his son the Cyclops of his eye. 
At length, however, after numerous woes 
Endured, thou may'st attain thy native isle, 
If thy own appetite thou wilt control 


450 


THE ODYSSEY. 


And theirs who follow thee, what time thy bark 

Well-built, shall at Thrinacia's J shore arrive, 

Escaped from perils of the gloomy deep. 

There shall ye find grazing the flocks and herds 

Of the all-seeing and all-hearing Sun, 

Which, if attentive to thy safe return, 

Thou leave unharm'd, though after numerous woes, 

Ye may at length arrive in Ithaca. 

But if thou violate them, I denounce 

Destruction on thy ship and all thy band, 

And though thyself escape, late shalt thou reach 

Thy home and hard-bested 2 , in a strange bark, 

All thy companions lost ; trouble beside 

Awaits thee there, for thou shalt find within 

Proud suitors of thy noble wife, who waste 

Thy substance, and with promised spousal gifts 

Ceaseless solicit her to wed ; yet well 

Shalt thou avenge all their injurious deeds. 

That once perform'd, and every suitor slain 

Either by stratagem, or face to face 

In thy own palace, bearing, as thou goest, 

A shapely oar, journey, till thou hast found 

A people who the sea know not, nor eat 

Food salted ; they trim galley crimson-prow'd 

Have ne'er beheld, nor yet smooth-shaven oar, 

With which the vessel wing'd scuds o'er the waves. 

Well thou shalt know them ; this shall be the sign — 

When thou shalt meet a traveller, who shall name 

The oar on thy broad shoulder borne, a van 3 , 

There, deep infixing it within the soil, 

Worship the king of ocean with a bull, 

A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seek 

Thy home again, and sacrifice at home 

A hecatomb to the immortal gods, 

Adoring each duly, and in his course. 

So shalt thou die in peace a gentle death, 

Remote from ocean ; it shall find thee late, 

In soft serenity of age, the chief 

Of a blest people. — I have told thee truth. 

He spake, to whom I answer thus return'd. 
Tiresias ! thou, I doubt not, hast reveal'd 
The ordinance of heaven. But tell me, seer ! 
And truly. I behold my mother's shade ; 
Silent she sits beside the blood, nor word 
Nor even look vouchsafes to her own son. 
How shall she learn, prophet ! that I am hers ? 

So I, to whom Tiresias quick replied. 
The course is easy. Learn it, taught by me. 
What shade soe'er, by leave from thee obtain'd, 
Shall taste the blood, that shade will tell thee 

truth ; 
The rest, prohibited, will all retire. 

When thus the spirit of the royal seer 
Had his prophetic mind reveal'd, again 
He enter'd Pluto's gates ; but I unmoved 
Still waited till my mother's shade approach'd ; 
She drank the blood, then knew me, and in words 
Wing'd with affection, plaintive, thus began. 

My son ! how hast thou enter'd, still alive, 
This darksome region ! Difficult it is 
For living man to view the realms of death. 
Broad rivers roll, and awful floods between. 
But chief, the ocean, which to pass on foot, 
Or without ship, impossible is found. 


1 The shore of Sicily, commonly called Trinacria, but 
euphoniei by Homer, Thrinacia. 

2 The expression is used by Milton, and signifies— Beset 
with many difficulties. 

3 Mistaking the oar for a corn-van. A sure indication of 
his ignorance of maritime concerns. 


Hast thou, long-wandering in thy voyage home 
From Ilium, with thy ship and crew arrived, 
Ithaca and thy consort yet unseen ? 

She spake, to whom this answer I return'd. 
My mother ! me necessity constrain'd 
To Pluto's dwelling, anxious to consult 
Theban Tiresias ; for I have not yet 
Approach'd Achaia, nor have touch'd the shore 
Of Ithaca, but suffering ceaseless woe 
Have roam'd, since first in Agamemnon's train 
I went to eombat with the sons of Troy. 
But speak, my mother, and the truth alone ; 
What stroke of fate slew thee 9 Fell'st thou a prey 
To some slow malady ? or by the shafts 
Of gentle Dian suddenly subdued % 
Speak to me also of my ancient sire, 
And of Telemachus, whom I left at home ; 
Possess I still unalienate and safe 
My property, or hath some happier chief 
Admittance free into my fortunes gain'd, 
No hope subsisting more of my return ? 
The mind and purpose of my wedded wife 
Declare thou also. Dwells she with our son 
Faithful to my domestic interests, 
Or is she wedded to some chief of Greece ? 

I ceased, when thus the venerable shade. 
Not so ; she faithful still and patient dwells 
Thy roof beneath ; but all her days and nights 
Devoting sad to anguish and to tears. 
Thy fortunes still are thine ; Telemachus 
Cultivates, undisturb'd, thy land, and sits 
At many a noble banquet, such as well 
Beseems the splendour of his princely state, 
For all invite him. At his farm retired 
Thy father dwells, nor to the city comes 
For aught ; nor bed, nor furniture of bed, 
Furr'd cloaks or splendid arras he enjoys, 
But, with his servile hinds all winter sleeps 
In ashes and in dust at the hearth-side, 
Coarsely attired ; again, when summer comes, 
Or genial autumn, on the fallen leaves 
In any nook, not curious where, he finds 
An humble couch among his fruitful vmes. 
There, stretch'd forlorn, nourishing grief, he 

weeps 
Thy lot, enfeebled now by numerous years. 
So perish'd I ; such fate I also found ; 
Me, neither the right-aiming archeress struck, 
Diana, with her gentle shafts, nor me 
Distemper slew, my limbs by slow degrees 
But sure, bereaving of their little life ; 
But long regret, tender solicitude, 
And recollection of thy kindness past, 
These, my Ulysses ! fatal proved to me. 

She said ; I, ardent wish'd to clasp the shade 
Of my departed mother ; thrice I sprang 
Toward her, by desire impetuous urged, 
And thrice she flitted from between my arms 
Light as a passing shadow or a dream. 
Then, pierced by keener grief, in accents wing'd 
With filial earnestness I thus replied. 

My mother, why eludest thou my attempt 
To clasp thee, that even here, in Pluto's realm, 
We might to full satiety indulge 
Our grief enfolded in each other's arms ? 
Hath Proserpine, alas ! only dispatch'd 
A shadow to me, to augment my woe % 

Then, instant, thus the venerable form. 
Ah, son ! thou most afflicted of mankind ! 
On thee, Jove's daughter, Proserpine, obtrudes 


THE ODYSSEY. 


451 


No airy semblance vain ; but such the state 
And nature is of mortals once deceased. 
For they nor muscle have, nor flesh, nor bone ; 
All those (the spirit from the body once 
Divorced) the violence of fire consumes. 
And, like a dream, the soul flies swift away. 
But haste thou back to light, and taught thyself 
These sacred truths, hereafter teach thy spouse. 

Thus mutual we conferr'd. Then, thither came, 
Encouraged forth by royal Proserpine, 
Shades female numerous, all who consorts, erst, 
Or daughters were of mighty chiefs renown'd. 
About the sable blood frequent they swarm'd. 
But I, considering sat, how I might each 
Interrogate, and thus resolved. My sword 
Forth drawing from beside my sturdy thigh, 
Firm I prohibited the ghosts to drink 
The blood together ; they successive came ; 
Each told her own distress ; I question'd all. 

There, first, the high-born Tyro I beheld ; 
She claim'd Salmoneus as her sire, and wife 
Was once of Cretheus, son of iEolus. 
Enamour'd of Enipeus, stream divine, 
Loveliest of all that water earth, beside 
His limpid current she was wont to stray, 
When ocean's god, (Enipeus' form assumed) 
Within the eddy-whirling river's mouth 
Embraced her ; there, while the o'er-arching flood, 
Uplifted mountainous, conceal'd the god 
And his fair human bride, her virgin zone 
He loosed, and o'er her eyes sweet sleep diffused. 
His amorous purpose satisfied, he grasp'd 
Her hand, affectionate, and thus he said. 

Rejoice in this my love, and when the year 
Shall tend to consummation of its course, 
Thou shalt produce illustrious twins, for love 
Immortal never is unfruitful love. 
Rear them with all a mother's care ; meantime, 
Hence to thy home. Be silent. Name it not. 
For I am Neptune, shaker of the shores. 

So saying, he plunged into the billowy deep. 
She, pregnant grown, Pelias and Neleus bore, 
Both, valiant ministers of mighty Jove. 
In wide-spread Iaolchus Pelias dwelt, 
Of numerous flocks possess'd ; but his abode 
Amid the sands of Pylus Neleus chose. 
To Cretheus wedded next, the lovely nymph 
Yet other sons, iEson and Pheres bore, 
And Amythaon of equestrian fame. 

I, next, the daughter of Asopus saw, 
Antiope ; she gloried to have known 
The embrace of Jove himself, to whom she brought 
A double progeny, Amphion named 
And Zethus ; they the seven-gated Thebes 
Founded and girded with strong towers, because, 
Though puissant heroes both, in spacious Thebes 
Unfenced by towers, they could not dwell secure. 

Alcmena, next, wife of Amphitryon 
I saw ; she in the arms of sovereign Jove 
The lion-hearted Hercules conceived, 
And, after, bore to Creon brave in fight 
His daughter Megara, by the noble son 
Unconquer'd of Amphitryon espoused. 

The beauteous Epicaste ' saw I then, 
Mother of GEdipus, who guilt incurr'd 
Prodigious, wedded unintentional 
To her own son ; his father first he slew, 
Then wedded her, which soon the gods divulged. 


By the tragedians called— Jocasta. 


He, under vengeance of offended heaven, 
In pleasant Thebes dwelt miserable, king 
Of the Cadmean race ; she to the gates 
Of Ades brazen-barr'd despairing went, 
Self-strangled by a cord fasten 'd aloft 
To her own palace-roof, and woes bequeath'd 
(Such as the Fury sisters execute 
Innumerable) to her guilty son. 

There also saw I Chloris, loveliest fair, 
Whom Neleus woo'd and won with spousal gifts 
Inestimable, by her beauty charm'd. 
She youngest daughter was of Iasus' son, 
Amphion, in old time a sovereign prince 
In Minueian Orchomenus, 
And king of Pylus. Three illustrious sons 
She bore to Neleus, Nestor, Chromius, 
And Periclymenus the wide-renown'd, 
And, last, produced a wonder of the earth, 
Pero, by every neighbour prince around 
In marriage sought ; but Neleus her on none 
Deign'd to bestow, save only on the chief 
Who should from Phylace drive off the beeves 
(Broad-fronted, and with jealous care secured) 
Of valiant Iphicles. One undertook 
That task alone, a prophet high in fame, 
Melampus ; but the Fates fast bound him there 
In rigorous bonds by rustic hands imposed. 
At length (the year, with all its months and days 
Concluded, and the new-born year begun) 
Illustrious Iphicles released the seer, 
* Grateful for all the oracles resolved, 
Till then obscure. So stood the will of Jove. 

Next, Leda, wife of Tyndarus, I saw, 
Who bore to Tyndarus a noble pair, 
Castor the bold, and Pollux cestus-famed. 
They prisoners in the fertile womb of earth, 
Though living, dwell, and even there from Jove 
High privilege gain ; alternate they revive 
And die, and dignity partake divine. 

The consort of Aloeus, next, I view'd, 
Iphimedeia ; she the embrace profess'd 
Of Neptune to have shared, to whom she bore 
Two sons ; short-lived they were, but godlike both, 
Otus and Ephialtes far-renown'd. 
Orion sole except, all-bounteous earth 
Ne'er nourish'd forms for beauty or for size 
To be admired as theirs ; in his ninth year 
Each measured, broad, nine cubits, and the height 
Was found nine ells of each. Against the gods 
Themselves they threaten'd war, and to excite 
The din of battle in the realms above. 
To the Olympian summit they essay'd 
To heave up Ossa, and to Ossa's crown 
Branch-waving Pelion ; so to climb the heavens. 
Nor had they fail'd, maturer grown in might, 
To accomplish that emprize, but them the son 3 
Of radiant-hair'd Latona and of Jove 
Slew both, ere yet the down of blooming youth 
Thick-sprung, their cheeks or chins had tufted 
o'er. 

Phaedra I also there, and Procris saw, 
And Ariadne for her beauty praised, 
Whose sire was all-wise Minos. Theseus her 
From Crete toward the fruitful region bore 
Of sacred Athens, but enjoy'd not there, 

2 Iphicles had been informed by the oracles, that he 
should have no children till instructed by a prophet how 
to obtain them ; a service which Melampus had the good 
fortune to render him. 

3 Apollo. 

gg2 


452 


THE ODYSSEY. 


For first, she perish'd by Diana's shafts 
In Dia, Bacchus 1 witnessing her crime. 

Msera and Clymene I saw beside, 
And odious Eriphyle, who received 
The price in gold of her own husband's life. 

But all the wives of heroes whom I saw, 
And all their daughters can I not relate ; 
Night, first, would fail ; and even now the hour 
Calls me to rest either on board my bark, 
Or here ; meantime, I in yourselves confide, 
And in the gods to shape my conduct home. 

He ceased ; the whole assembly silent sat, 
Charm'd into ecstacy by his discourse 
Throughout the twilight hall, till, at the last, 
Areta ivory-arm'd them thus bespake. 

Phseacians ! how appears he in your eyes 
This stranger, graceful as he is in port, 
In stature noble, and in mind discreet ? 
My guest he is, but ye all share with me 
That honour ; him dismiss not, therefore, hence 
With haste, nor from such indigence withhold 
Supplies gratuitous ; for ye are rich, 
And by kind heaven with rare possessions blest. 

The hero, next, Echeneus spake, a chief 
Now ancient, eldest of Pheeacia's sons. 

Your prudent queen, my friends, speaks not be- 
Her proper scope, but as beseems her well, [side 
Her voice obey ; yet the effect of all 
Must on Alcinoiis himself depend. 

To whom Alcinoiis, thus, the king, replied. 
I ratify the word. So shall be done, 
As surely as myself shall live supreme 
O'er all Pheeacia's maritime domain. 
Then let the guest, though anxious to depart, 
Wait till the morrow, that I may complete 
The whole donation. His safe conduct home 
Shall be the general care, but mine in chief, 
To whom dominion o'er the rest belongs. 

Him answer'd, then, Ulysses ever-wise. 
Alcinoiis ! prince ! exalted high o'er all 
Phseacia's sons ! should ye solicit, kind, 
My stay throughout the year, preparing still 
My conduct home, and with illustrious gifts 
Enriching me the while, even that request 
Should please me well ; the wealthier I return'd, 
The happier my condition ; welcome more 
And more respectable I should appear 
In every eye, to Ithaca restored. 

To whom Alcinoiis answer thus return'd. 
Ulysses ! viewing thee, no fears we feel 
Lest thou, at length, some false pretender prove, 
Or subtle hypocrite, of whom no few 
Disseminated o'er its face the earth 
Sustains, adepts in fiction, and who frame 
Fables, where fables could be least surmised. 
Thy phrase well turn'd, and thy ingenuous mind 
Proclaim thee different far, who hast in strains 
Musical as a poet's voice, the woes 
Rehearsed of all thy Greecians, and thy own. 
But say, and tell me true. Beheld'st thou there 
None of thy followers to the walls of Troy 
Slain in that warfare ? Lo ! the night is long — 
A night of utmost length ; nor yet the hour 
Invites to sleep. Tell me thy wondrous deeds, 
For I could watch till sacred dawn, couldst thou 
So long endure to tell me of thy toils. 

1 Bacchus accused her to Diana of having lain with 
Theseus in his temple, und the goddess punished her with 
death. 


Then thus Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. 
Alcinoiis ! high exalted over all 
Phaeacia's sons ! the time suffices yet 
For converse both and sleep, and if thou wish 
To hear still more, I shall not spare to unfold 
More pitiable woes than these, sustain'd 
By my companions, in the end destroy 'd ; 
Who saved from perils of disastrous war 
At Ilium, perish'd yet in their return, 
Victims of a pernicious woman's 2 crime. 

Now, when chaste Proserpine had wide dispersed 
Those female shades, the spirit sore distress'd 
Of Agamemnon, Atreus' son, appear'd ; 
Encircled by a throng, he came ; by all 
Who with himself beneath iEgisthus' roof 
Their fate fulfill'd, perishing by the sword. 
He drank the blood, and knew me ; shrill he wail'd 
And querulous ; tears trickling bathed his cheeks, 
And with spread palms, through ardour of desire, 
He sought to enfold me fast, but vigour none, 
Or force, as erst, his agile limbs inform'd. 
I, pity-moved, wept at the sight, and him, 
In accents wing'd by friendship, thus address'd. 

Ah glorious son of Atreus, king of men ! 
What hand inflicted the all-numbing stroke 
Of death on thee ? Say, didst thou perish sunk 
By howling tempests irresistible 
Which Neptune raised, or on dry land by force 
Of hostile multitudes, while cutting off 
Beeves from the herd, or driving flocks away, 
Or fighting for Achaia's daughters, shut 
Within some city's bulwarks close besieged ? 

I ceased, when Agamemnon thus replied. 
Ulysses, noble chief, Laertes' son 
For wisdom famed ! I neither perish'd sunk 
By howling tempests irresistible 
Which Neptune raised, nor on dry land received 
From hostile multitudes the fatal blow, 
But me iEgisthus slew ; my woeful death 
Confederate with my own pernicious wife 
He plotted, with a show of love sincere 
Bidding me to his board, where as the ox 
Is slaughter' d at his crib, he slaughter'd me. 
Such was my dreadful death ; carnage ensued 
Continual of my friends slain all around, 
Numerous as boars bright-tusk'd at nuptial feast 
Or feast convivial of some wealthy chief. 
Thou hast already witness'd many a field 
With warriors overspread, slain one by one, 
But that dire scene had most thy pity moved, 
For we, with brimming beakers at our side, 
And underneath full tables, bleeding lay. 
Blood floated all the pavement. Then the cries 
Of Priam's daughter sounded in my ears 
Most pitiable of all, Cassandra's cries, 
Whom Clytemnestra close beside me slew. 
Expiring as I lay, I yet essay'd 
To grasp my faulchion, but the traitoress quick 
Withdrew herself, nor would vouchsafe to close 
My languid eyes, or prop my drooping chin 
Even in the moment when I sought the shades. 
So that the thing breathes not, ruthless and fell 
As woman once resolved on such a deed 
Detestable, as my base wife contrived, 
The murther of the husband of her youth. 
I thought to have return'd welcome to all, 
To my own children and domestic train ; 
But she, past measure profligate, hath pour'd 

2 Probahly meaning Helen. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


453 


Shame on herself, on women yet unborn, 
And even on the virtuous of her sex. 

He ceased, to whom, thus, answer I return'd. 
Gods ! how severely hath the Thunderer plagued 
The house of Atreus, even from the first, 
By female counsels ! we for Helen's sake 
Have numerous died, and Clytemnestra framed, 
While thou wast far remote, this snare for thee ! 

So I, to whom Atrides thus replied. 
Thou, therefore, be not pliant overmuch 
To woman ; trust her not with all thy mind, 
But half disclose to her, and half conceal. 
Yet, from thy consort's hand no bloody death, 
My friend, hast thou to fear ; for passing wise 
Icarius' daughter is, far other thoughts, 
Intelligent, and other plans, to frame. 
Her, going to the wars we left a bride 
New-wedded, and the boy hung at her breast, 
Who, man himself, consorts ere now with men 
A prosperous youth ; his father, safe restored 
To his own Ithaca, shall see him soon, 
And he shall clasp his father in his arms 
As nature bids ; but me, my cruel one 
Indulged not with the dear delight to gaze 
On my Orestes, for she slew me first. 
1 But listen ; treasure what I now impart. 
Steer secret to thy native isle ; avoid 
Notice ; for woman merits trust no more. 
Now tell me truth. Hear ye in whose abode 
My son resides ? dwells he in Pylus, say, 
Or in Orchomenos, or else beneath 
My brother's roof in Sparta's wide domain ? 
For my Orestes is not yet a shade. 

So he, to whom I answer thus return'd. 
Atrides, ask not me. Whether he live, 
Or have already died, I nothing know ; 
Mere words are vanity, and better spared. 

Thus we discoursing mutual stood, and tears 
Shedding disconsolate. The shade, meantime, 
Came of Achilles, Peleus' mighty son ; 
Patroclus also, and Antilochus 
Appear'd, with Ajax, for proportion just 
And stature tall, (Pelides sole except) 
Distinguish'd above all Achaia's sons. 
The soul of swift iEacides at once 
Knew me, and in wing'd accents thus began. 

Brave Laertiades, for wiles renown' d ! 
What mightier enterprise than all the past 
Hath made thee here a guest ? rash as thou art ! 
How hast thou dared to penetrate the gloom 
Of Ades, dwelling of the shadowy dead, 
Semblances only of what once they were ? 

He spake, to whom I, answering, thus replied. 
Peleus' son ! Achilles ! bravest far 
Of all Achaia's race ! I here arrived 
Seeking Tiresias, from his lips to learn, 
Perchance, how I might safe regain the coast 
Of craggy Ithaca ; for tempest-toss'd 
Perpetual, I have neither yet approach'd 
Achaia's shore, or landed on my own. 
But as for thee, Achilles ! never man 
Hath knoAvn felicity like thine, or shall, 
Whom living we all honour'd as a god, 
And who maintain'st, here resident, supreme 

i This is, surely, one of the most natural strokes to be 
found in any poet. Convinced, for a moment, by the 
virtues of Penelope, he mentions her with respect ; but 
recollecting himself suddenly, involves even her in his 
general ill opinion of the sex, begotten- in him by the 
crimes of Clytemnestra. 


Control among the dead ; indulge not then, 
Achilles, causeless grief that thou hast died. 

1 ceased, and answer thus instant received. 
Renown'd Ulysses ! think not death a theme 
Of consolation ; I had rather live 

The servile hind for hire, and eat the bread 

Of some man scantily himself sustain'd, 

Than sovereign empire hold o'er all the shades. 

But come — speak to me of my noble boy ; 

Proceeds he, as he promised, brave in arms, 

Or shuns he war ? Say also hast thou heard 

Of royal Peleus ? shares he still respect 

Among his numerous Myrmidons, or scorn 

In Hellas and in Phthia, for that age 

Predominates in his enfeebled limbs ? 

For help is none in me ; the glorious sun 

No longer sees me such, as when in aid 

Of the Achaians I o'erspread the field 

Of spacious Troy with all their bravest slain. 

2 Oh might I, vigorous as then, repair 

For one short moment to my father's house, 

They all should tremble ; I would show an arm, 

Such as should daunt the fiercest who presumes 

To injure him, or to despise his age. 

Achilles spake, to whom I thus replied. 
Of noble Peleus have I nothing heard ; 
But I will tell thee, as thou bidd'st, the truth 
Unfeign'd of Neoptolemus thy son ; 
For him, myself, on board my hollow bark 
From Scyros to Achaia's host convey'd. 
Oft as in council under Ilium's walls 
We met, he ever foremost was in speech, 
Nor spake erroneous ; Nestor and myself 
Except, no Greecian could with him compare. 
Oft, too, as we with battle hemm'd around 
Troy's bulwarks, from among the mingled crowd 
Thy son sprang foremost into martial act, 
Inferior in heroic worth to none. 
Beneath him numerous fell the sons of Troy 
In dreadful fight, nor have I power to name 
Distinctly all, who by his glorious arm 
Exerted in the cause of Greece, expired. 
Yet will I name Eurypylus, the son 
Of Telephus, an hero whom his sword 
Of life bereaved, and all around him strew'd 
The plain with his Cetean warriors, won 
To Ilium's side by bribes 3 to women given. 
Save noble Memnon only, I beheld 
No chief at Ilium beautiful as he. 
Again, when we within the horse of wood 
Framed by Epeiis sat, an ambush chosen 
Of all the bravest Greeks, and I in trust 
Was placed to open or to keep fast-closed 
The hollow fraud ; then every chieftain there 
And senator of Greece wiped from his cheeks 
The tears, and tremors felt in every limb ; 
But never saw I changed to terror's hue 

2 Another most beautiful stroke of nature. Ere yet 
Ulysses has had opportunity to answer, the very thought 
that Peleus may possibly be insulted, fires him, and he 
takes the whole for granted. Thus is the impetuous char- 
acter of Achilles sustained to the last moment. 

3 Tvvaiwv g'Ivzko. odipcav — Priam is said to have influ- 
enced by gifts the wife and mother of Eurypylus, to 
persuade him to the assistance of Troy, he being himself 
unwilling to engage. The passage through defect of his- 
tory has long been dark, and commentators have adapted 
different senses to it, all conjectural. The Ceteans are 
said to have been a people of Mysia, of which Eurypylus 
was king. 


454 


THE ODYSSEY. 


His ruddy cheeks, no tears wiped he away, 
But oft he press'd me to go forth, his suit 
With prayers enforcing, griping hard his hilt 
And his brass-burthen'd spear, and dire revenge 
Denouncing, ardent, on the race of Troy. 
At length when we had sack'd the lofty town 
Of Priam, laden with abundant spoils 
He safe embark' d, neither by spear or shaft 
Aught hurt, or in close fight by faulchion's edge, 
As oft in war befals, where wounds are dealt 
Promiscuous, at the will of fiery Mars. 

So I ; then striding large, the spirit thence 
Withdrew of swift iEacides, along 
The hoary 1 mead pacing with joy elate 
That I had blazon'd bright his son's renown. 

The other souls of men by death dismiss'd 
Stood mournful by, sad uttering each his woes ; 
The soul alone I saw standing remote 
Of Telamonian Ajax, still incensed 
That in our public contest for the arms 
Worn by Achilles, and by Thetis thrown 
Into dispute, my claim had strongest proved, 
Troy and Minerva judges of the cause. 
Disastrous victory ! which I could wish 
Not to have won, since for that armour's sake 
The earth hath cover'd Ajax, in his form 
And martial deeds superior far to all 
The Greecians, Peleus' matchless son except. 
I, seeking to appease him, thus began. 

Ajax, son of glorious Telamon ! 
Canst thou remember, even after death, 
Thy wrath against me, kindled for the sake 

Of those pernicious arms ? arms which the gods 
Ordain'd of such dire consequence to Greece, 
Which caused thy death, our bulwark ! Thee we 

mourn 
With grief perpetual, nor the death lament 
Of Peleus' son, Achilles, more than thine. 
Yet none is blameable ; Jove evermore 
With bitterest hate pursued Achaia's host, 
And he ordain'd thy death. Hero ! approach 
That thou may'st hear the words with which I seek 
To soothe thee ; let thy long displeasure cease ! 
Quell all resentment in thy generous breast ! 

1 spake ; nought answer'd he, but sullen join'd 
His fellow ghosts ; yet, angry as he was, 

I had prevail'd even on him to speak, 

Or had, at least, accosted him again, 

But that my bosom teem'd with strong desire 

Urgent to see yet others of the dead. 

There saw I Minos, offspring famed of Jove ; 
His golden sceptre in his hand, he sat 
Judge of the dead \ they, pleading each in turn 
His cause, some stood, some sat, filling the house 
Whose spacious golden gates are never closed. 

Orion next, huge ghost, engaged my view, 
Droves urging o'er the grassy mead, of beasts 
Which he had slain, himself, on the wild hills, 
With strong club arm'd of ever-during brass. 

There also Tityus on the ground I saw 
Extended, offspring of the glorious earth ; 
Nine acres he o'erspread, and, at his side 
Station'd, two vultures on his liver prey'd, 
Scooping his entrails ; nor sufficed his hands 
To fray them thence ; for he had sought to force 

1 Ka-r' aacpoSehbv Aeipwva— Asphodel was planted on 
the graves, and around the tomhs of the deeeased, and 
henee the supposition, that the Stygian plain was clothed 
with asphodel. F. 


Latona, illustrious concubine of Jove, 

What time the goddess journey 'd o'er the rocks 

Of Pytho into pleasant Panopeus. 

Next, suffering grievous torments, I beheld 
Tantalus ; in a pool he stood, his chin [found 

Wash'd by the wave ; thirst-parch'd he seem'd, but 
Nought to assuage his thirst ; for when he bow'd 
His hoary head, ardent to quaff, the flood 
Vanish'd absorb'd, and at his feet, adust 
The soil appear'd, dried, instant, by the gods. 
Tall trees, fruit-laden, with inflected heads 
Stoop'd to him, pears, pomegranates, apples bright, 
The luscious fig, and unctuous olive smooth : 
Which when with sudden grasp he would have 

seized, 
Winds whirl'd them high into the dusky clouds. 

There, too, the hard-task'd Sisyphus I saw, 
2 Thrusting before him, strenuous, a vast rock. 
With hands and feet struggling, he shoved the stone 
Up to a hill-top ; but the steep well-nigh 
Vanquished, by some 3 great force,repulsed,themass 
Rush'd again obstinate down to the plain. 
Again stretch'd prone, severe he toil'd, the sweat 
Bathed all his weary limbs, and his head reek'd. 

The might of Hercules I, next, survey 'd ; 
His semblance ; for himself their banquet shares 
With the immortal gods, and in his arms 
Enfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fair 
Of Jove, and of his golden-sandal' d spouse. 
Around him, clamorous as birds, the dead 
Swarm'd turbulent ; he gloomy-brow'd as night, 
With uncased bow and arrow on the string 
Peer'd terrible from side to side, as one 
Ever in act to shoot ; a dreadful belt 
He bore athwart his bosom, thong'd with gold. 
There, broider'd shone many a stupendous form, 
Bears, wild-boars, lions with fire-flashing eyes, 
Fierce combats, battles, bloodshed, homicide. 
The artist, author of that belt, none such 
Before produced, or after. Me his eye 
No sooner mark'd, than knowing me, in words 
By sorrow quick suggested, he began. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Ah, hapless hero ! thou art, doubtless, charged, 
Thou also, with some arduous labour, such 
As in the realms of day I once endured. 
Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woes 
Immense sustain'd, subjected to a king 
Inferior far to me, whose harsh commands 
Enjoin'd me many a terrible exploit. 
He even bade me on a time lead hence 
The dog, that task believing above all 
Impracticable ; yet from Ades him 
I dragg'd reluctant into light, by aid 
Of Hermes, and of Pallas azure-eyed. 

So saying, he penetrated deep again 
The abode of Pluto ; but I still unmoved 
There stood expecting, curious, other shades 
To see of heroes in old time deceased. 
And now, more ancient worthies still, and whom 
I wish'd, I had beheld, Pirithoiis 

2 fiaoTa^ovra must have this sense interpreted hy what i 
follows. To attempt to make the English numbers ex- | 
pressive as the Greek, is a labour like that of Sisyphus. | 
The translator has done what he could. 

3 It is now, perhaps, impossible to ascertain with pre- j 
cision what Homer meant by the word icparaiis, which j 
he uses only here, and in the next book, where it is the j 

name of Scylla's dam 'Avails is also of very doubtful j 

explication. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


455 


And Theseus, glorious progeny of gods, 
But nations, first, numberless of the dead 
Came shrieking hideous ; me pale horror seized, 
Lest awful Proserpine should thither send 
The Gorgon-head from Ades, sight abhorr'd 1 
I, therefore, hasting to the vessel, bade 
My crew embark, and cast the hawsers loose. 
They, quick embarking,, on the benches sat. 
Down the Oceanus ' the current bore 
My galley, winning, at the first, her way 
With oars, then wafted by propitious gales. 


BOOK XII. 

ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses, pursuing his narrative, relates his return from 
the shades to Circe's island, the precautions given him 
hy that goddess, his escape from the Sirens, and from 
Scylla and Charybdis ; his arrival in Sicily, where his 
companions, having slain and eaten the oxen of the Sun, 
are afterward shipwrecked and lost ; and concludes the 
whole with an account of his arrival, alone, on the mast 
of his vessel,, at the island of Calypso. 

And now, borne seaward from the river-stream 
Of the Oceanus we plow'd again 
The spacious deep, and reach'd the iEsean isle, 
Where, daughter of the dawn, Aurora takes 
Her choral sports, and whence the sun ascends.. 
We, there arriving, thrust our bark aground 
On the smooth beach, then landed, and on shore 
Reposed, expectant of the sacred dawn. 
But soon as day-spring's daughter rosy-palm'd 
Look'd forth again, sending my friends before, 
I bade them bring Elpenor's body down 
From the abode of Circe to the beach. 
Then on the utmost headland of the coast 
We timber fell'd, and sorrowing o'er the dead, 
His funeral rites water'd with tears profuse. 
The dead consumed, and with the dead his arms, 
We heap'd his tomb, and the sepulchral post 
Erecting, fix'd his shapely oar aloft. 

Thus, punctual, we performed ; nor our return 
From Ades knew not Circe, but attired 
In haste, ere long arrived, with whom appear'd 
Her female train with plenteous viands charged, 
And bright wine rosy red.. Amidst us all 
Standing, the beauteous goddess thus began. 

Ah miserable I who have sought the shades 
Alive ! while others of the human race- 
Die only once, appointed twice to die 1 
Come — take ye food ; drink wine ; and on the shore 
All day regale, for ye shall hence again 
At day-spring o'er the deep ; but I will mark 
Myself your future course, nor uninform'd 
Leave you in aught, lest, through some dire mistake, 
By sea or land new miseries ye incur. 

The goddess spake, whose invitation kind 
We glad accepted ; thus we feasting sat 
Till set of sun, and quaffing richest wine ; 

i The two first lines of the following book seem to ascer- 
tain the true meaning of the conclusion of this, and to 
prove sufficiently that by 'CliceavSs here, Homer could not 
possibly intend any other than a river. In those lines he 
tells us in the plainest terms, that the ship left the stream 
of the river Oceanus, and arrived in the open sea. Dio- 
dorus Siculus informs us, ih&t'CiKeavSs had been a name 
anciently given to the Nile. See Clarke. 


But when the sun went down and darkness fell, 
My crew beside the hawsers slept, while me 
The goddess by the hand leading apart, 
First bade me sit, then, seated opposite, 
Enquired, minute, of all that I had seen, 
And L, from first to last, recounted all. 
Then thus the awful goddess in return. 

Thus far thy toils are finish'd. Now attend ! 
Mark well my words, of which the gods will sure 
Themselves remind thee in the needful hour. 
First shalt thou reach the Sirens ; they the hearts 
Enchant of all who on their coast arrive. 
The wretch, who unforewarn'd approaching, hears 
The Sirens' voice, his wife and little-ones 
Ne'er fly to gratulate his glad return ; 
But him the Sirens sitting in the meads 
Charm with mellifluous song, while all around 
The bones accumulated lie of men 
Now putrid, and the skins mouldering away. 
But, pass them thou, and lest thy people hear 
Those warblings, ere thou yet approach, fill all 
Their ears with wax moulded between thy palms ; 
But as for thee — thou hear them if thou wilt. 
Yet let thy people bind thee to the mast 
Erect, encompassing thy feet and arms 
With cordage well-secured to the mast-foot, 
So shalt thou, raptured, hear the Sirens' song. 
But if thou supplicate to be released, 
Or give such order, then, with added cords 
Let thy companions bind thee still the more. 
When thus thy people shall have safely pass'd 
The Sirens by, think not from me to learn 
What course thou next shalt steer ; two will occur ; 
Deliberate chuse : I shall describe them both. 
Here vaulted rocks impend, dash'd by the waves 
Immense of Amphitrite azure-eyed ; 
The blessed gods those rocks, Erratic, call. 
Birds cannot pass them safe ; no, not the doves 
Which his ambrosia bear to father Jove, 
But even of those doves the slippery rock 
Proves fatal still to one, for which the god 
Supplies another, lest the number fail. 
No ship, what ship soever there arrives, 
Escapes them, but both mariners and planks 
Whelm' d under billows of the deep, or, caught 
By fiery tempests, sudden disappear. 
Those rocks the billow-cleaving bark alone, 
The Argo, further'd by the vows of all, 
Pass'd safely, sailing from iEseta's isle ; 
Nor she had pass'd, but surely dash'd had been 
On those huge rocks, but that, propitious still 
To Jason, Juno sped her safe along. 
These rocks are two ; one lifts his summit sharp 
High as the spacious heavens, wrapt in dun clouds 
Perpetual, which nor autumn sees dispersed 
Nor summer, for the sun shines never there ; 
No mortal man might climb it or descend, 
Though twice ten hands and twice ten feet he own'd, 
For it is levigated as by art. 
Down scoop'd to Erebus, a cavern drear 
Yawns in the centre of its western side ; 
Pass it, renown'd Ulysses ! but aloof 
So far, that a keen arrow smartly sent 
Forth from thy bark should fail to reach the cave. 
There Scylla dwells, and thence her howl is heard 
Tremendous ; shrill her voice is as the note 
Of hound new-whelp'd, but hideous her aspect, 
Such as no mortal man, nor even a god 
Encountering her, should with delight survey. 
Her feet are twelve, all fore-feet ; six her necks 


45G 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Of hideous length, each clubh'd into a head 

Terrific, and each head with fangs is arm'd 

In triple row, thick-planted, stored with death. 

Plunged to her middle in the hollow den 

She lurks, protruding from the black abyss 

Her heads, with which the ravening monster dives 

In quest of dolphins, dog-fish, or of prey 

More bulky, such as in the roaring gulfs 

Of Amphitrite without end abounds. 

It is no seaman's boast that e'er he slipp'd 

Her cavern by, unharm'd. In every mouth 

She bears upcaught a mariner away. 

The other rock, Ulysses, thou shalt find 

Humbler, a bow-shot only from the first ; 

On this a wild fig grows broad-leaved, and here 

Charybdis dire ingulfs the sable flood. 

Each day she thrice disgorges, and each day 

Thrice swallows it. Ah ! well-forewarn'd bewai'e 

What time she swallows, that thou come not nigh, 

For not himself, Neptune, could snatch thee thence. 

Close passing Scylla's rock, shoot swift thy bark 

Beyond it, since the loss of six alone 

Is better far than shipwreck made of all. 

So Circe spake, to whom I thus replied. 
Tell me, O goddess, next, and tell me true ! 
If, chance, from fell Charybdis I escape, 
May I not also save from Scylla's force 
My people, should the monster threaten them ? 

I said, and quick the goddess in return. 
Unhappy ! can exploits and toils of war 
Still please thee ? yield'st not to the gods them- 
She is no mortal, but a deathless pest, [selves? 
Impracticable, savage, battle-proof. 
Defence is vain ; flight is thy sole resource. 
For should 'st thou linger putting on thy arms 
Beside the rock, beware, lest darting forth 
Her numerous heads, she seize with every mouth 
A Greecian, and with others, even thee. 
Pass therefore swift, and passing, loud invoke 
Cratais, mother of this plague of man, 
Who will forbid her to assail thee more. 
Thou, next, shall reach Thrinacia ; there, the beeves 
And fatted flocks graze numerous of the Sun ; 
Seven herds ; as many flocks of snowy fleece ; 
Fifty in each ; they breed not, neither die, 
Nor are they kept by less than goddesses, 
Lampetia fair, and Phiiethusa, both 
By nymph Nesera to Hyperion borne. 
Them, soon as she had train'd them to an age 
Proportion'd to that charge, their mother sent 
Into Thrinacia, there to dwell and keep 
Inviolate their father's flocks and herds. 
If, anxious for a safe return, thou spare 
Those herds and flocks, though after much endured, 
Ye may at last your Ithaca regain ; 
But should'st thou violate them, I foretel 
Destruction of thy ship and of thy crew, 
And though thyself escape, thou shalt return 
Late, in ill plight, and all thy friends destroy'd. 

She ended, and the golden morning dawn'd. 
Then, all-divine, her graceful steps she turn'd 
Back through the isle, and, at the beach arrived, 
1 summon'd all my followers to ascend 
The bark again, and cast the hawsers loose. 
They, at my voice, embarking, fill'd in ranks 
The seats, and rowing, thresh'd the hoary flood. 
And now, melodious Circe, nymph divine, 
Sent after us a canvass-stretching breeze, 
Pleasant companion of our course, and we 
(The decks and benches clear'd) untoiling sat, 


While managed gales sped swift the bark along. 
Then, with dejected heart, thus I began. 

Oh friends ! (for it is needful that not one 
Or two alone the admonition hear 
Of Circe, beauteous prophetess divine) 
To all I speak, that whether we escape 
Or perish, all may be at least forewarn'd. 
She bids us, first, avoid the dangerous song 
Of the sweet Sirens and their flowery meads. 
Me only she permits those strains to hear ; 
But ye shall bind me with coercion strong 
Of cordage well-secured to the mast-foot, 
And by no struggles to be loosed of mine. 
But should I supplicate to be released 
Or give such order, then, with added cords 
Be it your part to bind me still the more. 

Thus with distinct precaution I prepared 
My people ; rapid in her course, meantime, 
My gallant bark approach'd the Sirens' isle, 
For brisk and favourable blew the wind. 
Then fell the wind suddenly, and serene 
A breathless calm ensued, while all around 
The billows slumber'd, lull'd by power divine. 
Up-sprang my people, and the folded sails 
Bestowing in the hold, sat to their oars, 
Which with their polish'd blades whiten'd the deep. 
I, then, with edge of steel severing minute 
A waxen cake, chafed it and moulded it 
Between my palms ; ere long the ductile mass 
Grew warm, obedient to that ceaseless force, 
And to Hyperion's all-pervading beams. 
With that soft liniment I fill'd the ears 
Of my companions, man by man, and they 
My feet and arms with strong coercion bound 
Of cordage to the mast-foot well secured. 
Then down they sat, and rowing, thresh'd the brine. 
But when with rapid course we had arrived 
Within such distance as a voice may reach, 
Not unperceived by them the gliding bark 
Approach'd, and thus harmonious they began. 

Ulysses, chief by every tongue extoll'd, 
Achaia's boast, oh hither steer thy bark ! 
Here stay thy course, and listen to our lay ! 
These shores none passes in his sable ship 
Till, first, the warblings of our voice he hear, 
Then, happier hence and wiser he departs. 
All that the Greeks endured, and all the ills 
Inflicted by the gods on Troy, we know, 
Know all that passes on the boundless earth. 

So they with voices sweet their music pour'd 
Melodious on my ear, winning with ease 
My heart's desire to listen, and by signs 
I bade my people, instant, set me free. 
But they incumbent row'd, and from their seats 
Eurylochus and Perimedes sprang 
With added cords to bind me still the more. 
This danger past, and when the Sirens' voice, 
Now left remote, had lost its power to charm, 
Then, my companions freeing from the wax 
Their ears, deliver'd me from my restraint. 
The island left afar, soon I disceru'd 
Huge waves, and smoke, and horrid thunderings 
All sat aghast ; forth flew at once the oars [heard. 
From every hand, and with a clash the waves 
Smote all together ; check'd, the galley stood, 
By billow-sweeping oars no longer urged, 
And I, throughout the bark, man after man 
Encouraged all, addressing thus my crew. 

We meet not, now, my friends, our first distress. 
This evil is not greater than we found 




THE ODYSSEY. 


457 


When the huge Cyclops in his hollow den 
Imprison'd us, yet even thence we 'scaped, 
My intrepidity and fertile thought 
Opening the way ; and we shall recollect 
These dangers also, in due time, with joy. 
Come, then — pursue my counsel. Ye your seats 
Still occupying, smite the furrow'd flood 
With well-timed strokes, that by the will of Jove 
We may escape, perchance, this death, secure. 
To thee the pilot thus I speak, (my words 
Mark thou, for at thy touch the rudder moves'* 
This smoke, and these tumultuous waves avoid ; 
Steer wide of both ; yet with an eye intent 
On yonder rock, lest unaware thou hold 
Too near a course, and plunge us into harm. 

So I ; with whose advice all, quick, complied. 
But Scylla I as yet named not, (that woe 
Without a cure) lest, terrified, my crew 
Should all renounce their oars, and crowd below. 
Just then, forgetful of the strict command 
Of Circe not to arm, I clothed me all 
In radiant armour, grasp'd two quivering spears, 
And to the deck ascended at the prow, 
Expecting earliest notice there, what time 
The rock-bred Scylla should annoy my friends. 
But I discern'd her not, nor could, although 
To weariness of sight the dusky rock 
I vigilant explored. Thus, many a groan 
Heaving, we navigated sad the straight, 
For here stood Scylla, while Charybdis there 
With hoarse throat deep absorb'd the briny flood. 
Oft as she vomited the deluge forth, 
Like water cauldron d o'er a furious fire 
The whirling deep all murmur'd, and the spray 
On both those rocky summits fell in showers. 
But when she suck'd the salt wave down again, 
Then, all the pool appear'd wheeling about 
Within, the rock rebellow'd, and the sea 
Drawn off into that gulf disclosed to view 
The oozy bottom. Us pale horror seized. 
Thus, dreading death, with fast-set eyes we watch'd 
Charybdis ; meantime, Scylla from the bark 
Caught six away, the bravest of my friends. 
With eyes, that moment, on my ship and crew 
Retorted, I beheld the legs and arms 
Of those whom she uplifted in the air ; 
On me they called, my name, the last, last time 
Pronouncing then, in agony of heart. 
As when from some bold point among the rocks 
The angler, with his taper rod in hand, 
Casts forth his bait to snare the smaller fry, 
He swings away remote his guarded 1 line, 
Then jerks his gasping prey forth from the deep, 
So Scylla them raised gasping to the rock, 
And at her cavern's mouth devour'd them loud- 
Shrieking, and stretching forth to me their arms 
In sign of hopeless misery. Ne'er beheld 
These eyes in all the seas that I have roam'd, 
A sight so piteous, nor in all my toils. 

From Scylla and Charybdis dire escaped, 
We reach'd the noble island of the Sun 
Ere long, where bright Hyperion's beauteous herds 
Broad-fronted grazed, and his well-batten'd flocks. 
I, in the bark and on the sea, the voice 
Of oxen bellowing in hovels heai*d, 
And of loud-bleating sheep ; then dropp'd the word 
Into my memory of the sightless seer, 

1 They passed the line through a, pipe of horn, to secure 
it against the fishes' hite. 


Theban Tiresias, and the caution strict 

Of Circe, my iEsean monitress, 

Who with such force had caution'd me to avoid 

The island of the Sun, joy of mankind. 

Thus then to my companions, sad, I spake. 

Hear ye, my friends ! although long time distress'd, 
The words prophetic of the Theban seer 
And of iEsean Circe, whose advice 
Was oft repeated to me to avoid 
This island of the Sun, joy of mankind. 
There, said the goddess, dread your heaviest woes, 
Pass the isle, therefore, scudding swift away. 

I ceased ; they me with consternation heard, 
And harshly thus Eurylochus replied. 

Ulysses, ruthless chief ! no toils impair 
Thy strength, of senseless iron thou art form'd, 
Who thy companions weary, and o'erwatch'd 
Forbidd'st to disembark on this fair isle, 
Where now, at last, we might with ease regale. 
Thou, rash, command'st us, leaving it afar, 
To roam all night the ocean's dreary waste ; 
But wmds to ships injurious spring by night, 
And how shall we escape a dreadful death 
If, chance, a sudden gust from south arise 
Or stormy west, that dash in pieces oft 
The vessel, even in the gods' despight ? 
Prepare we rather now, as night enjoins, 
Our evening fare beside the sable bark, 
In which at peep of day we may again 
Launch forth secure into the boundless flood. 

He ceased, whom all applauded. Then I knew 
That sorrow by the will of adverse heaven 
Approach'd, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

I suffer force, Eurylochus ! and yield 
O'er-ruled by numbers. Come, then, swear ye all 
A solemn oath, that should we find a herd 
Or numerous flock, none here shall either sheep 
Or bullock slay, by appetite profane 
Seduced, but shall the viands eat content 
Which from immortal Circe we received. 

I spake ; they readily a solemn oath 
Sware all, and when their oath was fully sworn, 
Within a creek where a fresh fountain rose 
They moor'd the bark, and issuing, began 
Brisk preparation for their evening cheer. 
But when nor hunger now nor thirst remain'd 
Unsated, recollecting, then, their friends 
By Scylla seized and at her cave devour'd, 
They mourn'd, nor ceased to mourn them, till 

they slept. 
The night's third portion come, when now the stars 
Had traversed the mid sky, cloud-gatherer Jove 
Call'd forth a vehement wind with tempest charged, 
Menacing earth and sea with pitchy clouds 
Tremendous, and the night fell dark from heaven. 
But when Aurora, daughter of the day, 
Look'd rosy forth, we haled, drawn inland more, 
Our bark into a grot, where nymphs were wont 
Graceful to tread the dance, or to repose. 
Convening there my friends, I thus began. 

My friends ! food fails us not, but bread is yet 
And wine on board. Abstain we from the herds, 
Lest harm ensue ; for ye behold the flocks 
And herds of a most potent god, the Sun ! 
Whose eye and watchful ear none may elude. 

So saying, I sway'd the generous minds of all. 
A month complete the south wind ceaseless blew, 
Nor other wind blew next, save east and south, 
Yet they, while neither food nor rosy wine [die. 
Fail'd them, the herds harm'd not, through fear to 


458 


THE ODYSSEY. 


But, our provisions failing, they employ'd 
Whole days in search of food, snaring with hooks 
Birds, fishes, of what kind soe'er they might, 
By famine urged. I solitary roam'd 
Meantime the isle, seeking by prayer to move 
Some god to show us a deliverance thence. 
When, roving thus the isle, I had at length 
Left all my crew remote, laving my hands 
Where shelter warm I found from the rude blast, 
I supplicated every power above ; 
But they my prayers answer'd with slumbers soft 
Shed o'er my eyes, and with pernicious art 
Eujylochus, the while, my friends harangued. 

My friends ! afflicted as ye are, yet hear 
A fellow-sufferer. Death, however caused, 
Abhorrence moves in miserable man, 
But death by famine is a fate of all 
Most to be fear'd. Come — let us hither drive 
And sacrifice to the immortal powers 
The best of all the oxen of the Sun, 
Resolving thus — that soon as we shall reach 
Our native Ithaca, we will erect 
To bright Hyperion an illustrious fane, 
Which with magnificent and numerous gifts 
We will enrich. But should he choose to sink 
Our vessel, for his stately beeves incensed, 
And should, with him, all heaven conspire our 
I rather had with open mouth, at once, [death, 
Meeting the billows, perish, than by slow 
And pining waste, here in this desert isle. 

So spake Eurylochus, whom all approved. 
Then driving all the fattest of the herd 
Few paces only, (for the sacred beeves 
Grazed rarely distant from the bark) they stood 
Compassing them around, and, grasping each 
Green foliage newly pluck'd from saplings tall, 
(For barley none in all our bark remain'd) 
Worship'd the gods in prayer. Prayer made, 

they slew 
And flay'd them, and the thighs with double fat 
Investing, spread them o'er with slices crude. 
No wine had they with which to consecrate 
The blazing rites, but with libation poor 
Of water hallow'd the interior parts. [shared 

Now, when the thighs were burnt, and each had 
His portion of the maw, and when the rest 
All slash'd and scored hung roasting at the fire, 
Sleep, in that moment, suddenly my eyes 
Forsaking, to the shore I bent my way. 
But ere the station of our bark I reach'd, 
The savoury steam greeted me. At the scent 
I wept aloud, and to the gods exclaim'd. 

Oh Jupiter, and all ye powers above ! 
With cruel sleep and fatal ye have lull'd 
My cares to rest, such horrible offence 
Meantime my rash companions have devised. 

Then, flew long-stoled Lampetia to the Sun 
At once with tidings of his slaughter'd beeves. 
And he, incensed, the immortals thus address'd. 

Jove, and ye everlasting powers divine ! 
Avenge me instant on the crew profane 
Of Laertiades ; Ulysses' friends 
Have dared to slay my beeves, which I with joy 
Beheld, both when I climb'd the starry heavens, 
And when to earth I sloped my "westering wheels," 
But if they yield me not amercement due 
And honourable for my loss, to hell 
I will descend, and give the ghosts my beams. 

Then, thus the cloud-assembler god replied. 
Sun ! shine thou still on the immortal powers, 


And on the teeming earth, frail man's abode. 
My candent bolts can in a moment reach 
And split their flying bark in the mid-sea. 

These things Calypso told me, taught herself, 
By herald Hermes, as she oft affirm'd. 

But when descending to the shore, I reach'd 
At length my bark, with aspect stern and tone 
I reprimanded them, yet no redress 
Could frame, or remedy — the beeves were dead. 
Soon follow'd signs portentous sent from heaven. 
The skins all crept, and on the spits the flesh 
Both roast and raw bellow'd, as with the voice 
Of living beeves. Thus my devoted friends 
Driving the fattest oxen of the Sun, 
Feasted six days entire ; but when the seventh 
By mandate of Saturnian Jove appeared, 
The storm then ceased to rage, and we, again 
Embarking, launch'd our galley, rear'd the mast, 
And gave our unfurl'd canvass to the wind. 

The island left afar, and other land 
Appearing none, but sky alone and sea^ 
Right o'er the hollow bark Saturnian Jove 
Hung a ccerulean cloud, darkening the deep. 
Not long my vessel ran, for blowing wild, 
Now came shrill Zephyrus ; a stormy gust [fell 
Snapp'd sheer the shrouds on both sides ; backward 
The mast, and with loose tackle strew'd the hold ; 
Striking the pilot in the stern, it crush'd 
His skull together ; he a diver's plunge 
Made downward, and his noble spirit fled. 
Meantime, Jove thundering, hurl'd into the ship 
His bolts ; she, smitten by the fires of Jove, 
Quaked all her length; with sulphur fill'd she 

reek'd, 
And o'er her sides headlong my people plunged 
Like sea-mews, interdicted by that stroke 
Of wrath divine to hope their country more. 
But I, the vessel still paced to and fro, 
Till, sever'd by the boisterous waves, her sides 
Forsook the keel now left to float alone. 
Snapp'd where it join'dthe keel the mast had fallen, 
But fell encircled with a leathern brace, 
Which it retain'd ; binding with this the mast 
And keel together, on them both I sat, 
Borne helpless onward by the dreadful gale. 
And now the west subsided, and the south 
Arose instead, with misery charged for me, 
That I might measure back my course again 
To dire Charybdis. All night long I drove, 
And when the sun arose, at Scylla's rock 
Once more, and at Charybdis gulf arrived. 
It was the time when she absorb'd profound 
The briny flood, but by a wave upborne 
I seized the branches fast of the wild-fig 1 , 
To which, bat-like, I clung ; yet where to fix 
My foot secure found not, or where to ascend, 
For distant lay the roots, and distant shot 
The largest arms erect into the air, 
O'ershadowing all Charybdis ; therefore hard 
I clench'd the boughs, till she disgorged again 
Both keel and mast. Not undesired by me 
They came, though late ; for at what hour the judge, 
After decision made of numerous strifes 2 
Between young candidates for honour, leaves 
The forum for refreshment' sake at home, 
Then was it that the mast and keel emerged. 


i See line 15 of col. 1, p. 456. 

2 He had therefore held by the fig-tree from sun-rise till 
afternoon. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


459 


Deliver'd to a voluntary fall, 

Fast by those beams I dash'd into the flood, 

And seated on them both, with oary palms 

ImpelPd them ; nor the sire of gods and men 

Permitted Scylla to discern me more, 

Else had I perish'd by her fangs at last. 

Nine days I floated thence, and on the tenth 

Dark night, the gods convey'd me to the isle 

Ogygia, habitation of divine 

Calypso, by whose hospitable aid 

And assiduity, my strength revived. 

But wherefore this ? ye have already learn'd 

That history, thou and thy illustrious spouse ; 

I told it yesterday, and hate a tale 

Once amply told, then, needless, traced again. 


BOOK XIII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses having finished his narrative, and received ad- 
ditional presents from the Phaeacians, embarks; he is 
conveyed in his sleep to Ithaca, and in his sleep is landed 
on that island. The ship that carried him is in her 
return transformed by Neptune to a rock. 

Minerva meets him on the shore, enables him to recollect 
his country, which, till enlightened by her, he believed 
to be a country strange to him, and they concert together 
the means of destroying the suitors. The goddess then 
repairs to Sparta to call thence Telemachus, and Ulysses, 
by her aid disguised like a beggar, proceeds towards the 
cottage of Eumaeus. 

He ceased ; the whole assembly silent sat, 
Charm'd into ecstacy with his discourse 
Throughout the twilight hall. Then, thus the king. 

Ulysses, since beneath my brazen dome 
Sublime thou hast arrived, like woes, I trust, 
Thou shalt not in thy voyage hence sustain 
By tempests tost, though much to woe inured. 
To you, who daily in my palace quaff 
Your princely meed of generous wine and hear 
The sacred bard, my pleasure thus I speak. 
The robes, wrought gold, and all the other gifts 
To this our uuest, by the Phseacian chiefs 
Brought hither in the sumptuous coffer lie. 
But come — present ye to the stranger, each, 
An ample tripod also, with a vase 
Of smaller size, for which we will be paid 
By public impost ; for the charge of all 
Excessive were by one alone defray'd. 

So spake Alcinoiis, and his counsel pleased ; 
Then, all retiring, sought repose at home. 
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy forth, each hasted to the bark 
With his illustrious present, which the might 
Of king Alcinoiis, who himself her sides 
Ascended, safe beneath the seats bestow 'd, 
Lest it should harm or hinder, while he toil'd 
In rowing, some Phseacian of the crew. 
The palace of Alcinoiis seeking next, 
Together, they prepared a new regale. 

For them, in sacrifice, the l sacred might 
Of king Alcinoiis slew an ox to Jove 
Saturnian, cloud-girt governor of all. 
The thighs with fire prepared, all glad partook 
The noble feast ; meantime, the bard divine 

1 'lepbv fifpos 'KXnivdoio. 


Sang, sweet Demodocus, the people's joy. 

But oft Ulysses to the radiant sun 

Turn'd wistful eyes, anxious for his decline, 

Nor longer, now, patient of dull delay. 

As when some hungry swain whose sable beeves 

Have through the fallow dragg'd his ponderous 

plough 
All day, the setting sun views with delight 
For supper' sake, which with tired feet he seeks, 
So welcome to Ulysses' eyes appear'd 
The sun-set of that eve ; directing, then, 
His speech to maritime Pheeacia's sons, 
But to Alcinoiis chiefly, thus he said. 

Alcinoiis, o'er Phseacia's realm supreme ! 
Libation made, dismiss ye me in peace, 
And farewell all ! for what I wish'd, I have, 
Conductors hence, and honourable gifts 
With which heaven prosper me ! and may the gods 
Vouchsafe to me, at my return, to find 
All safe, my spotless consort and my friends ! 
May ye, whom here I leave, gladden your wives 
And see your children blest, and may the powers 
Immortal with all good enrich you all, 
And from calamity preserve the land ! 

He ended ; they unanimous, his speech 
Applauded loud, and bade dismiss the guest 
Who had so wisely spoken and so well. 
Then thus Alcinoiis to his herald spake. 

Pontonoiis ! charging high the beaker, bear 
To every guest beneath our roof the wine, 
That, prayer preferr'd to the eternal sire, 
We may dismiss our inmate to his home. 

Then bore Pontonoiis to every guest 
The brimming cup ; they, where they sat,perform'd 
Libation due ; but the illustrious chief 
Ulysses, from his seat arising, placed 
A massy goblet in Areta's hand, 
To whom in accents wing'd, grateful, he said. 

Farewell, queen, a long farewell, till age 
Arrive, and death, the appointed lot of all ! 
I go ! but be this people, and the king 
Alcinoiis, and thy progeny, thy joy 
Yet many a year beneath this glorious roof ! 

So saying, the hero through the palace-gate 
Issued, whom, by Alcinoiis' command, 
The royal herald to his vessel led. 
Three maidens also of Areta's train 
His steps attended ; one, the robe well-bleach 'd 
And tunic bore ; the corded coffer, one ; 
And food the third, with wine of crimson hue. 
Arriving where the galley rode, each gave 
Her charge to some brave mariner on board, 
And all was safely stow'd. Meantime were spread 
Linen and arras on the deck astern, 
For his secure repose. And now the chief 
Himself embarking, silent laid him down. 
Then every rower to his bench repair'd ; 
They drew the loosen'd cable from its hold 
In the drill'd rock, and resupine, at once 
With lusty strokes upturn'd the flashing waves. 
His eye-lids soon sleep, falling as a dew, 
Closed fast, death's simular, in sight the same. 
She, as four harness'd stallions o'er the plain 
Shooting together at the scourge's stroke, 
Toss high their manes, and rapid scour along, 
So mounted she the waves, while dark the flood 
Roll'd after her of the resounding deep. 
Steady she ran and safe, passing in speed 
The falcon, swiftest of the fowls of heaven ; 
With such rapidity she cut the waves, 


460 


THE ODYSSEY. 


A hero bearing like the gods above 

In wisdom, one familiar long with woe 

In fight sustain'd, and on the perilous flood, 

Though sleeping now serenely, and resign'd 

To sweet oblivion of all sorrow past. 

The brightest star of heaven, precursor chief 

Of day-spring, now arose, when at the isle 

(Her voyage soon perform'd) the bark arrived. 

There is a port sacred in Ithaca 
To Phorcys, hoary ancient of the deep, 
Form'd by converging shores, prominent both 
And both abrupt, which from the spacious bay 
Exclude all boisterous winds ; within it, ships 
(The port once gain'd) uncabled ride secure. 
An olive, at the haven's head, expands 
Her branches wide, near to a pleasant cave 
Umbrageous, to the nymphs devoted named 
The Naiads. In that cave beakers of stone 
And jars are seen ; bees lodge their honey there ; 
And there, on slender spindles of the rock 
The nymphs of rivers weave their wondrous robes. 
Perennial springs water it, and it shows 
A twofold entrance ; ingress one affords 
To mortal man, which northward looks direct, 
But holier is the southern far ; by that 
No mortal enters, but the gods alone. 
Familiar with that port before, they push'd 
The vessel in ; she, rapid, plow'd the sands 
With half her keel, such rowers urged her on. 
Descending from the well-bench'd bark ashore, 
They lifted forth Ulysses first, with all 
His splendid couch complete, then laid him down 
Still wrapt in balmy slumber on the sands. 
His treasures next, by the Phseacian chiefs 
At his departure given him as the meed 
Due to his wisdom, at the olive's foot 
They heap'd, without the road, lest while he slept 
Some passing traveller should rifle them. 
Then homeward thence they sped. Nor ocean's 
His threats forgot denounced against divine [god 
Ulysses, but with Jove thus first advised. 

Eternal sire ! I shall no longer share 
Respect and reverence among the gods, 
Since now Phseacia's mortal race have ceased 
To honour me, though from myself derived. 
It was my purpose, that by many an ill 
Harass'd, Ulysses should have reach'd his home, 
Although to intercept him, whose return 
Thyself had promised, ne'er was my intent. 
But him fast-sleeping swiftly o'er the waves 
They have conducted, and have set him down 
In Ithaca, with countless gifts enrich'd, 
With brass, and tissued raiment, and with gold ; 
Much treasure ! more than he had home convey'd 
Even had he arrived with all his share 
Allotted to him of the spoils of Troy. 

To whom the cloud-assembler god replied. 
What hast thou spoken, shaker of the shores, 
Wide-ruling Neptune ? Fear not ; thee the gods 
; Will ne'er despise ; dangerous were the deed 
I To cast dishonour on a god by birth 
I More ancient, and more potent far than they. 
But if, profanely rash, a mortal man 
Should dare to slight thee, to avenge the wrong 
Some future day is ever in thy power. 
Accomplish all thy pleasure, thou art free. 

Him answer'd then the shaker of the shores. 
Jove cloud-enthroned ! that pleasure I would soon 
Perform as thou hast said, but that I watch 
Thy mind continual, fearful to offend. 


My purpose is, now to destroy amid 
The dreary deep yon fair Phseacian bark, 
Return'd from safe conveyance of her freight ; 
So shall they waft such wanderers home no more, 
And she shall hide their city, to a rock 
Transform 'd of mountainous o'ershadowing size. 

Him then Jove answer'd, gatherer of the clouds. 
Perform it, my brother, and the deed 
Thus done, shall best be done ; — What time the 

people 
Shall from the city her approach descry, 
Fix her to stone transform'd, but still in shape 
A gallant bark, near to the coast, that all 
May wonder, seeing her transform'd to stone 
Of size to hide their city from the view. 

These words once heard) the shaker of the shores 
Instant to Scheria, maritime abode 
Of the Phaeacians, went. Arrived, he watch'd. 
And now the flying bark full near approach'd, 
When Neptune, meeting her, with outspread palm 
Depress'd her at a stroke, and she became 
Deep-rooted stone. Then Neptune went his way. 
Phseacia's ship-ennobled sons meantime 
Conferring stood, and thus in accents wing'd, 
The amazed spectator to his fellow spake. 

Ah ! who hath sudden check'd the vessel's 
course 
Homeward ? This moment she was all in view. 

Thus they, unconscious of the cause, to whom 
Alcinoiis, instructing them, replied. 

Ye gods ! a prophecy now strikes my mind 
With force, my father's. He was wont to say — 
Neptune resents it, that we safe conduct 
Natives of every region to their home. 
He also spake, prophetic, of a day 
When a Phseacian gallant bark, return'd 
After conveyance of a stranger hence, 
Should perish in the dreary deep, and changed 
To a huge mountain, cover all the town. 

So spake my father, all whose words we see 
This day fulfill'd. Thus, therefore, act we all 
Unanimous ; henceforth no longer bear 
The stranger home, when such shall here arrive ; 
And we will sacrifice, Avithout delay, 
Twelve chosen bulls to Neptune, if, perchance, 
He will commiserate us, and forbear 
To hide our town behind a mountain's height. 

He spake ; they, terrified, the bulls prepared. 
Thus all Phseacia's senators and chiefs 
His altar compassing, in prayer adored 
The ocean's god. Meantime Ulysses woke, 
Unconscious where ; stretch'd on his native soil 
He lay, and knew it not, long time exiled. 
For Pallas, progeny of Jove, a cloud 
Drew dense around him, that ere yet agnized 
By others, he might wisdom learn from her, 
Neither to citizens, nor yet to friends 
Reveal'd, nor even to his own espoused, 
Till, first, he should avenge complete his wrongs 
Domestic from those suitors proud sustain'd. 
All objects, therefore, in the hero's eyes 
Seem'd alien, foot-paths long, commodious ports, 
Heaven-climbing rocks, and trees of amplest 
Arising, fixt he stood, his native soil [growth. 
Contemplating, till with expanded palms 
Both thighs he smote, and plaintive thus began. 

Ah me ! what mortal race inhabits here ? 
Rude are they, contumacious and unjust, 
Or hospitable, and who fear the gods ? 
Where now shall I secrete these numerous stores ? 


THE ODYSSEY. 


461 


Where wander I, myself ? I would that still 

Phseacians own'd them, and I had arrived 

In the dominions of some "other king 

Magnanimous, who would have entertain'd 

And sent me to my native home secure ! 

Now, neither know I where to place my wealth, 

Nor can I leave it here, lest it become 

Another's prey. Alas ! Phaeacia's chiefs 

Not altogether wise I deem or just, 

Who have misplaced me in another land, 

Promised to bear me to the pleasant shores 

Of Ithaca, but have not so perform'd. 

Jove, guardian of the suppliant' s rights, who all 

Transgressors marks, and punishes all wrong, 

Avenge me on the treacherous race ! — but hold — 

I will revise my stores, so shall I know 

If they have left me here of aught despoil'd. 

So saying, he number'd carefully the gold, 
The vases, tripods bright, and tissued robes, 
But nothing miss'd of all. Then he bewail'd 
His native isle, with pensive steps and slow 
Pacing the border of the billowy flood, 
Forlorn ; but while he wept, Pallas approach'd, 
In form a shepherd stripling, girlish fair 
In feature, such as are the sons of kings ; 
A sumptuous mantle o'er his shoulders hung 
Twice-folded, sandals his nice feet upbore, 
And a smooth javelin glitter'd in his hand. 
Ulysses, joyful at the sight, his steps 
Turn'd brisk toward her, whom he thus address'd. 

Sweet youth ! since thee, of all mankind, I first 
Encounter in this land unknown, all hail! 
Come not with purposes of harm to me ! 
These save, and save me also. I prefer 
To thee, as to some god, my prayer, and clasp 
Thy knees a suppliant. Say, and tell me true, 
What land? what people \ who inhabit here ? 
Is this some isle delightful, or a shore 
Of fruitful main-land sloping to the sea ? 

Then Pallas thus, goddess coerulean-eyed. 
Stranger ! thou sure art simple, or hast dwelt 
Far distant hence, if of this land thou ask. 
It is not, trust me, of so little note, 
But known to many, both to those who dwell 
Toward the sun-rise, and to others placed 
Behind it, distant in the dusky west. 
Rugged it is, not yielding level course 
To the swift steed, and yet no barren spot, 
However small, but rich in wheat and wine ; 
Nor wants it rain or fertilizing dew, 
But pasture green to goats and beeves affords, 
Trees of all kinds, and fountains never dry. 
Ithaca therefore, stranger, is a name 
Known even at Troy, a city, by report, 
At no small distance from Achaia's shore. 

The goddess ceased ; then, toil-enduring chief 
Ulysses, happy in his native land, 
(So taught by Pallas, progeny of Jove) 
In accents wing'd her answering, utter'd prompt 
Not truth, but figments to truth opposite, 
For guile in him stood never at a pause. 

O'er yonder flood, even in spacious J Crete 
I heard of Ithaca, where now, it seems, 
I have myself with these my stores arrived ; 
Not richer stores than, flying thence, I left 
To my own children ; for from Crete I fled 

1 Homer dates all the fictions of Ulysses from Crete, as 
if he meant to pass a similar censure on the Cretans to 
that quoted by St. Paul — KpTjres del tyevarai. 


For slaughter of Orsilochus the swift, 

Son of Idomeneus, whom none in speed 

Could equal throughout all that spacious isle. 

His purpose was to plunder me of all 

My Trojan spoils, which to obtain much woe 

I had in battle and by storms endured, 

For that I would not gratify his sire, 

Fighting beside him in the fields of Troy, 

But led a different band. Him from the field 

Returning homeward, with my brazen spear 

I smote, in ambush waiting his return 

At the road-side, with a confederate friend. 

Unwonted darkness over all the heavens 

That night prevail'd, nor any eye of man 

Observed us, but unseen I slew the youth. 

No sooner then with my sharp spear of life 

I had bereft him, than I sought a ship 

Mann'd by renown'd Phseacians, whom with gifts 

Part of my spoils, and by requests, I won. 

I bade them land me on the Pylian shore, 

Or in fair Elis by the Epeans ruled ; 

But they, reluctant, were by violent winds 

Driven devious thence, for fraud they purposed 

none. 
Thus through constraint we here arrived by night, 
And with much difficulty push'd the ship 
Into safe harbour, nor was mention made 
Of food by any, though all needed food, 
But disembark'd in haste, on shore we lay. 
I, weary, slept profound, and they my goods 
Forth heaving from the bark, beside me placed 
The treasures on the sea-beach where I slept, 
Then reimbarking, to the populous coast 
Steer'd of Sidonia, and me left forlorn. 

He ceased ; then smiled Minerva azure-eyed 
And stroked his cheek, in form a woman now, 
Beauteous, majestic, in all elegant arts 
Accomplish'd, and with accents wing'd replied. 

Who passes thee in artifice well-framed 
And in imposture various, need shall find j 
Of all his policy, although a god. 
Canst thou not cease, inventive as thou art 
And subtle, from the wiles which thou hast loved 
Since thou wast infant, and from tricks of speech 
Delusive, even in thy native land ? 
But come, dismiss we these ingenious shifts 
From our discourse, in which we both excel ; 
For thou of all men in expedients most 
Abound'st and eloquence, and I, throughout 
All heaven have praise for wisdom and for art. 
And know'st thou not thine Athensean aid, 
Pallas, Jove's daughter, who in all thy toils 
Assist thee and defend % I gave thee power 
To engage the hearts of all Phseacia's sons, 
And here arrive even now, counsels to frame 
Discreet with thee, and to conceal the stores 
Given to thee by the rich Phseacian chiefs 
On my suggestion, at thy going thence. 
I will inform thee also what distress 
And hardship under thy own palace roof 
Thou must endure ; which since constraint enjoins, 
Bear patiently, and neither man apprise 
Nor woman that thou hast arrived forlorn 
And vagabond, but silent undergo 
What wrongs soever from the hands of men. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
goddess ! thou art able to elude, 
Wherever met, the keenest eye of man, 
For thou all shapes assumest ; yet this I know 
Certainly, that I ever found thee kind, 


462 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Long as Achaia's heroes fought at Troy ; 
But when (the lofty towers of Priam laid 
In dust) we re-embark'd, and by the will 
Of heaven Achaia's fleet was scatter'd wide, 
Thenceforth, daughter wise of Jove, I thee 
Saw not, nor thy appearance in my ship 
Once mark'd, to rid me of my numerous woes, 
But always bearing in my breast a heart 
With anguish riven, I roam'd, till by the gods 
Relieved at length, and till with gracious words 
Thyself didst in Phseacia's opulent land 
Confirm my courage, and becamest my guide. 
But I adjure thee in thy father's name — 

tell me truly, (for I cannot hope 
That I have reach'd fair Ithaca ; I tread 
Some other soil, and thou affirm'st it mine 
To mock me merely, and deceive,) oh say — 
Am I in Ithaca ? in truth, at home ? 

Thus then Minerva the coerulean-eyed.. 
Such caution ever in thy breast prevails 
Distrustful ; but I know thee eloquent, 
With wisdom and with ready thought endued, 
And cannot leave thee therefore thus distress' d. 
For what man, save Ulysses, new-return'd 
After long wanderings, would not pant to see 
At once his home, his children, and his wife ? 
But thou preferr'st neither to know nor ask 
Concerning them, till some experience first 
Thou make of her whose wasted youth is spent 
In barren solitude, and who in tears 
Ceaseless her nights and woeful days consumes. 

1 ne'er was ignorant, but well foreknew 
That not till after loss of all thy friends 

Thou should'st return ; but loth I was to oppose 
Neptune, my father's brother, sore incensed 
For his son's sake deprived of sight by thee. 
But, I will give thee proof — come now — survey 
These marks of Ithaca, and be convinced. 

This is the port of Phorcys, sea-born sage ; 
That, the huge olive at the haven's head ; 
Fast by it, thou behold'st the pleasant cove 
Umbrageous, to the nymphs devoted named 
The Naiads ; this the broad-arch 'd cavern is 
Where thou wast wont to offer to the nymphs 
Many a whole hecatomb ; and yonder stands 
The mountain Neritus with forests clothed. 

So saying, the goddess scatter'd from before 
His eyes all darkness, and he knew the land. 
Then felt Ulysses, hero toil-inured, 
Transport unutterable, seeing plain 
Once more his native isle. He kiss'd the glebe, 
And with uplifted hands the nymphs adored. 

Nymphs, Naiads, Jove's own daughters ! I de- 
spair'd 
To see you more, whom yet with happy vows 
I now can hail again. Gifts, as of old, 
We will hereafter at your shrines present, 
If Jove-born Pallas, huntress of the spoils, 
Grant life to me, and manhood to my son. 

Then Pallas, blue-eyed progeny of Jove. 
Take courage ; trouble not thy mind with thoughts 
Now needless. Haste — delay not — far within 
This hallow'd cave's recess place we at once 
Thy precious stores, that they may thine remain, 
Then muse together on thy wisest course. 

So saying, the goddess enter'd deep the cave 
Caliginous, and its secret nooks explored 
From side to side ; meantime Ulysses brought 
All his stores into it, the gold, the brass, 
And robes magnificent, his gifts received 


From the Phseacians ; safe he lodged them all, 
And Pallas, daughter of Jove segis-arm'd, 
Closed fast, herself, the cavern with a stone. 

Then, on the consecrated olive's root 
Both seated, they in consultation plann'd 
The deaths of those injurious suitors proud, 
And Pallas, blue-eyed goddess, thus began. 

Laertes' noble son, Ulysses ! think 
By what means likeliest thou shalt assail 
Those shameless suitors, who have now control'd 
Three years thy family, thy matchless wife 
With language amorous and with spousal gifts 
Urging importunate ; but she, with tears 
Watching thy wish'd return, hope gives to all 
By messages of promise sent to each, 
Framing far other purposes the while. 

Then answer thus Ulysses wise return'd. 
Ah, Agamemnon's miserable fate 
Had surely met me in my own abode, 
But for thy gracious warning, power divine I 
Come then — devise the means ; teach me, thyself, 
The way to vengeance, and my soul inspire 
With daring fortitude, as when we loosed 
Her radiant frontlet from the brows of Troy. 
Would'st thou with equal zeal, Pallas ! aid 
Thy servant here, I would encounter thrice 
An hundred enemies, let me but perceive 
Thy dread divinity my prompt ally. 

Him answer'd then Pallas coerulean-eyed. 
And such I will be ; not unmark'd by me, 
(Let once our time of enterprise arrive) 
Shalt thou assail them. Many, as I judge, 
Of those proud suitors who devour thy wealth 
Shall leave their brains, then, on thy palace floor. 
But come. Behold ! I will disguise thee so 
That none shall know thee ; I will parch the skin 
On thy fair body ; I will cause thee shed 
Thy wavy locks ; I will enfold thee round 
In such a kirtle as the eyes of all 
Shall loath to look on ; and I will deform 
With blurring rheums thy eyes, so vivid erst ; 
So shall the suitors deem thee, and thy wife, 
And thy own son whom thou didst leave at home, 
Some sordid wretch obscure. But seek thou first 
Thy swine-herd's mansion ; he, alike, intends 
Thy good, and loves affectionate thy son 
And thy Penelope ; thou shalt find the swain 
Tending his herd ; they feed beneath the rock 
Corax, at side of Arethusa's fount, 
On acorns dieted, nutritious food 
To them, and drinking of the limpid stream. 
There waiting, question him of thy concerns, 
While I from Sparta praised for women fair 
Call home thy son Telemachus, a guest 
With Menelaus now, whom to consult 
In spacious Lacedsemon he is gone, 
Anxious to learn if yet his father lives. 

To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. 
And why, alas ! all-knowing as thou art, 
Him left'st thou ignorant? was it that he, 
He also, wandering wide the barren deep, 
Might suffer woe, while these devour his wealth ? 

Him answer'd then Pallas coerulean-eyed. 
Grieve thou not much for him. I sent him forth 
Myself, that there arrived, he might acquire 
Honour and fame. No sufferings finds he there, 
But in Atrides' palace safe resides, 
Enjoying all abundance. Him, in truth, 
The suitors watch close ambush'd on the deep, 
Intent to slay him ei*e he reach his home, 


THE ODYSSEY. 


463 


But shall not as I judge, till of themselves 

The earth hide some who make thee, now, a prey. 

So saying, the goddess touch'd him with a wand. 
At once o'er all his agile limhs she parch'd 
The polish'd skin ; she wither'd to the root 
His wavy locks, and clothed him with the hide 
Deform'd of wrinkled age ; she charged with rheums 
His eyes before so vivid, and a cloak 
And kirtle gave him, tatter'd both, and foul, 
And smutch'd with smoke ; then casting over all 
A huge old deer-skin bald, with a long staff 
She furnish'd him, and with a wallet patch 'd 
On all sides, dangling by a twisted thong. 

Thus all their plan adjusted, different ways 
They took, and she, seeking Ulysses' son, 
To Lacedsemon's spacious realm repair'd. 


BOOK XIY. 

ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses arriving at the house of Eumaeus, is hospitahly 
entertained, and spends the night there. 


Leaving the haven-side, he turn'd his steps 

Into a rugged path, which over hills 

Mantled with trees led him to the abode 

By Pallas mention'd of his noble l friend 

The swine-herd, who of all Ulysses' train 

Watch'd with most diligence his rural stores. 

Him sitting in the vestibule he found 

Of his own airy lodge commodious, built 

Amidst a level lawn. That structure neat 

Eumseus, in the absence of his lord, 

Had raised, himself, with stones from quarries hewn, 

Unaided by Laertes or the queen. 

With tangled thorns he fenced it safe around, 

And with contiguous stakes riven from the trunks 

Of solid oak black-grain'd hemm'd it without. 

Twelve penns he made within, all side by side, 

Lairs for his swine, and fast-immured in each 

Lay fifty pregnant females on the floor. 

The males all slept without, less numerous far, 

Thinn'd by the princely wooers at their feasts 

Continual, for to them he ever sent 

The fattest of his saginated charge. 

Three hundred, still, and sixty brawns remain'd. 

Four mastiffs in adjoining kennels lay, 

Resembling wild-beasts, nourish'd at the board 

Of the illustrious steward of the sties. 

Himself sat fitting sandals to his feet, 

Carved from a stain'd ox-hide. Four hinds he kept, 

Now busied here and there ; three in the penns 

Were occupied ; meantime, the fourth had sought 

The city, whither, for the suitors' use, 

With no good will, but by constraint, he drove 

A boar, that sacrificing to the gods, 

The imperious guests might on his flesh regale. 

Soon as those clamorous watch- dogs the approach 
Saw of Ulysses, baying loud, they ran 
Toward him ; he, as ever, well-advised, 
Squatted, and let his staff fall from his hand. 
Yet foul indignity he had endured 

1 A?os v(j>op36s. — The swine-herd's was therefore in 
those days, and in that country, an occupation honourable 
as well as useful- Barnes deems the epithet S7os signifi- 
cant of his noble birth. Vide Clarke in loco. 


Even there, at his own farm, but that the swain, 
Following his dogs in haste, sprang through the 
To his assistance, letting fall the hide. [porch 

With chiding voice and vollied stones he soon 
Drove them apart, and thus his lord bespake. 

Old man ! one moment more, and these my dogs 
Had, past doubt, worried thee, who should' st have 
So slain, a source of obloquy to me. [proved 

But other pangs the gods, and other woes 
To me have given, who here lamenting sit 
My godlike master, and his fatted swine 
Nourish for others' use, while he, perchance, 
A wanderer in some foreign city seeks 
Fit sustenance, and none obtains, if still 
Indeed he live, and view the light of day. 
But, old friend ! follow me into the house, 
That thou, at least, with plenteous food refresh'd, 
And cheer'd with wine sufficient, may'st disclose 
Both who thou art, and all that thou hast borne. 

So saying, the generous swine-herd introduced 
Ulysses, and thick bundles spread of twigs 
Beneath him, cover'd with the shaggy skin 
Of a wild goat, of which he made his couch 
Easy and large ; the hero, so received, 
Rejoiced, and thus his gratitude express'd. 

Jove grant thee and the gods above, my host, 
For such beneficence thy chief desire ! 

To whom, Eumaeus, thou didst thus reply. 
My guest I I should offend, treating with scorn 
The stranger, though a poorer should arrive 
Than even thyself ; for all the poor that are, 
And all the strangers are the care of Jove. 
Little, and with good will, is all that lies 
Within my scope ; no man can much expect 
From servants living in continual fear 
Under young masters ; for the gods, no doubt, 
Have intercepted my own lord's return, 
From whom great kindness I had, else, received, 
With such a recompense as servants gain 
From generous masters, house and competence, 
And lovely wife from many a wooer won, 
Whose industry should have requited well 
His goodness, with such blessing from the gods 
As now attends me in my present charge. 
Much had I, therefore, prosper'd, had my lord 
Grown old at home ; but he hath died. — I would 
That the whole house of Helen, one and all, 
Might perish too, for she hath many slain 
Who, like my master, went glory to win 
For Agamemnon in the fields of Troy. 

So saying, he girdled, quick, his tunic close, 
And issuing, sought the sties ; thence bringing two 
Of the imprison 'd herd, he slaughter'd both, 
Singed them, and slash'd and spitted them, and 

placed 
The whole well-roasted banquet, spits and all, 
Reeking before Ulysses ; last with flour 
He sprinkled them, and filling with rich wine 
His ivy-goblet, to his master sat 
Opposite, whom inviting thus he said. 

Now, eat, my guest ! such as a servant may 
I set before thee, neither large of growth 
Nor fat ; the fatted — those the suitors eat, 
Fearless of heaven, and pitiless of man. 
Yet deeds unjust as theirs the blessed gods • 
Love not ; they honour equity and right. 
Even a hostile band when they invade 
A foreign shore, which by consent of Jove 
They plunder, and with laden ships depart, 
Even they with terrors quake of wrath divine. 


4G4 


THE ODYSSEY. 


But these are wiser ; these must sure have learn'd 
From some true oracle my master's death, 
Who neither deign with decency to woo, 
Nor yet to seek their homes, but boldly waste 
His substance, shameless how, and sparing nought. 
Jove ne'er hath given us yet the night or day 
When with a single victim, or with two 
They would content them, and his empty jars 
Witness how fast the squanderers use his wine. 
Time was when he was rich indeed ; such wealth 
No hero own'd on yonder continent, 
Nor yet in Ithaca ; no twenty chiefs 
Could match with all their treasures his alone ; 
I tell thee their amount. Twelve herds of his 
The mainland l graze ; as many flocks of sheep ; 
As many droves of swine ; and hirelings there 
And servants of his own feed for his use, 
As many numerous flocks of goats ; his goats, 
(Not fewer than eleven numerous flocks) 
Here also graze the margin of his fields 
Under the eye of servants well-approved, 
And every servant, every day, brings home 
The goat, of all his flock largest and best. 
But as for me, I have these swine in charge, 
Of which, selected with exactest care 
From all the herd, I send the prime to them. 

He ceased ; meantime Ulysses ate and drank 
Voracious, meditating, mute, the death 
Of those proud suitors. His repast, at length, 
Concluded, and his appetite sufficed, 
Eumaeus gave him, charged with wine, the cup 
From which he drank himself ; he, glad, received 
The boon, and in wing'd accents thus began. 

My friend, and who was he, wealthy and brave 
As thou describest the chief, who purchased thee ? 
Thou say'st he perish'd for the glory-sake 
Of Agamemnon. Name him ; I, perchance, 
May have beheld the hero. None can say 
But Jove and the inhabitants of heaven 
That I ne'er saw him, and may not impart 
News of him; I have roam'd through many a clime. 

To whom the noble swineherd thus replied. 
Alas, old man ! no traveller's tale of him 
Will gain his consort's credence, or his son's ; 
For wanderers, wanting entertainment, forge 
Falsehoods for bread, and wilfully deceive. 
No wanderer lands in Ithaca, but he seeks 
With feign'd intelligence my mistress' ear ; 
She welcomes all, and while she questions each 
Minutely, from her lids lets fall the tear 
Affectionate, as well beseems a wife 
Whose mate hath perish'd in a distant land. 
Thou could'st thyself, no doubt, my hoary friend ! 
(Would any furnish thee with decent vest 
And mantle) fabricate a tale with ease ; 
Yet sure it is that dogs and fowls, long since, 
His skin have stript, or fishes of the deep 
Have eaten him, and on some distant shore 
Whelm'd in deep sands his mouldering bones are 

laid. 
So hath he perish'd ; whence, to all his friends, 
But chiefly to myself, sorrow of heart ; 
For such another lord, gentle as he, 
Wherever sought, I have no hope to find, 
Though I should wander even to the house 

i It may be proper to suggest that Ulysses was lord of 
part of the continent opposite to Ithaca — viz. of the pe- 
ninsula Nericus or Leuca, which afterward became an 
island, and is now called Santa Maura. F. 


Of my own father. Neither yearns my heart 

So feelingly (though that desiring too) 

To see once more my parents and my home, 

As to behold Ulysses yet again. 

Ah stranger ! absent as he is, his name 

Fills me with reverence, for he loved me much, 

Cared for me much, and though we meet no more, 

Holds still an elder brother's part in me. 

Him answer'd then, the hero toil-inured. 
My friend ! since his return, in thy account, 
Is an event impossible, and thy mind 
Always incredulous that hope rejects, 
I shall not slightly speak, but with an oath. — 
Ulysses comes again ; and I demand 
No more, than that the boon such news deserves, 
Be given me soon as he shall reach his home. 
Then give me vest and mantle fit for wear, 
Which, ere that hour, much as I need them both, 
I neither ask, nor will accept from thee. 
For him whom poverty can force aside 
From truth — I hate him as the gates of hell. 
Be Jove, of all in heaven, my witness first, 
Then, this thy hospitable board, and last, 
The household gods of the illustrious chief 
Himself, Ulysses, to whose gates I go, 
That all my words shall surely be fulfill'd. 
In this same year Ulysses shall arrive, 
Ere, this month closed, another month succeed, 
He shall return, and punish all who dare 
Insult his consort and his noble son. 

To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
Old friend! that boon thou ne'er wilt earn from me; 
Ulysses comes no more. But thou thy wine 
Drink quietly, and let us find, at length, 
Some other theme ; recal not this again 
To my remembrance, for my soul is grieved 
Oft as reminded of my honour'd lord. 
Let the oath rest, and let Ulysses come 
Even as myself, and as Penelope, 
And as his ancient father, and his son 
Godlike Telemachus, all wish he may. 
Ay — there I feel again — nor cease to mourn 
His son Telemachus ; who, when the gods 
Had given him growth like a young plant, and I 
Well hoped that nought inferior he should prove 
In person or in mind to his own sire, 
Hath lost, through influence human or divine, 
I know not how, his sober intellect, 
And after tidings of his sire is gone 
To far-famed Pylus ; his return, meantime, 
In ambush hidden the proud suitors wait, 
That the whole house may perish of renown'd 
Arcesias, named in Ithaca no more. 
But whether he hath fallen or 'scaped, let him 
Rest also, whom Saturnian Jove protect ! 
But come, my ancient guest ! now let me learn 
Thy own afflictions ; answer me in truth. 
Who, and whence art thou ? in what city born I 
Where dwell thy parents \ in what kind of ship 
Camest thou ? the mariners, why brought they thee 
To Ithaca ? and of what land are they ? 
For that on foot thou found'st us not, is sure. 

Him answer'd then Ulysses ever-wise. 
I will with truth resolve thee ; and if here 
Within thy cottage sitting, we had wine 
And food for many a day, and business none 
But to regale at ease while others toil'd, 
I could exhaust the year complete, my woes 
Rehearsing, nor at last, rehearse entire 
My sorrows by the will of heaven sustain'd. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


465 


I boast me sprung from ancestry renown'd 
In spacious Crete ; son of a wealthy sire, 
Who other sons train'd numerous in his house, 
Born of his wedded wife : hut he begat 
Me on his purchased concubine, whom yet 
Dear as his other sons in wedlock born 
Castor Hylacides esteem'd and loved, 
For him I boast my father. Him in Crete, 
While yet he lived, all reverenced as a god, 
So rich, so prosperous, and so blest was he 
With sons of highest praise. But death, the doom 
Of all, him bore to Pluto's drear abode, 
And his illustrious sons among themselves 
Portion'd his goods by lot ; to me, indeed, 
They gave a dwelling, and but little more ; 
Yet, for my virtuous qualities, I won 
A wealthy bride, for I was neither vain 
Nor base, forlorn as thou perceivest me now. 
But thou canst guess, I judge, viewing the straw 
What once was in the ear. Ah ! I have borne 
Much tribulation ; heap'd and heavy woes. 
Courage and phalanx-breaking might had I 
From Mars and Pallas ; at what time I drew, 
(Planning some dread exploit) an ambush forth 
Of our most valiant chiefs, no boding fears 
Of death seized me, but foremost far of all 
I sprang to fight, and pierced the flying foe. 
Such was I once in arms. But household toils 
Sustain'd for children's sake, and carking cares 
To enrich a family, were not for me. 
My pleasures were the gallant bark, the din 
Of battle, the smooth spear and glittering shaft, 
Objects of dread to others, but which me 
The gods disposed to love and to enjoy. 
Thus different minds are differently amused ; 
For ere Achaia's fleet had sail'd to Troy, 
Nine times was I commander of an host 
Embark'd against a foreign foe, and found 
In all those enterprises great success. 
From the whole booty, first, what pleased me 

most 
Choosing, and sharing also much by lot 
I rapidly grew rich, and had thenceforth 
Among the Cretans reverence and respect. 
But when loud-thundering Jove that voyage dire 
Ordain'd, which loosed the knees of many a Greek, 
Then to Idomeneus and me they gave 
The charge of all their fleet, which how to avoid 
We found not, so importunate the cry 
Of the whole host impell'd us to the task. 
There fought we nine long years, and in the tenth 
(Priam's proud city pillaged) steer'd again 
Our galleys homeward, which the gods dispersed. 
Then was it that deep-planning Jove devised 
For me much evil. One short month, no more, 
I gave to joys domestic, in my wife 
Happy, and in my babes, and in my wealth, 
When the desire seized me with several ships 
Well-rigg'd, and furnish'd all with gallant crews, 
To sail for iEgypt ; nine I fitted forth, 
To which stout mariners assembled fast. 
Six days the chosen partners of my voyage 
Feasted, to whom I numerous victims gave 
For sacrifice, and for their own regale. 
Embarking on the seventh from spacious Crete, 
Before a clear breeze prosperous from the north 
We glided easily along, as down 
A river's stream ; nor one of all my ships 
Damage incurr'd, but healthy and at ease 
We sat, while gales well-managed urged us on. 


The fifth day thence, smooth-flowing Nile we 

reach'd, 
And safe I moor'd in the ^Egyptian stream. 
Then, charging all my mariners to keep 
Strict watch for preservation of the ships, 
I order'd spies into the hill-tops ; but they 
Under the impulse of a spirit rash 
And hot for quarrel, the well-cultured fields 
Pillaged of the ^Egyptians, captive led 
Their wives and little ones, and slew the men. 
Soon was the city alarm'd, and at the cry 
Down came the citizens, by dawn of day, 
With horse and foot and with the gleam of arms 
Filling the plain. Then Jove with panic dread 
Struck all my people ; none found courage more 
To stand, for mischief swarm'd on every side. 
There, numerous by the glittering spear we fell 
Slaughter' d, while others they conducted thence 
Alive to servitude. But Jove himself 
My bosom with this thought inspired, (I would 
That, dying, I had first fulfill'd my fate 
In iEgypt, for new woes were yet to come !) 
Loosing my brazen casque, and slipping off 
My buckler, there I left them on the field, 
Then cast my spear away, and seeking, next, 
The chariot of the sovereign, clasp 'd his knees, 
And kiss'd them. He, by my submission moved, 
Deliver'd me, and to his chariot-seat 
Raising, convey'd me weeping to his home. 
With many an ashen spear his warriors sought 
To slay me, (for they now grew fiery-wroth) 
But he through fear of hospitable Jove, 
Chief punisher of wrong, saved me alive. 
Seven years I there abode, and much amass'd 
Among the ^Egyptians, gifted by them all ; 
But, in the eighth revolving year, arrived 
A shrewd Phoenician, in all fraud adept, 
Hungry, and who had numerous harm'd before, 
By whom I also was cajoled, and lured 
To attend him to Phoenicia, where his house 
And his possessions lay ; there I abode 
A year complete his inmate ; but (the days 
And months accomplish'd of the rolling year, 
And the new seasons entering on their course) 
To Libya then, on board his bark, by wiles 
He won me with him, partner of the freight 
Profess'd, but destined secretly to sale, 
That he might profit largely by my price. 
Not unsuspicious, yet constrain'd to go, 
With this man I embark'd. A cloudless gale 
Propitious blowing from the north, our ship 
Ran right before it through the middle sea, 
In the offing over Crete ; but adverse Jove 
Destruction plann'd for them and death the while. 
For, Crete now left afar, and other land 
Appearing none, but sky alone and sea, 
Right o'er the hollow bark Saturnian Jove 
A cloud ccerulean hung, darkening the deep. 
Then, thundering oft, he hurl'd into the bark 
His bolts ; she smitten by the fires of Jove, 
Quaked all her length ; with sulphur fill'd she 
And o'er her sides precipitated, plunged [reek'd, 
Like gulls the crew, forbidden by that stroke 
Of wrath divine to hope their country more. 
But Jove himself, when I had cast away 
All hope of life, conducted to my arms 
The strong tall mast, that I might yet escape. 
Around that beam I clung, driving before 
The stormy blast. Nine days complete I drove. 
And on the tenth dark night, the rolling flood 


466 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Immense convey'd me to Thesprotia's shore. 

There me the hero Phidon, generous king 

Of the Thesprotians, freely entertain'd ; 

For his own son discovering me with toil 

Exhausted and with cold, raised me, and thence 

Led me humanely to his father's house, 

Who cherish'd me, and gave me fresh attire. 

There heard I of Ulysses, whom himself 

Had entertain'd, he said, on his return 

To his own land ; he show'd me also gold, 

Brass, and bright steel elaborate, whatsoe'er 

Ulysses had amass'd, a store to feed 

A less illustrious family than his 

To the tenth generation, so immense 

His treasures in the royal palace lay. 

Himself, he said, was to Dodona gone, 

There, from the towering oaks of Jove to ask 

Counsel divine, if openly to land 

(After long absence) in his opulent realm 

Of Ithaca, be best, or in disguise. 

To me the monarch swore, in his own hall 

Pouring libation, that the ship was launch'd, 

And the crew ready for his conduct home. 

But me he first dismiss'd, for, as it chanced, 

A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, bound 

To green Dulichium's isle. He bade the crew 

Bear me to king Acastus with all speed ; 

But them far other thoughts pleased more, and 

thoughts 
Of harm to me, that I might yet be plunged 
In deeper gulfs of woe than I had known. 
For when the billow-cleaving bark had left 
The land remote, framing, combined, a plot 
Against my liberty, they stripp'd my vest 
And mantle, and this tatter'd raiment foul 
Gave me instead, which thy own eyes behold. 
At even-tide reaching the cultured coast 
Of Ithaca, they left me bound on board 
With tackle of the bark, and quitting ship 
Themselves, made hasty supper on the shore. 
But me, meantime, the gods easily loosed 
By their own power, when with this wrapper vile 
Around my brows, sliding into the sea 
At the ship's stern, I laid me on the flood. 
With both hands oaring thence my course, I swam 
Till past all ken of theirs ; then landing where 
Thick covert of luxuriant trees I mark'd, 
Close couchant down I lay ; they muttering loud, 
Paced to and fro, but deeming farther search 
Unprofitable, soon embark'd again. 
Thus baffling all their search with ease, the gods 
Conceal'd and led me thence to the abode 
Of a wise man, dooming me still to five. 

To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
Alas ! my most compassionable guest ! 
Thou hast much moved me by this tale minute 
Of thy sad wanderings and thy numerous woes. 
But speaking of Ulysses, thou hast pass'd 
All credence ; I at least can give thee none. 
Why, noble as thou art, should'st thou invent 
Palpable falsehoods ? as for the return 
Of my regretted lord, myself I know 
That had he not been hated by the gods 
Unanimous, he had in battle died 
At Troy, or (that long doubtful war, at last, 
Concluded) in his people's arms at home. 
Then universal Greece had raised Ins tomb, 
And he had even for his son achieved 
Immortal glory ; but alas ! by beaks 
Of harpies torn, unseemly sight, he lies. 


Here is my home the while ; I never seek 

The city, unless summon'd by discreet 

Penelope to listen to the news 

Brought by some stranger, whencesoe'er arrived. 

Then, all, alike inquisitive, attend, 

Both who regret the absence of our king, 

And who rejoice gratuitous to gorge 

His property ; but as for me, no joy 

Find I in listening after such reports, 

Since an iEtolian cozen'd me, who found 

(After long wandering over various lands 

A fugitive for blood) my lone retreat. 

Him warm I welcom'd, and with open aims 

Received, who bold affirm'd that he had seen 

My master with Idomeneus in Crete 

His ships refitting shatter'd by a storm, 

And that in summer with his godlike band 

He would return, bringing great riches home, 

Or else in autumn. And thou ancient guest 

Forlorn ! since thee the gods have hither led, 

Seek not to gratify me with untruths 

And to deceive me, since for no such cause 

I shall respect or love thee, but alone 

By pity influenced, and the fear of Jove. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Thou hast, in truth, a most incredulous mind, 
Whom even with an oath I have not moved, 
Or aught persuaded. Come then — let us make 
In terms express a covenant, and the gods 
Who hold Olympus, witness to us both ! 
If thy own lord at this thy house arrive, 
Thou shalt dismiss me decently attired 
In vest and mantle, that I may repair 
Hence to Dulichium, whither I would go. 
But if thy lord come not, then, gathering all 
Thy servants, headlong hurl me from a rock, 
That other mendicants may fear to lie. 

To whom the generous swine-herd in return. 
Yes, stranger ! doubtless I should high renown 
Obtain for virtue among men, both now 
And in all future times, if, having first 
Invited thee, and at my board regaled, 
I next should slay thee ; then my prayers would 
Past question, swiftly to Saturnian Jove, [mount, 
But the hour calls to supper, and ere long, 
The partners of my toils will come prepared 
To spread the board with no unsavoury cheer. 

Thus they conferr'd. And now the swains 
arrived, 
Driving their charge, which fast they soon enclosed 
Within their customary penns, and loud 
The hubbub was of swine prison'd within. 
Then call'd the master to his rustic train. 
Bring ye the best, that we may set him forth 
Before my friend from foreign climes arrived, 
With whom ourselves will also feast, who find 
The bright-tusk' d multitude a painful charge, 
While others, at no cost of theirs, consume 
Day after day, the profit of our toils. 

So saying, his wood for fuel he prepared, 
And, dragging thither a well fatted brawn 
Of the fifth year, his servants held him fast 
At the hearth-side. Nor fail'd the master swain 
To adore the gods, (for wise and good was he) 
But consecration of the victim, first, 
Himself performing, cast into the fire 
The forehead bristles of the tusky boar, 
Then pray'd to all above, that safe at length, 
Ulysses might regain his native home. 
Then lifting an huge shive that lay beside 


THE ODYSSEY. 


467 


The fire, he smote the boar, and dead he fell. 
Next, piercing him, and scorching close his hair, 
They carved him quickly, and Eumeeus spread 
Thin slices crude taken from every limb 
O'er all his fat, then other slices cast, 
Sprinkling them first with meal, into the fire. 
The rest they slash'd and scored, and roasted well. 
And placed it, heap'd together, on the board. 
Then rose the good Eumseus to his task 
Of distribution, for he understood 
The hospitable entertainer's part. 
Seven-fold partition of the banquet made, 
He gave, with previous prayer, to Maia's 1 son 
And to the nymphs one portion of the whole, 
Then served his present guests, honouring first 
Ulysses with the boar's perpetual chine ; 
By that distinction just his master's heart 
He gratified, and thus the hero spake. 

Eumaeus ! be thou as beloved of Jove 
As thou art dear to me, whom, though attired 
So coarsely, thou hast served with such respect ! 

To whom, Eumaeus, thou didst thus reply. 
Eat noble stranger ! and refreshment take 
Such as thou may'st ; God 2 gives, and God denies 
At his own will, for He is Lord of all. 
He said, and to the everlasting gods 
The firstlings sacrificed of all, then made 
Libation, and the cup placed in the hands 
Of city-spoiler Laertiades 
Sitting beside his own allotted share. 
Meantime, Mesaulius bread dispensed to all, 
Whom in the absence of his lord, himself 
Eumaeus had from Taphian traders bought 
With his own proper goods, at no expense 
Either to old Laertes or the queen. 
And now, all stretch'd their hands toward the 

feast 
Reeking before them, and when hunger none 
Felt more or thirst, Mesaulius clear'd the board. 
Then, fed to full satiety, in haste 
Each sought his couch. Black came a moonless 

night, 
And Jove all night descended fast in showers, 
With howlings of the ever watery west. 
Ulysses, at that sound, for trial's sake 
Of his good host, if putting off his cloak 
He would accommodate him, or require 
That service for him at some other hand, 
Addressing thus the family, began. 

Hear now, Eumseus, and ye other swains 
His fellow-labourers ! I shall somewhat boast, 
By wine befool'd, which forces even the wise 
To carol loud, to titter and to dance, 
And words to utter, oft, better suppress'd. 
But since I have begun, I shall proceed, 
Prating my fill. Ah might those days return 
With all the youth and strength that I enjoy 'd, 
When in close ambush, once, at Troy we lay ! 
Ulysses, Menelaus, and myself 
Their chosen coadjutor, led the band. 


1 Mercury. 

2 ©eds — without a relative, and consequently signifying 
God in the abstract, is not unfrequently found in Homer, 
though fearing to give offence to serious minds unac- 
quainted with the original, I have not always given it that 
force in the translation. But here the sentiment is such 
as fixes the sense intended by the author with a precision 
that leaves me no option. It is observable too, that— 
Zvvarai yhp a-naura—is an ascription of power such as 
the poet never makes to his Jupiter. 


Approaching to the city's lofty wall 
Through the thick bushes and the reeds that gird 
The bulwarks, down we lay flat in the marsh, 
Under our arms. Then, Boreas blowing loud, 
A rueful night came on, frosty and charged 
With snow that blanch'd us thick as morning 

rime,' 
And every shield with ice was crystal'd o'er. 
The rest with cloaks and vests well cover'd, slept 
Beneath their bucklers ; I alone my cloak, 
Improvident, had left behind, no thought 
Conceiving of a season so severe ; 
Shield and belt, therefore, and nought else had I. 
The night, at length, nigh spent, and all the stars 
Declining in their course, with elbow thrust 
Against Ulysses' side I roused the chief, 
And thus address'd him ever prompt to hear. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
I freeze to death. Help me, or I am lost. 
No cloak have I ; some evil daemon, sure, 
Beguiled me of all prudence, that I came 
Thus sparely clad ; I shall, I must expire. 

So I ; he, ready as he was in arms 
And counsel both, the remedy at once 
Devised, and thus, low-whispering, answer'd me. 

Hush ! lest perchance some other hear — he 
said, 
And leaning on his elbow, spake aloud. 

My friends ! all hear — a monitory dream 
Hath reach'd me, for we lie far from the ships. 
Haste, therefore, one of you, with my request 
To Agamemnon, Atreus' son, our chief, 
That he would reinforce us from the camp. 

He spake, and at the word, Andrsemon's son 
Thoas arose, who, casting off his cloak, 
Ban thence toward the ships, and folded warm 
Within it, there lay I till dawn appear'd. 
Oh for the vigour of such youth again ! 
Then, some good peasant here, either for love 
Or for respect, would cloak a man like me, 
Whom, now, thus sordid in attire ye scorn. 

To whom, Eumaeus, thou didst thus reply. 
My ancient guest ! I cannot but approve 
Thy narrative, nor hast thou utter' d aught 
Unseemly, or that needs excuse. No want 
Of raiment, therefore, or of aught beside 
Needful to solace penury like thine, 
Shall harm thee here ; yet, at the peep of dawn 
Gird thy own tatters to thy loins again ; 
For we have no great store of cloaks to boast, 
Or change of vests, but, singly, one for each. 
But when Ulysses' son shall once arrive, 
He will himself with vest and mantle both 
Clothe thee, and send thee whither most thou 
would'st. 

So saying, he rose, and nearer made his couch 
To the hearth-side, spreading it thick with skins 
Of sheep and goats ; then lay the hero down, 
O'er whom a shaggy mantle large he threw, 
Which oft-times served him with a change, when 

rough 
The winter's blast and terrible arose. 
So was Ulysses bedded, and the youths 
Slept all beside him ; but the master-swain 
Chose not his place of rest so far remote 
From his rude charge, but to the outer court 
With his nocturnal furniture, repair'd, 
Gladdening Ulysses' heart that one so true 
In his own absence kept his rural stores. 
Athwart his sturdy shoulders, first, he slung 


468 


THE ODYSSEY. 


His faulchion keen, then wrapp'd him in a cloak 
Thick-woven, winter-proof ; he lifted, next, 
The skin of a well-thriven goat, in bulk 
Surpassing others, and his javelin took 
Sharp- pointed, with which dogs he drove and men. 
Thus arm'd, he sought his wonted couch beneath 
A hollow rock where the herd slept, secure 
From the sharp current of the northern blast. 


BOOK XY. 

ARGUMENT. 
Telemachus, admonished by Minerva, takes leave of Me- 
nelaus, but ere he sails, is accosted by Theoclymenus, a 
prophet of Argos, whom at his earnest request he takes 
on board. In the meantime Eumasiis relates to Ulysses 
the means by which he came to Ithaca. Telemachus 
arriving there, gives orders for the return of his bark to 
the city, and repairs himself to Eumaeus. 

Meantime to Lacedaemon's spacious vale 
Minerva went, that she might summon thence 
Ulysses' glorious son to his own home. 
Arrived, she found Telemachus reposed 
And Nestor's son beneath the vestibule 
Of Menelaus, mighty chief ; she saw 
Pisistratus in bands of gentle sleep 
Fast-bound, but not Telemachus ; his mind 
No rest enjoy'd, by filial cares disturb'd 
Amid the silent night, when drawing near 
To his couch side, the goddess thus began. 
Thou canst no longer prudently remain 
A wanderer here, Telemachus ! thy home 
Abandon'd, and those haughty suitors left 
Within thy walls ; fear lest, partition made 
Of thy possessions, they devour the whole, 
And in the end thy voyage bootless prove. 
Delay not ; from brave Menelaus ask 
Dismission hence, that thou may'st find at home 
Thy spotless mother, whom her brethren urge 
And her own father even now to wed 
Eurymachus, in gifts and in amount 
Of proffer'd dower superior to them all. 
Some treasure, else, shall haply from thy house 
Be taken, such as thou wilt grudge to spare. 
For well thou know'st how woman is disposed ; 
Her whole anxiety is to increase 
His substance whom she weds ; no care hath she 
Of her first children, or remembers more 
The buried husband of her virgin choice. 
Returning, then, to her of all thy train 
Whom thou shalt most approve, the charge com- 
Of thy concerns domestic, till the gods [mit 

Themselves shall guide thee to a noble wife. 
Hear also this, and mark it. In the frith 
Samos the rude, and Ithaca between, 
The chief of all her suitors thy return 
In vigilant ambush wait, with strong desire 
To slay thee, ere thou reach thy native shore, 
But shall not, as I judge, till the earth hide 
Many a lewd reveller at thy expense. 
Yet steer thy galley from those isles afar, 
And voyage make by night ; some guardian god 
Shall save thee, and shall send thee prosperous 

gales. 
Then, soon as thou attain'st the nearest shore 
Of Ithaca, dispatching to the town 


Thy bark with all thy people, seek at once 
The swine-herd ; for Eumseus is thy friend. 
There sleep, and send him forth into the town 
With tidings to Penelope, that safe 
Thou art restored from Pylus home again. 

She said, and sought the Olympian heights 
sublime. 
Then, with his heel shaking him, he awoke 
The son of Nestor, whom he thus address'd. 
Rise, Nestor's son, Pisistratus ! lead forth 
The steeds, and yoke them. We must now depart. 

To whom the son of Nestor thus replied. 
Telemachus ! what haste soe'er we feel, 
We can by no means prudently attempt 
To drive by night, and soon it will be dawn. 
Stay, therefore, till the hero, Atreus' son, 
Spear-practised Menelaus shall his gifts 
Place in the chariot, and with kind farewell 
Dismiss thee ; for the guest in memory holds 
Through life, the host who treats him as a friend. 

Scarce had he spoken, when the golden dawn 
Appearing, Menelaus, from the side 
Of beauteous Helen risen, their bed approach'd, 
Whose coming when Telemachus perceived, 
Clothing himself hastily in his vest 
Magnificent, and o'er his shoulders broad 
Casting his graceful mantle, at the door 
He met the hero, whom he thus address'd. 

Atrides Menelaus, chief renown'd ! 
Dismiss me hence to Ithaca again, 
My native isle, for I desire to go. 

Him answer'd Menelaus famed in arms. 
Telemachus ! I will not long delay 
Thy wish'd return. I disapprove alike 
The host whose assiduity extreme 
Distresses, and whose negligence offends ; 
The middle course is best ; alike we err, 
Him thrusting forth whose wish is to remain, 
And hindering the impatient to depart. 
This only is true kindness — To regale 
The present guest, and speed him when he would. 
Yet stay, till thou shalt see my splendid gifts 
Placed in thy chariot, and till I command 
My women from our present stores to spread 
The table with a plentiful repast. 
For both the honour of the guest demands, 
And his convenience also, that he eat 
Sufficient, entering on a length of road. 
But if through Hellas thou wilt take thy way 
And traverse Argos, I will then myself 
Attend thee ; thou shalt journey with my steeds 
Beneath thy yoke, and I will be thy guide 
To many a city, whence we shall not go 
Ungratified, but shall in each receive 
Some gift at least, tripod, or charger bright, 
Or golden chalice, or a pair of mules. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Atrides Menelaus, chief renown'd ! 
I would at once depart, (for guardian none 
Of my possessions have I left behind) 
Lest, while I seek my father, I be lost 
Myself, or lose what I should grudge to spare. 

Which when the valiant Menelaus heard, 
He bade his spouse and maidens spread the board 
At once with remnants of the last regale. 
Then Eteoneus came, Boetheus' son 
Newly arisen, for nigh at hand he dwelt, 
Whom Menelaus bade kindle the fire 
By which to dress their food, and he obey'd. 
He, next, himself his fragrant chamber sought, 


THE ODYSSEY. 


4G9 


Not sole, but by his spouse and by his son 
Attended, Megapenthes. There arrived 
Where all his treasures lay, Atrides, first, 
Took forth, himself, a goblet, then consign'd 
To his son's hand an argent beaker bright. 
Meantime, beside her coffers Helen stood 
Where lay her variegated robes, fair works 
Of her own hand. Producing one, in size 
And in magnificence the chief, a star 
For splendour, and the lowest placed of all, 
Loveliest of her sex, she bore it thence. 
Then, all proceeding through the house, they 
Telemachus again, whom reaching, thus [sought 
The hero of the golden locks began. 

May Jove the Thunderer, dread Juno's mate, 
Grant thee Telemachus ! such voyage home 
As thy own heart desires ! accept from all 
My stores selected as the richest far 
And noblest gift for finish'd beauty — This. 
I give thee wrought elaborate a cup, 
Itself of silver, bound with lip of gold. 
It is the work of Vulcan, which to me 
The hero PliEedimus imparted, king 
Of the Sidonians, when, on my return, 
Beneath his roof I lodged. I make it thine. 

So saying, the hero, Atreus' son, the cup 
Placed in his hands, and Megapenthes set 
Before him, next, the argent beaker bright ; 
But lovely Helen drawing nigh, the robe 
Presented to him, whom she thus address'd. 

I also give thee, oh my son, a gift, 
Which seeing, thou shalt think on her whose hands 
Wrought it ; a present on thy nuptial day 
For thy fair spouse ; meantime, repose it safe 
In thy own mother's keeping. Now, farewell ! 
Prosperous and happy be thy voyage, home ! 

She ceased, and gave it to him, who the gift 
Accepted glad, and in the chariot-chest 
Pisistratus the hero all disposed, 
Admiring them the while. They, following, next, 
The hero Menelaus to his hall 
Each on his couch or on his throne reposed. 
A maiden, then, with golden ewer charged 
And silver bowl, pour'd water on their hands, 
And spread the polish'd table, which with food 
Various, selected from her present stores, 
The mistress of the household charge supplied. 
Boetheus' son stood carver, and to each 
His portion gave, while Megapenthes, son 
Of glorious Menelaus, served the cup. 
Then, all with outstretch'd hands the feast assail'd, 
And when nor hunger more nor thirst of wine 
They felt, Telemachus and Nestor's son 
Yoked the swift steeds, and, taking each his seat 
In the resplendent chariot, drove at once 
Right through the sounding portico abroad. 
But Menelaus, hero amber-hair'd, 
A golden cup bearing with richest wine 
Replete in his right hand, follow'd them forth, 
That not without libation first perform'd 
They might depart ; he stood before the steeds, 
And drinking first, thus, courteous, them bespake. 

Health to you both, young friends ! and from my 
Like greeting bear to Nestor, royal chief, [lips 
For he was ever as a father kind 
To me, while the Achaians warr'd at Troy. 

To whom Telemachus discreet replied. 
And doubtless, so we will ; at our return 
We will report to him, illustrious prince ! 
Thy every word. And oh, I would to heaven 


That reaching Ithaca, I might at home 
Ulysses hail as sure, as I shall hence 
Depart^ with all benevolence by thee 
Treated, and rich in many a noble gift. 

While thus he spake, on his right hand appear'd 
An eagle ; in his talons pounced he bore 
A white-plumed goose domestic, newly ta'en 
From the house court. Ran females all and males 
Clamorous after him ; but he the steeds 
Approaching on the right, sprang into air. 
That sight rejoicing and with hearts revived 
They view'd, and thus Pisistratus his speech 
Amid them all to Menelaus turn'd. 

Now, Menelaus, think, illustrious chief ! 
If us, this omen, or thyself regard. 

While warlike Menelaus musing stood 
What answer fit to frame, Helen meantime, 
His spouse long-stoled preventing him, began. 

Hear me ; for I will answer as the gods 
Teach me, and as I think shall come to pass. 
As he, descending from his place of birth 
The mountains, caught our pamper'd goose away, 
So shall Ulysses, after many woes 
And wanderings to his home restored, avenge 
His wrongs, or even now is at his home 
For all those suitors sowing seeds of woe. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Oh grant it Jove, Juno's high-thundering mate ! 
So will I, there arrived, with vow and prayer 
Thee worship, as thou wert thyself divine. 

He said, and lash'd the coursers ; fiery they 
And fleet, sprang through the city to the plain. 
All day the yoke on either side they shook, 
Journeying swift ; and now the setting sun 
To gloomy evening had resign'd the roads, 
When they to Pherae came, and in the house 
Of good Diodes slept, their liberal host, 
Whose sire Orsilochus from Alpheus sprang. 
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, 
Look'd rosy from the east, yoking their steeds, 
They in the sumptuous chariot sat again. 
Forth through the vestibule they drove, and through 
The sounding portico, when Nestor's son 
Plied brisk the scourge, and willing flew the steeds. 
Thus whirl'd along, soon they approach'd the gates 
Of Pylus, when Telemachus, his speech 
Turning to his companion, thus began. 

How, son of Nestor ! shall I win from thee 
Not promise only but performance kind 
Of my request 1 we are not bound alone 
To friendship by the friendship of our sires, 
But by equality of years, and this 
Our journey shall unite us still the more. 
Bear me not, I entreat thee, noble friend ! 
Beyond the ship, but drop me at her side, 
Lest ancient Nestor, though against my will, 
Detain me in his palace through desire 
To feast me, for I dread the least delay. 

He spake ; then mused Pisistratus how best 
He might effect the wishes of his friend, 
And thus at length resolved ; turning his steeds 
With sudden deviation to the shore 
He sought the bark, and placing in the stern 
Both gold and raiment, the illustrious gifts 
Of Menelaus, thus, in accents wing'd 
With ardour, urged Telemachus away. 

Dispatch, embark, summon thy crew on board, 
Ere my arrival notice give of thine 
To the old king ; for vehement I know 
His temper, neither will he let thee hence, 


470 


THE ODYSSEY. 


But, hasting hither, will himself enforce 
Thy longer stay, that thou may'st not depart 
Ungifted ; nought will fire his anger more. 

So saying, he to the Pylian city urged 
His steeds bright-maned, and at the palace-gate 
Arrived of Nestor speedily ; meantime 
Telemachus exhorted thus his crew. 

My gallant friends ! set all your tackle, climb 
The sable bark, for I would now return. 

He spake ; they heard him gladly, and at once 
All fill'd the benches. While his voyage he 
Thus expedited, and beside the stern 
To Pallas sacrifice perform'd and pray'd, 
A stranger, born remote, who had escaped 
From Argos fugitive for blood, a seer, 
And of Melampus' progeny approach'd. 
Melampus, in old time, in Pylus dwelt, 
Mother of flocks, alike for wealth renown'd 
And the magnificence of his abode. 
He, flying from the far-famed Pylian king, 
The mighty Neleus, migrated at length 
Into another land, whose wealth, the while, 
Neleus by force possess'd a year complete. 
Meantime, Melampus in the house endured 
1 Of Phylacus imprisonment and woe, 
And burn'd with wrath for Neleus' daughter sake 
By fell Erinnys kindled in his heart. 
But, 'scaping death, he drove the lowing beeves 
From Phylace to Pylus, well avenged 
His numerous injuries at Neleus' hands 
Sustam'd, and gave into his brother's arms 
King Neleus' daughter fair, the promised bride. 
To Argos steed-renown'd he journey'd next, 
There destined to inhabit and to rule 
Multitudes of Achaians. In that land 
He married, built a palace, and became 
Father of two brave sons, Antiphates 
And Mantius ; to Antiphates was born 
The brave O'fcleus ; from Oi'cleus sprang 
Amphiaraiis, demagogue renown'd, 
Whom with all tenderness, and as a friend 
Alike the Thunderer and Apollo prized ; 
Yet reach' d he not the bounds of hoary age, 
But by his mercenary 2 consort's arts 
Persuaded, met his destiny at Thebes. 
He 'gat Alcmeeon and Amphilochus. 
Mantius Avas also father of two sons, 
Clytus and Polyphides. Clytus pass'd 
From earth to heaven, and dwells among the gods, 
Stolen by Aurora for his beauty's sake. 
But (brave Amphiaraiis once deceased) 
Phoebus exalted Polyphides far 
Above all others in the prophet's part. 
He, anger'd by his father, roam'd away 
To Hyperesia, where he dwelt renown'd 
Throughout all lands, the oracle of all. 

His son, named Theoclymenus, was he 
Who now approach'd ; he found Telemachus 

1 Iphiclus the son of Phylacus had seized and detained 
cattle belonging to Neleus; Neleus ordered his nephew 
Melampus to recover them, and as security for his obe- 
dience seized on a considerable part of his possessions. 
Melampus attempted the service, failed, and was cast into 
prison ; but at length escaping, accomplished his errand, 
vanquished Neleus in battle, and carried oft' his daughter 
Pero, whom Neleus had promised to the brother of Me- 
lampus, but had afterward refused her. 

2 His wife EriphyJe, bribed by Polynices, persuaded 
him, though aware that death awaited him at that city, to 
go to Thebes, where he fell accordingly. 


Libation offering in his bark, and prayer, 
And in wing'd accents ardent him address'd. 

Ah, friend ! since sacrificing in this place 
I find thee, by these sacred rites and those 
Whom thou adorest, and by thy own dear life, 
And by the lives of these thy mariners 
I beg true answer ; hide not what I ask. 
Who art thou ? whence ? where born ? and sprung 
from whom ? 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
I will inform thee, stranger ! and will solve 
Thy questions with much truth. I am by birth 
Ithacan, and Ulysses was my sire. 
But he hath perish'd by a woeful death, 
And I, believing it, with these have plow'd 
The ocean hither, interested to learn 
A father's fate long absent from his home. 

Then answer'd godlike Theoclymenus. 
I also am a wanderer, having slain 
A man of my own tribe ; brethren and friends 
Numerous had he in Argos steed-renown'd, 
And powerful are the Achaians dwelling there. 
From them, through terror of impending death, 
I fly, a banish'd man henceforth for ever. 
Ah, save a suppliant fugitive ! lest death 
O'ertake me, for I doubt not their pursuit. 

Whom thus Telemachus answer'd discreet. 
I shall not, be assured, since thou desirest 
To join me, chase thee from my bark away. 
Follow me, therefore, and with us partake, 
In Ithaca, what best the land affords. 

So saying, he at the stranger's hand received 
His spear, which on the deck he laid, then climb 'd 
Himself the bark, and seated in the stern, 
At his own side placed Theoclymenus. 
They cast the hawsers loose ; then with loud voice 
Telemachus exhorted all to hand 
The tackle, whom his sailors prompt obey'd. 
The tall mast heaving, in its socket deep 
They lodged it, and its cordage braced secure, 
Then, straining at the halyards, hoised the sail. 
Fair wind, and blowing fresh through sether pure 
Minerva sent them, that the bark might run 
Her nimblest course through all the briny way. 
Now sank the sun, and dusky evening dimm'd 
The waves, when, driven by propitious Jove, 
His bark stood right for Pherse ; thence she stretch 'd 
To sacred Elis, where the Epeans rule, 
And through the sharp Echinades he next 
Steer'd her, uncertain whether fate ordain'd 
His life or death, surprisal or escape. 

Meantime Ulysses and the swineherd ate 
Their cottage-mess, and the assistant swains 
Theirs also ; and when hunger now and thirst 
Had ceased in all, Ulysses thus began, 
Proving the swineherd, whether friendly still, 
And anxious for his good, he would entreat 
His stay, or thence hasten him to the town. 

Eumseus, and all ye his servants, hear ! 
It is my purpose, lest I wear thee out, 
Thee and thy friends, to seek at early dawn 
The city, there to beg : — but give me first 
Needful instructions, and a trusty guide 
Who may conduct me thither ; there my task 
Must be to roam the streets ; some hand humane 
Perchance shall give me a small pittance there, 
A little bread, and a few drops to drink. 
Ulysses' palace I shall also seek, 
And to discreet Penelope report 
My tidings ; neither shall I fail to mix 




THE ODYSSEY. 


471 


With those imperious suitors, who, themselves 

Full-fed, may spare perhaps some boon to me. 

Me shall they find, in whatsoe'er they wish 

Their ready servitor, for (understand 

And mark me well) the herald of the skies, 

Hermes, from whom all actions of mankind 

Their grace receive and polish, is my friend ; 

So that in menial offices I fear 

No rival, whether I he call'd to heap 

The hearth with fuel, or dry wood to cleave, 

To roast, to carve, or to distribute wine, 

As oft the poor are wont who serve the great. 

To whom, Eumseus ! at those words displeased, 
Thou didst reply. Gods ! how could such a thought 
Possess thee, stranger ? surely thy resolve 
Is altogether fixt to perish there, 
If thou indeed hast purposed with that throng 
To mix, whose riot and outrageous acts 
Of violence echo through the vault of heaven. 
None, such as thou, serve them ; their servitors 
Are youths well-cloak'd, well- vested; sleek their 
And smug their countenances ; such alone [heads, 
Are their attendants, and the polish'd boards 
Groan overcharged with bread, with flesh,withwine. 
Rest here content ; for neither me nor these 
Thou weariest aught, and when Ulysses' son 
Shall come, he will with vest and mantle fair 
Clothe thee, and send thee whither most thou 

To whom Ulysses, hero toil-inured. [wouldst. 
I wish thee, O Eumseus ! dear to Jove 
As thou art dear to me, for this reprieve 
Vouchsafed me kind, from wandering and from 
No worse condition is of mortal man [woe ! 

Than his who wanders ! for the poor man, driven 
By woe and by misfortune homeless forth, 
A thousand miseries, day by day, endures. 
Since thou detain'st me then, and bidd'st me wait 
His coming, tell me if the father still 
Of famed Ulysses live, whom, going hence, 
He left so nearly on the verge of life ? 
And lives his mother ? or have both deceased 
Already, and descended to the shades? 

To whom the master swineherd thus replied. 
I will inform thee, and with strictest truth, 
Of all that thou hast ask'd. Laertes lives, 
But supplication offering to the gods 
Ceaseless, to free him from a weary life, 
So deeply his long-absent son he mourns, 
And the dear consort of his early youth, 
Whose death is his chief sorrow, and hath brought 
Old age on him, or ere its date arrived. 
She died of sorrow for her glorious son, 
And died deplorably x ; may never friend 
Of mine, or benefactor die as she ! 
While yet she lived, dejected as she was, 
I found it yet some solace to converse 
With her, who rear'd me in my childish days, 
Together with her lovely youngest-born 
The princess Ctimena ; for side by side 
We grew, and I, scarce honour'd less than she. 
But soon as our delightful prime we both 
Attain' d, to Samos her they sent, a bride, 
And were requited with rich dower ; but me 
Clothed handsomely with tunic and with vest, 
And with fair sandals furnish'd, to the field 
She order'd forth, yet loved me still the more. 
I miss her kindness now ; but gracious heaven 
Prospers the work on which I here attend ; 

1 She is said to have hanged herself. 


Hence have I food, and hence I drink, and hence 
Refresh sometimes a worthy guest like thee. 
But kindness none experience I, or can, 
From fair Penelope (my mistress now) 
In word or action, so is the house cursed 
With that lewd throng. Glad would the servants be 
Might they approach their mistress, and receive 
Advice from her ; glad too to eat and drink, 
And somewhat bear each to his rural home, 
For perquisites are every servant's joy. 

Then answer thus, Ulysses wise return'd. 
Alas ! good swain, Eumseus, how remote 
From friends and country wast thou forced to roam 
Even in thy infancy ! But tell me true. 
The city where thy parents dwelt, did foes 
Pillage it ? or did else some hostile band 
Surprising thee alone, on herd or flock 
Attendant, bear thee with them o'er the deep, 
And sell thee at this hero's house, who paid 
Doubtless for thee no sordid price or small ? 

To whom the master swineherd in reply. 
Stranger ! since thou art curious to be told 
My story, silent listen, and thy wine 
At leisure quaff. The nights are longest now, 
And such as time for sleep afford, and time 
For pleasant conference ; neither were it good 
That thou shouldst to thy couch before thy hour, 
Since even sleep is hurtful, in excess. 
Whoever here is weary, and desires 
Early repose, let him depart to rest, 
And at the peep of day, when he hath fed 
Sufficiently, drive forth my master's herd ; 
But we with wine and a well-furnish'd board 
Supplied, will solace mutually derive 
From recollection of our sufferings past ; 
For who hath much endured, and wander'd far, 
Finds the recital even of sorrow sweet. 
Now hear thy question satisfied ; attend ! 
There is an island (thou hast heard, perchance, 
Of such an isle) named Syria 2 ; it is placed 
Above Ortygia, and a dial 3 owns 
True to the tropic changes of the year. 
No great extent she boasts, yet is she rich 
In cattle and hi flocks, in wheat and wine. 
No famine knows that people, or disease 
Noisome of all that elsewhere seize the race 
Of miserable man ; but when old age 
Steals on the citizens, Apollo, arm'd 
With silver bow and bright Diana come, 
Whose gentle shafts dismiss them soon to rest. 
Two cities share between them all the isle, 
And both were subject to my father's sway 
Ctesius Ormenides, a godlike chief. 
It chanced that from Phoenicia, famed for skill 
In arts marine, a vessel thither came 
By sharpers mann'd, and laden deep with toys. 
Now, in my father's family abode 
A fair Phoenician, tall, full-sized, and sldll'd 
In works of elegance, whom they beguiled. 
While she wash'd linen on the beach, beside 

2 Not improbably the isthmus of Syracuse, an island, 
perhaps, or peninsula at that period, or at least imagined 
to be such by Homer. The birth of Diana gave fame to 
Ortygia. F. 

a "O0i Tpoirai rjeXtoio The translator has rendered 

the passage according to that interpretation of it to which 
several of the best expositors incline. Nothing can be so 
absurd as to suppose, that Homer, so correct in his geo- 
graphy, could mean to place a Mediterranean island under 
the tropic. 


472 


THE ODYSSEY. 


The ship, a certain mariner of those 
Seduced her ; for all women, even the wise 
And soher, feeble prove by love assail'd. 
Who was she, he enquired, and whence ? nor she 
Scrupled to tell at once her father's home. 

I am of Sidon 1 , famous for her works 
In brass and steel ; daughter of Arybas, 
Who rolls in affluence ; Taphian pirates thence 
Stole me returning from the field, from whom 
This chief procured me at no little cost. 

Then answer thus her paramour return'd. 
Wilt thou not hence to Sidon hi our ship, 
That thou may'st once more visit the abode 
Of thy own wealthy parents, and themselves ? 
For still they live, and still are wealthy deem'd. 

To whom the woman. Even that might be, 
Would ye, ye seamen, by a solemn oath 
Assure me of a safe conveyance home. 

Then sware the mariners as she required, 
And, when their oath was ended, thus again 
The woman of Phoenicia them bespake. 

Now, silence ! no man henceforth, of you all 
Accost me, though he meet me on the road, 
Or at yon fountain ; lest some tattler run 
With tidings home to my old master's ear, 
Who, with suspicion touch' d, may me confine 
In cruel bonds, and death contrive for you. 
But be ye close ; purchase your stores in haste ; 
And when your vessel shall be freighted full, 
Quick send me notice ; for I mean to bring 
What gold soever opportune I find, 
And will my passage cheerfully defray 
With still another moveable. I nurse 
The good man's son, an urchin shrewd, of age 
To scamper at my side ; him will I bring, 
Whom at some foreign market ye shall prove 
Saleable at what price soe'er ye will. 

So saying, she to my father's house return'd. 
They, there abiding the whole year, their ship 
With purchased goods freighted of every kind, 
And when her lading now complete, she lay 
For sea prepared, then* messenger arrived 
To summon down the woman to the shore. 
A mariner of theirs, subtle and shrewd, 
Then, entering at my father's gate, produced 
A splendid collar, gold with amber strung. 
My mother (then at home) with all her maids 
Handling and gazing on it with delight, 
Proposed to purchase it, and he the nod 
Significant, gave unobserved, the while, 
To the Phoenician woman, and return'd. 
She, thus inform'd, leading me by the hand 
Went forth, and finding in the vestibule 
The cups and tables which my father's guests 
Had used, (but they were to the forum gone 
For converse with their friends assembled there) 
Convey'd three cups into her bosom-folds, 
And bore them off, whom I a thoughtless child 
Accompanied, at the decline of day, 
When dusky evening had embrown'd the shore. 
We, stepping nimbly on, soon reach'd the port 
Renown'd, where that Phoenician vessel lay. 
They shipp'd us both, and all embarking cleaved 
Their liquid road by favourable gales, 
Jove's gift, impell'd. Six days we day and night 
Continual sail'd, but when Saturnian Jove 
Now bade the seventh bright morn illume the skies. 
Then shaft-arm'd Dian struck the woman dead. 


1 A principal city of Phoenicia. 


At once she pitch'd headlong into the bilge 
Like a sea-coot, whence heaving her again, 
The seamen gave her to be fishes' food, 
And I survived to mourn her. But the winds 
And rolling billows them bore to the coast 
Of Ithaca, where with his proper goods 
Laertes bought me. By such means it chanced 
That e'er I saw the isle in which I dwell. 

To whom Ulysses, glorious chief replied. 
Eumaeus ! thou hast moved me much, thy woes 
Enumerating thus at large. But Jove 
Hath neighbour'd all thy evil with this good, 
That after numerous sorrows thou hast reach'd 
The house of a kind master, at whose hands 
Thy sustenance is sure, and here thou lead'st 
A tranquil life ; but I have late arrived, 
City after city of the world explored. 

Thus mutual they conferr'd, nor leisure found 
Save for short sleep, by morning soon surprised. 
Meantime the comrades of Telemachus 
Approaching land, cast loose the sail, and lower'd 
Alert the mast, then oar'd the vessel in. 
The anchors heaved 2 aground, and hawsers tied 
Secure, themselves, forth-issuing on the shore, 
Breakfast prepared, and charged their cups with 

wine. 
When neither hunger now, nor thirst remained 
Unsatisfied, Telemachus began. 

Push ye the sable bark without delay 
Home to the city. I will to the field 
Among my shepherds, and, (my rural works 
Survey'd) at eve will to the town return. 
To-morrow will I set before you wine 
And plenteous viands, wages of your toil. 

To whom the godlike Theoclymenus. 
Whither must I, my son ? who, of the chiefs 
Of rugged Ithaca, shall harbour me ? 
Shall I to thine and to thy mother's house ? 

Then thus Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
I would invite thee to proceed at once 
To our abode, since nought should fail thee there 
Of kind reception, but it were a course 
Now not adviseable ; for I must myself, 
Be absent, neither would my mother's eyes 
Behold thee, so unfrequent she appears 
Before the suitors, shunning whom, she sits 
Weaving continual at the palace-top. 
But I will name to thee another chief 
Whom thou may'st seek, Eurymachus, the son 
Renown'd of prudent Polybus, whom all 
The people here reverence as a god. 
Far noblest of them all is he, and seeks 
More ardent than his rivals far, to wed 
My mother, and to fill my father's throne. 
But, he who dwells above, Jove only knows 
If some disastrous day be not ordain'd 
For them, or ere those nuptials shall arrive. 

While thus he spake, at his right hand appear'd, 
Messenger of Apollo, on full wing, 
A falcon ; in his pounces clench'd he bore 
A dove, which rending, down he pour'd her plumes 
Between the galley and Telemachus. 
Then calling him apart, the prophet lock'd 
His hand in his, and thus explain'd the sign. 

Not undirected by the gods his flight 
On our right hand, Telemachus ! this hawk 
Hath wing'd propitious ; soon as I perceived 

2 The anchors were lodged on the shore, not plunged as 


THE ODYSSEY. 


473 


I knew him ominous. — In all the isle 

No family of a more royal note 

Than yours is found, and yours shall still prevail. 

Whom thus Telemachus answer'd discreet. 
Grant heaven, my guest ! that this good word of 

thine 
Fail not, and soon thou shalt such bounty share 
And friendship at my hands, that at first sight, 
Whoe'er shall meet thee shall pronounce thee blest. 

Then, to Piraeus thus, his friend approved. 
Piraeus, son of Clytius ! (for of all 
My followers to the shore of Pylus, none 
More prompt than thou hath my desires perform'd) 
Now also to thy own abode conduct 
This stranger, whom with hospitable care 
Cherish and honour till myself arrive. 

To whom Pireeus answer'd, spear-renown'd. 
Telemachus ! however long thy stay, 
Punctual I will attend him, and no want 
Of hospitality shall he find with me. 

So saying, he climb'd the ship, then bade the 
crew 
Embarking also, cast the hawsers loose, 
And each obedient to his bench repair'd. 
Meantime Telemachus his sandals bound, 
And lifted from the deck his glittering spear. 
Then as Telemachus had bidden them, 
Son of divine Ulysses, casting loose 
The hawsers, forth they push'd into the deep 
And sought the city ; while with nimble pace 
Proceeding thence, Telemachus attain'd 
The cottage soon where good Eumseus slept, 
The swine-herd, faithful to his numerous charge. 


BOOK XVI. 


ARGUMENT. 


Telemachus dispatches Eumaeus to the city to inform 
Penelope of his safe return from Pylus; during his 
absence, Ulysses makes himself known to his son. The 
suitors, having watched for Telemachus in vain, arrive 
again at Ithaca. 


It was the hour of dawn, when in the cot 
Kindling fresh fire, Ulysses and his friend 
Noble Eumseus dress'd their morning fare, 
And sent the herdsmen with the swine abroad. 
Seeing Telemachus, the watchful dogs 
Bark'd not, but fawn'd around him. At that sight, 
And at the sound of feet which now approach'd, 
Ulysses in wing'd accents thus remark'd. 

Eumseus ! certain, either friend of thine 
Is nigh at hand, or one whom well thou know'st ; 
Thy dogs bark not, but fawn on his approach 
Obsequious, and the sound of feet I hear. 

Scarce had he ceased, when his own son himself 
Stood in the vestibule. Upsprang at once 
Eumseus wonder-struck, and from his hand 
Let fall the cups with which he was employ'd 
Mingling rich wine ; to his young lord he ran, 
His forehead kiss'd, kiss'd his bright-beaming eyes 
And both his hands, weeping profuse the while. 
As when a father holds in his embrace 
Arrived from foreign lands in the tenth year 
His darling son, the offspring of his age, 
His only one, for whom he long hath mourn'd, 
So kiss'd the noble peasant o'er and o'er 


Godlike Telemachus, as from death escaped, 
And in wing'd accents plaintive thus began. 

Light of my eyes, thou comest ; it is thyself, 
Sweetest Telemachus ! I had no hope 
To see thee more, once told that o'er the deep 
Thou hadst departed for the Pylian coast. 
Enter, my precious son ; that I may soothe 
My soul with sight of thee from far arrived, 
For seldom thou thy feeders and thy farm 
Visitest, in the city custom'd much 
To make abode, that thou may'st witness there 
The manners of those hungry suitors proud. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
It will be so. There is great need, my friend ! 
But here, for thy sake, have I now arrived, 
That I may look on thee, and from thy lips 
Learn if my mother still reside at home, 
Or have become spouse of some other chief, 
Leaving untenanted Ulysses' bed 
To be by noisome spiders webb'd around. 

To whom the master-swineherd in return. 
Not so, she, patient still as ever, dwells 
Beneath thy roof, but all her cheerless days 
Despairing wastes, and all her nights in tears. 

So saying, Eumseus at his hand received 
His brazen lance, and o'er the step of stone 
Enter'd Telemachus, to whom his sire 
Relinquish'd, soon as he appear'd, his seat, 
But him Telemachus forbidding, said — 

Guest, keep thy seat ; our cottage will afford 
Some other, which Eumseus will provide. 

He ceased, and he, returning at the word, 
Reposed again ; then good Eumseus spread 
Green twigs beneath, which, cover'd with a fleece, 
Supplied Ulysses' offspring with a seat. 
He next disposed his dishes on the board 
With relics charged of yesterday ; with bread, 
Alert, he heap'd the baskets ; with rich wine 
His ivy-cup replenish'd ; and a seat 
Took opposite to his illustrious lord 
Ulysses. They toward the plenteous feast 
Stretch'd forth their hands, (and hunger now and 
Both satisfied) Telemachus, his speech [thirst 
Addressing to their generous host, began. 

Whence is this guest, my father ? How convey 'd 
Came he to Ithaca ? What country boast 
The mariners with whom he here arrived ? 
For that on foot he found us not, is sure. 

To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
I will with truth answer thee, my son ! 
He boasts him sprung from ancestry renown'd 
In spacious Crete, and hath the cities seen 
Of various lands, by fate ordain'd to roam. 
Even now, from a Thesprotian ship escaped, 
He reach'd my cottage — but he is thy own ; 
I yield him to thee ; treat him as thou wilt ; 
He is thy suppliant and depends on thee. 

Then thus, Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Thy words, Eumseus, pain my very soul. 
For what security can I afford 
To any in my house ? myself am young, 
Nor yet of strength sufficient to repel 
An offer'd insult ; and my mother's mind 
In doubtful balance hangs, if still with me 
An inmate, she shall manage my concerns, 
Attentive only to her absent lord 
And her own good report, or shall espouse 
The noblest of her wooers, and the best 
Entitled by the splendour of his gifts. 
But I will give him, since I find him lodged 


474 


THE ODYSSEY. 


A guest beneath thy roof, tunic and cloak, 
Sword double-edged, and sandals to his feet, 
With convoy to the country of his choice. 
Still, if it please thee, keep him here thy guest, 
And I will send him raiment, with supplies 
Of all sorts, lest he burthen thee and thine. 
But where the suitors come, there shall not he 
With my consent, nor stand exposed to pride 
And petulance like theirs, lest by some sneer 
They wound him, and through him, wound also me; 
For little is it that the boldest can 
Against so many ; numbers will prevail. 

Him answer' d. then Ulysses toil-inured. 
Oh amiable and good ! since even I 
Am free to answer thee, I will avow 
My heart within me torn by what I hear 
Of those injurious suitors, who the house 
Infest of one noble as thou appear'st. 
But say— submittest thou to their control 
Willingly, or because the people, sway'd 
By some response oracular, incline 
Against thee ? Thou hast brothers, it may chance, 
Slow to assist thee, — for a brother's aid 
Is of importance in whatever cause. 
For oh that I had youth as I have will, 
Or that renown' d Ulysses were my sire, 
Or that himself might wander home again, 
Whereof hope yet remains ! then might I lose 
My head, that moment, by an ahen's hand, 
If I would fail, entering Ulysses' gate, 
To be the bane and mischief of them all. 
But if alone to multitudes opposed 
I should perchance be foil'd, nobler it were 
With my own people, under my own roof 
To perish, than to witness evermore 
Their unexampled deeds, guests shoved aside, 
Maidens dragg'd forcibly from room to room, 
Casks emptied of their rich contents, and them 
Indulging gluttonous appetite day by day 
Enormous, without measure, without end. 

To whom, Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Stranger ! thy questions shall from me receive 
True answer. Enmity or hatred none 
Subsists the people and myself between, 
Nor have I brothers to accuse, whose aid 
Is of importance in whatever cause, 
For Jove hath from of old with single heirs 
Our house supplied ; Arcesias none begat 
Except Laertes, and Laertes none 
Except Ulysses, and Ulysses me 
Left here his only one, and unenjoy'd. 
Thence comes it that our palace swarms with foes ; 
For all the rulers of the neighbour-isles, 
Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown'd 
Zacynthus, others also rulers here 
In craggy Ithaca, my mother seek 
In marriage, and my household stores consume. 
But neither she those nuptial rites abhorr'd 
Refuses absolute, nor yet consents 
To end them ; they my patrimony waste 
Meantime, and will destroy me also soon, 
As I- expect, but heaven disposes all. 

Eumseus ! haste, my father ! bear with speed 
News to Penelope that I am safe, 
And have arrived from Pylus ; I will wait 
Till thou return ; and well beware that none 
Hear thee beside, for I have many foes. 

To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
It is enough. I understand. Thou speak 'st 
To one intelligent. But say beside, 


Shall I not also, as I go, inform 

Distress'd Laertes ? who while yet he mourn'd 

Ulysses only, could o'ersee the works, 

And dieted among his menials oft 

As hunger prompted him ; but now, they say, 

Since thy departure to the Pylian shore, 

He neither eats as he was wont, nor drinks, 

Nor oversees his hinds, but sighing sits 

And weeping, wasted even to the bone. 

Him then Telemachus answer'd discreet. 
Hard though it be, yet to his tears and sighs 
Him leave we now. We cannot what we would. 
For were the ordering of all events 
Referr'd to our own choice, our first desire 
Should be to see my father's glad return. 
But once thy tidings told, wander not thou 
In quest of him, but hither speed again. 
Rather request my mother that she send 
Her household's governess without delay 
Privately to him ; she shall best inform 
The ancient king that I have safe arrived. 

He said, and urged him forth, who binding on 
His sandals, to the city bent his way. 
Nor went Eumaeus from his home unmark'd 
By Pallas, who in semblance of a fair 
Damsel, accomplish'd in domestic arts, 
Approaching to the cottage' entrance, stood 
Opposite, by Ulysses plain discern'd, 
But to his son invisible ; for the gods 
Appear not manifest alike to all. 
The mastiffs saw her also, and with tone 
Querulous hid themselves, yet bark'd they not. 
She beckon'd him abroad. Ulysses saw 
The sign, and issuing through the outer court, 
Approach'd her, whom the goddess thus bespake. 

Laertes' progeny, for wiles renown'd ! 
Disclose thyself to thy own son, that death 
Concerting and destruction to your foes, 
Ye may the royal city seek, nor long 
Shall ye my presence there desire in vain, 
For I am ardent to begin the fight. 

Minerva spake, and with her rod of gold 
Touch'd him ; his mantle, first, and vest she made 
Pure as new-blanch'd ; dilating, next, his form, 
She gave dimensions ampler to his limbs ; 
Swarthy again his manly hue became, 
Round his full face, and black his bushy chin. 
The change perform'd, Minerva disappear' d, 
And the illustrious hero turn'd again 
Into the cottage ; wonder at that sight 
Seized on Telemachus ; askance he look'd, 
Awe-struck, not unsuspicious of a god, 
And in wing'd accents eager thus began. 

Thou art no longer, whom I lately saw, 
Nor are thy clothes, nor is thy port the same. 
Thou art a god, I know, and dwell'st in heaven. 
Oh, smile on us, that we may yield thee rites 
Acceptable, and present thee golden gifts 
Elaborate ; ah spare us, power divine ! 

To whom Ulysses, hero toil-inured. 
I am no god. Why deem'st thou me divine ? 
I am thy father, for whose sake thou lead'st 
A life of woe, by violence oppress'd. [cheeks 

So saying, he kiss'd his son, while from his 
Tears trickled, tears till then, perforce restrain'd. 
Telemachus, (for he believed him not 
His father yet) thus, wondering, spake again. 

My father, saidst thou ? no. Thou art not he, 
But some divinity beguiles my soul 
With mockeries, to afflict me still the more ; 


THE ODYSSEY. 


475 


For never mortal man could so have wrought 
By his own power ; some interposing god 
Alone could render thee both young and old, 
For old thou wast of late, and foully clad, 
But wear'st the semblance now of those in heaven ! 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Telemachus ! it is not well, my son ! 
That thou should'st greet thy father with a face 
Of wild astonishment, and stand aghast. 
Ulysses, save myself, none comes, be sure. 
Such as thou seest, after ten thousand woes 
Which I have borne, I visit once again 
My native country in the twentieth year. 
This wonder Athensean Pallas wrought, 
She clothed me even in what form she would, 
For so she can. Now poor I seem and old, 
Now young again, and clad in fresh attire. 
The gods who dwell in yonder heaven, with ease 
Dignify or debase a mortal man. 

So saying, he sat. Then threw Telemachus 
His arms around his father's neck, and wept. 
Desire intense of lamentation seized 
On both ; soft murmurs uttering, each indulged 
His grief, more frequent wailing than the bird, 
(Eagle, or hook-nail'd vulture) from whose nest 
Some swain hath stolen her yet unfeather'd young. 
So from their eyelids they big drops distill'd 
Of tenderest grief, nor had the setting sun 
Cessation of their weeping seen, had not 
Telemachus his father thus address'd. 

What ship convey'd thee to thy native shore, 
My father ! and what country boast the crew ? 
For that on foot thou not arrivedst, is sure. 

Then thus divine Ulysses toil-inured. 
My son ! I will explicit all relate. 
Conducted by Phseacia's maritime sons 
I came, a race accustomed to convey 
Strangers Avho visit them across the deep. 
Me o'er the billows in a rapid bark 
Borne sleeping, on the shores of Ithaca 
They laid ; rich gifts they gave me also, brass, 
Gold in full bags, and beautiful attire, 
Which, warn'd from heaven, I have in caves con- 
By Pallas prompted, hither I repair'd [ceal'd. 
That we might plan the slaughter of our foes, 
Whose numbers tell me now, that I may know 
How powerful, certainly, and who they are, 
And consultation with my dauntless heart 
May hold, if we be able to contend 
Ourselves with all, or must have aid beside. 

Then answer thus his son, discreet, return'd. 
My father ! thy renown hath ever rung 
In thy son's ears, and by report thy force 
In arms, and wisdom I have oft been told. 
But terribly thou speak'st ; amazement-fixt 
I hear ; can two a multitude oppose, 
And valiant warriors all % For neither ten 
Are they, nor twenty, but more numerous far. 
Learn now their numbers. Fifty youths and two 
Came from Dulichium ; they are chosen men, 
And six attendants follow in their train ; 
From Samos twenty youths and four arrive, 
Zacynthus also of Achaia's sons 
Sends twenty more, and our own island adds, 
Herself, her twelve chief rulers ; Medon, too, 
Is there the herald, and the bard divine, 
With other two, intendants of the board. 
Should we within the palace, we alone, 
Assail them all, I fear lest thy revenge 
Unpleasant to thyself and deadly prove, 


Frustrating thy return. But recollect — 
Think, if thou canst, on whose confederate arm 
Strenuous on our behalf we may rely. 

To him replied his patient father bold. 
I will inform thee. Mark. Weigh well my words. 
Will Pallas and the everlasting sire 
Alone suffice ? or need we other aids ? 

Then answer thus Telemachus return'd. 
Good friends indeed are they whom thou hast 

named, 
Though throned above the clouds ; for their con- 
Is universal both in earth and heaven. [trol 

To whom Ulysses, toil-worn chief renown'd. 
Not long will they from battle stand aloof, 
When once within my palace, in the strength 
Of Mars, to sharp decision we shall urge 
The suitors. But thyself at early dawn 
Our mansion seek, that thou may'st mingle there 
With that imperious throng ; me in due time 
Eumaeus to the city shall conduct, 
In form a miserable beggar old. 
But should they with dishonourable scorn 
Insult me, thou unmoved my wrongs endure, 
And should they even drag me by the feet 
Abroad, or smite me with the spear, thy wrath 
Refraining, gently counsel them to cease 
From such extravagance ; but well I know 
That cease they will not, for their hour is come. 
And mark me well ! treasure what now I say 
Deep in thy soul. When Pallas shall, herself, 
Suggest the measure, then shaking my brows, 
I will admonish thee ; thou at the sign, 
Remove what arms soever in the hall 
Remain, and in the upper palace safe 
Dispose them ; should the suitors, missing them, 
Perchance interrogate thee, then reply 
Gently — I have removed them from the smoke ; 
For they appear no more the arms which erst 
Ulysses, going hence to Ilium, left, 
But smirch'd and sullied by the breath of fire. 
This weightier reason (thou shalt also say) 
Jove taught me ; lest, intoxicate with wine, 
Ye should assault each other in your brawls, 
Shaming both feast and courtship ; for the view 
Itself of arms incites to their abuse. 
Yet leave two faulchions for ourselves alone, 
Two spears, two bucklers, which with sudden force, 
Impetuous we will seize, and Jove all-wise 
Their valour shall, and Pallas, steal away. 
This word store also in remembrance deep — 
If mine in truth thou art, and of my blood, 
Then, of Ulysses to his home return'd 
Let none hear news from thee, no, not my sire 
Laertes, nor Eumeeus, nor of all 
The menials any, or even Penelope, 
That thou and I, alone, may search the drift 
Of our domestic women, and may prove 
Our serving-men, who honours and reveres 
And who contemns us both, but chiefly thee 
So gracious, and so worthy to be loved. 

Him then thus answer'd his illustrious son. 
Trust me, my father ! thou shalt soon be taught 
That I am not of drowsy mind obtuse. 
But this I think not likely to avail 
Or thee or me ; ponder it yet again ; 
For tedious were the task, farm after farm 
To visit of those servants, proving each, 
And the proud suitors merciless devour 
Meantime thy substance, nor abstain from aught. 
Learn, if thou wilt, (and I that course myself 


476 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Advise) who slights thee of the female train, 
And who is guiltless ; but I would not try 
From house to house the men, far better proved 
Hereafter, if in truth by signs from heaven 
Inform'd, thou hast been taught the will of Jove. 

Thus they conferr'd. The gallant bark, mean- 
time, 
Reach'd Ithaca, which from the Pylian shore 
Had brought Telemachus with all his band. 
Within the many-fathom'd port arrived 
His lusty followers haled her far aground, 
Then carried thence their arms, but to the house 
Of Clytius the illustrious gifts convey'd. 
Next to the royal mansion they dispatch'd 
An herald, charged with tidings to the queen, 
That her Telemachus had reach'd the cot 
Of good Eumseus, and the bark had sent 
Home to the city ; lest the matchless dame 
Should still deplore the absence of her son. 
They then, the herald and the swine-herd, each 
Bearing like message to his mistress, met, 
And at the palace of the godlike chief 
Arriving, compass'd by the female throng 
Inquisitive, the herald thus began. 

Thy son, queen ! is safe ; even now return' d. 
Then, drawing nigh to her, Eumeeus told 
His message also from her son received, 
And, his commission punctually discharged, 
Leaving the palace, sought his home again. 

Grief seized and anguish, at those tidings, all 
The suitors ; issuing forth, on the outside 
Of the high wall they sat, before the gate, 
When Polybus' son, Eurymachus, began. 

My friends ! his arduous task, this voyage, 
deem'd 
By us impossible, in our despight 
Telemachus hath achieved. Haste ! launch we 

forth 
A sable bark, our best, which let us man 
With mariners expert, who, rowing forth 
Swiftly, shall summon our companions home. 

Scarce had he said, when turning where he sat, 
Amphinomus beheld a bark arrived 
Just then in port ; he saw them furling sail, 
And seated with their oars in hand ; he laugh' d 
Through pleasure at that sight, and thus he spake. 

Our message may be spared. Lo ! they arrive. 
Either some god inform'd them, or they saw, 
Themselves, the vessel of Telemachus 
Too swiftly passing to be reach'd by theirs. 

He spake ; they, rising, hasted to the shore. 
Alert they drew the sable bark aground, 
And by his servant each his arms dispatch'd 
To his own home. Then all to council close 
Assembling, neither elder of the land 
Nor youth allow'd to join them, and the rest 
Eupithes' son, Antinoiis, thus bespake. 

Ah ! how the gods have rescued him ! all day 
Perch'd on the airy mountain-top, our spies 
Successive watch'd ; and when the sun declined, 
We never slept on shore, but all night long 
Till sacred dawn arose, plow'd the abyss, 
Hoping Telemachus, that we might seize 
And slay him, whom some deity hath led, 
In our despight, safe to his home again. 
But frame we yet again means to destroy 
Telemachus ; ah — let not him escape ! 
For end of this our task, while he survives, 
None shall be found, such prudence he displays 
And wisdom ; neither are the people now 


Unanimous our friends as heretofore. 

Come, then — prevent him, ere he call the Greeks 

To council ; for he will not long delay, 

But will be angry, doubtless, and will tell 

Amid them all, how we in vain devised 

His death, a deed which they will scarce applaud, 

But will, perhaps, punish and drive us forth 

From our own country to a distant land. — 

Prevent him, therefore, quickly ; in the field 

Slay him, or on the road ; so shall his wealth 

And his possessions on ourselves devolve, 

Which we will share equally, but his house 

Shall be the queen's, and his whom she shall wed. 

Yet, if not so inclined, ye rather chuse 

That he should live and occupy entire 

His patrimony, then, no longer, here 

Assembled, let us revel at his cost, 

But let us all with spousal gifts produced 

From our respective treasures, woo the queen, 

Leaving her in full freedom to espouse 

Who proffers most, and whom the fates ordain. 

He ceased ; the assembly silent sat and mute. 
Then rose Amphinomus amid them all, 
Offspring renown'd of Nisus, son himself 
Of king Aretias. He had thither led 
The suitor train who from the pleasant isle 
Corn-clad of green Dulichium had arrived, 
And by his speech pleased far beyond them all 
Penelope, for he was just and wise, 
And thus, well-counseling the rest, began. 

Not I, my friends ! far be the thought from me 
To slay Telemachus ! it were a deed 
Momentous, terrible, to slay a prince. 
First, therefore, let us counsel ask of heaven, 
And if Jove's oracle that course approve, 
I will encourage you, and will myself 
Be active in his death ; but if the gods 
Forbid it, then, by my advice, forbear. 

So spake Amphinomus, whom all approved. 
Arising then, into Ulysses' house 
They went, where each his splendid seat resumed. 

A novel purpose occupied, meantime, 
Penelope ; she purposed to appear 
Before her suitors, whose design to slay 
Telemachus she had from Medon learn'd, 
The herald, for his ear had caught the sound. 
Toward the hall with her attendant train 
She moved, and when, most graceful of her sex, 
Where sat the suitors she arrived, between 
The columns standing of the stately dome, 
And covering with her white veil's lucid folds 
Her features, to Antinoiis thus she spake. 

Antinoiis, proud, contentious, evermore 
To mischief prone ! the people deem thee wise 
Past thy compeers, and in all grace of speech 
Pre-eminent, but such wast never thou. 
Inhuman ! why is it thy dark design 
To slay Telemachus % and why with scorn 
Rejectest thou the suppliant's 1 prayer, which Jove 
Himself hath witness'd % Plots please not the 

gods. 
Know'st not that thy own father refuge found 
Here, when he fled before the people's wrath 
Whom he had irritated by a wrong 
Which, with a band of Taphian robbers join'd, 
He offer'd to the Thesprots, our allies 1 


1 Alluding probably to entreaties made to him at some 
former time by herself and Telemachus, that he would 
not harm them. Clarke. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


477 


They would have torn his heart, and would have 

laid 
All his delights and his possessions waste, 
But my Ulysses slaked the furious heat 
Of their revenge, whom thou requitest now 
Wasting his goods, soliciting his wife, 
Slaying his son, and filling me with woe. 
But cease, I charge thee, and hid cease the rest. 

To whom the son of Polybus replied, 
Eurymachus. — Icarius' daughter wise ! 
Take courage, fair Penelope, and chase 
These fears unreasonable from thy mind ! 
The man lives not, nor shall, who while I live, 
And faculty of sight retain, shall harm 
Telemachus, thy son. For thus I say, 
And thus will I perform ; his blood shall stream 
A sable current from my lance's point 
That moment ; for the city- waster chief 
Ulysses, oft, me placing on his knees, 
Hath filPd my infant grasp with savoury food, 
And given me ruddy wine. I, therefore, hold 
Telemachus of all men most my friend, 
Nor hath he death to fear from hand of ours. 
Yet, if the gods shall doom him, die he must. 

So he encouraged her, who yet, himself, 
Plotted his death. She, re-ascending, sought 
Her stately chamber, and, arriving there, 
Deplored with tears her long-regretted lord 
Till Athenian Pallas azure-eyed 
Dews of soft slumber o'er her lids diffused. 

And now, at even-tide, Eumseus reach'd 
Ulysses and his son. A yearling swine 
Just slain they skilfully for food prepared, 
When Pallas, drawing nigh, smote with her wand 
Ulysses, at the stroke rendering him old, 
And his apparel sordid as before, 
Lest, knowing him, the swain at once should seek 
Penelope, and let the secret forth. 

Then foremost him Telemachus address'd. 
Noble Eumseus ! thou art come ; what news 
Bring'st from the city ? Have the warrior band 
Of suitors, hopeless of their ambush, reach'd 
The port again, or wait they still for me ? 

To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
No time for such enquiry, nor to range, 
Curious, the streets had I, but anxious wish'd 
To make my message known, and to return. 
But, as it chanced, a nimble herald sent 
From thy companions, met me on the way, 
Who reach'd thy mother first. Yet this I know, 
For this I saw. Passing above the town 
Where-they have piled a way-side hill of stones 
To Mercury, I beheld a gallant bark 
Entering the port ; a bark she was of ours, 
The crew were numerous, and I mark'd her deep- 
Laden with shields and spears of double edge. 
Theirs I conjectured her, and could no more. 

He spake, and, by Eumseus unperceived, 
Telemachus his father eyed and smiled. 
Their task accomplish'd, and the table spread, 
They ate, nor any his due portion miss'd, 
And hunger now and thirst both sated, all 
To rest repair'd, and took the gift of sleep. 


BOOK XVII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Telemachus returns to the city, and relates to his mother 
the principal passages of his voyage ; Ulysses, conducted 
by Eumaeus, arrives there also, and enters among the 
suitors, having been known only by his old dog Argus, 
who dies at his feet. The curiosity of Penelope being 
excited by the account which Eumseus gives her of 
Ulysses, she orders him immediately into her presence, 
but Ulysses postpones the interview till evening, when 
the suitors having left the palace, there shall be no 
danger of interruption. Eumaeus returns to his cottage. 

Now look'd Aurora from the east abroad, 

When the illustrious offspring of divine 

Ulvsses bound his sandals to his feet ; 

He seized his sturdy spear match' d to his gripe, 

And to the city meditating quick 

Departure now, the swine-herd thus bespake. 

Father ! I seek the city, to convince 
My mother of my safe return, whose tears, 
I judge, and lamentations shall not cease 
Till her own eyes behold me. But I lay 
On thee this charge. Into the city lead, 
Thyself, this hapless guest, that he may beg 
Provision there, a morsel and a drop 
From such as may, perchance, vouchsafe the 

boon. 
I cannot, vext and harass'd as I am, 
Feed all, and should the stranger take offence, 
The worse for him. Plain truth is my delight. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Nor is it my desire to be detain'd. 
Better the mendicant in cities seeks 
His dole, vouchsafe it whosoever may, 
Than in the villages. I am not young, 
Nor longer of an age that well accords 
With rural tasks, nor could I all perform 
That it might please a master to command. 
Go then, and when I shall have warm'd my limbs 
Before the hearth, and when the risen sun 
Shall somewhat chase the cold, thy servant's task 
Shall be to guide me thither, as thou bidd'st. 
For this is a vile garb ; the frosty air 
Of morning will benumb me thus attired, 
And, as ye say, the city is remote. 

He ended, and Telemachus in haste 
Set forth, his thoughts all teeming, as he went, 
With dire revenge. Soon in the palace-courts 
Arriving, he reclined his spear against 
A column, and proceeded to the hall. 
Him Euryclea, first, his nurse perceived, 
While on the variegated seats she spread 
Their fleecy covering ; swift with tearful eyes 
She flew to him, and the whole female train 
Of brave Ulysses swarm'd around his son, 
Clasping him, and his forehead and his neck 
Kissing affectionate ; then came herself, 
As golden Venus or Diana fair, 
Forth from her chamber to her son's embrace, 
The chaste Penelope ; with tears she threw 
Her arms around him, his bright-beaming eyes 
And forehead kiss'd, and with a murmur'd plaint 
Maternal, in wing'd accents thus began. 

Thou hast return'd, light of my eyes ! my son ! 
My loved Telemachus ! I had no hope 
To see thee more when once thou hadst embark'd 
For Pylus, privily, and with no consent 


478 


THE ODYSSEY. 


From me obtain'd, news seeking of thy sire. 
But haste ; unfold. Declare what thou hast seen. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Ah mother ! let my sorrows rest, nor me 
From death so lately 'scaped afflict anew, 
But, bathed and habited in fresh attire, 
With all the maidens of thy train ascend 
To thy superior chamber, there to vow 
A perfect hecatomb to all the gods, 
When Jove shall have avenged our numerous 

wrongs. 
I seek the forum, there to introduce 
A guest, my follower from the Pylian shore, 
Whom sending forward with my noble band, 
I bade Piraeus to his own abode 
Lead him, and with all kindness entertain 
The stranger, till I should myself arrive. 

He spake, nor flew his words useless away. 
She, bathed and habited in fresh attire, 
Yow'd a full hecatomb to all the gods, 
Would Jove but recompense her numerous wrongs. 
Then, spear in hand, went forth her son, two dogs 
Fleet-footed following him. O'er all his form 
Pallas diffused a dignity divine, 
And every eye gazed"on him as he pass'd. 
The suitors throng'd him round, joy on their lips 
And welcome, but deep mischief in their hearts. 
He, shunning all that crowd, chose to himself 
A seat, where Mentor sat, and Antiphus, 
And Halytherses, long his father's friends 
Sincere, who of his voyage much enquired. 
Then drew Piraeus nigh, leading his guest 
Toward the forum ; nor Telemachus 
Stood long aloof, but greeted his approach, 
And was accosted by Piraeus thus. 

Sir ! send thy menial women to bring home 
The precious charge committed to my care, 
Thy gifts at Menelaus' hands received. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Piraeus ! wait ; for I not yet foresee 
The upshot. Should these haughty ones effect 
My death clandestine, under my own roof, 
And parcel my inheritance by lot, 
I rather wish those treasures thine, than theirs. 
But should I with success plan for them all 
A bloody death, then, wing'd with joy, thyself 
Bring home those presents to thy joyful friend. 
So saying, he led the anxious stranger thence 
Into the royal mansion, where arrived, 
Each cast his mantle on a couch or throne, 
And plunged his feet into a polish'd bath. 
There wash'd and lubricated with smooth oils, 
From the attendant maidens each received 
Tunic and shaggy mantle. Thus attired, 
Forth from the baths they stepp'd, and sat again. 
A maiden, next, with golden ewer charged, 
And silver bowl, pour'd water on their hands, 
And spread the polish'd table, which with food 
Of all kinds, remnants of the last regale, 
The mistress of the household charge supplied. 
Meantime, beside a column of the dome 
His mother, on a couch reclining, twirl'd 
Her slender threads. They to the furnish'd board 
Stretch'd forth their hands, and hunger now and 
Both satisfied, Penelope began. [thirst 

Telemachus ! I will ascend again, 
And will repose me on my woeful bed ; 
For such, it hath been, and with tears of mine 
Ceaseless bedew'd, e'er since Ulysses went 
With Atreus' sons to Troy. For not a word 


Thou would'st vouchsafe me till our haughty guests 
Had occupied the house again, of all 
That thou hast heard (if aught indeed thou hast) 
Of thy long-absent father's wish'd return. 

Her answer'd then Telemachus discreet. 
Mother ! at thy request I will with truth 
Relate the whole. At Pylus' shore arrived 
We Nestor found, chief of the Pylian race. 
Receiving me in his august abode, 
He entertain'd me with such welcome kind 
As a glad father shows to his own son 
Long-lost and newly found ; so Nestor me, 
And his illustrious offspring, entertain'd, 
But yet assured me that he nought had heard 
From mortal lips of my magnanimous sire, 
Whether alive or dead ; with his own steeds 
He sent me, and with splendid chariot thence 
To spear-famed Menelaus, Atreus' son. 
There saw I Helen, by the gods' decree 
Authoress of trouble both to Greece and Troy! 
The hero Menelaus then enquired 
What cause had urged me to the pleasant vale 
Of Lacedaemon ; plainly I rehearsed 
The occasion, and the hero thus replied. 

Ye gods ! they are ambitious of the bed 
Of a brave man, however base themselves. 
But, as it chances when the hart hath laid 
Her fawns new-yean'd and sucklings yet, to rest 
In some resistless lion's den, she roams 
Meantime the hills, and in the grassy vales 
Feeds heedless, but the lion to his lair 
Returning soon, both her and hers destroys, 
So shall thy father, brave Ulysses, them. 
Jove ! Pallas ! and Apollo ! oh that such 
As erst in well-built Lesbos, where he strove 
With Philomelides, whom wrestling, flat 
He threw, when all Achaia's sons rejoiced, 
Ulysses now might mingle with his foes ! 
Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs. 
But thy inquiries neither indirect 
Will I evade, nor give thee false reply, 
But all that from the ancient ' of the deep 
I have received will utter, hiding nought. 
The god declared that he had seen thy sire 
In a lone island, sorrowing, and detain'd 
An inmate in the grotto of the nymph 
Calypso, wanting also means by which 
To reach the country of his birth again, 
For neither gallant barks nor friends had he 
To speed his passage o'er the boundless waves. 

So Menelaus spake, the spear-renown'd. 
My errand thus accomplish'd, I return'd, — 
And by the gods with gales propitious blest, 
Was wafted swiftly to my native shore. 

He spake, and tumult in his mother's heart 
So speaking, raised. Consolatory, next, 
The godlike Theoclymenus began. 
Consort revered of Laertiades ! 
Little the Spartan knew, but list to me, 
For I will plainly prophesy and sure. 
Be Jove of all in heaven my witness first, 
Then, this thy hospitable board, and, last, 
The household gods of the illustrious chief 
Ulysses, at whose hearth 2 I have arrived, 
That, even now, within his native isle \ 
Ulysses somewhere sits, or creeps obscure, 


1 Proteus. 

2 The hearth was the altar on which the lares or house- 
hold gods were worshiped. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


479 


Witness of these enormities, and seeds 
Sowing of dire destruction for his foes ; 
So sure an augury, while on the deck 
Reclining of the gallant bark, I saw, 
And with loud voice proclaim'd it to thy son. 

Him answer'd then Penelope discreet. 
Grant heaven, my guest, that this good word of 

thine 
Fail not ! then shalt thou soon such bounty share 
And friendship at my hands, that at first sight 
Whoe'er shall meet thee shall pronounce thee blest. 

Thus they conferr'd. Meantime the suitors hurl'd 
The quoit and lance on the smooth area spread 
Before Ulysses' gate, the custom'd scene 
Of their contentions, sports, and clamours rude. 
But when the hour of supper now approach'd, 
And from the pastures on all sides the sheep 
Came with their wonted drivers, Medon then 
(For he of all the heralds pleased them most, 
And waited at the board) them thus address'd. 

Enough of play, young princes ! enteriug now 
The house, prepare we sedulous our feast, 
Since in well-timed refreshment harm is none. 

He spake, whose admonition pleased. At once 
All rising sought the palace ; there arrived, 
Each cast his mantle off, which on his throne 
Or couch he spread, then brisk to slaughter fell 
Of many a victim ; sheep and goats and brawns 
They slew, all fatted, and a pastured ox, 
Hastening the banquet ; nor with less dispatch 
Ulysses and Eumaeus now prepared 
To seek the town, when thus the swain began. 

My guest ! since thy fix'd purpose is to seek 
This day the city as my master bade, 
Though I, in truth, much rather wish thee here 
A keeper of our herds, yet through respect 
And reverence of his orders, whose reproof 
I dread, for masters seldom gently chide, 
I would be gone. Arise, let us depart, 
For day already is far-spent, and soon 
The air of even-tide will chill thee more. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
It is enough. I understand. Thou speak'st 
To one intelligent. Let us depart, 
And lead, thyself, the way ; but give me, first, 
(If thou have one already hewn) a staff 
To lean on, for ye have described the road 
Rugged, and oft-times dangerous to the foot. 

So saying, his tatter'd wallet o'er his back 
He cast, suspended by a leathern twist, 
Eumseus gratified him with a staff, 
And forth they went, leaving the cottage kept 
By dogs and swains. He city-ward his king 
Led on, in form a squalid beggar old, 
Halting, and in unseemly garb attired. 
But when, slow-traveling the craggy way, 
They now approach'd the town, and had attain'd 
The marble fountain deep, which with its streams 
Pellucid all the citizens supplied, 
(Ithacus had that fountain framed of old 
With Neritus and Polyctor, over which 
A grove of water-nourish 'd alders hung 
Circular on all sides, while cold the rill 
Ran from the rock, on whose tall summit stood 
The altar of the nymphs, by all who pass'd 
With sacrifice frequented, still, and prayer ;) 
Melanthius, son of Dolius, at that fount 
Met them ; the chosen goats of every flock, 
With two assistants, from the field he drove, 
The suitors' supper. He, seeing them both, 


In surly accent boorish, such as fired 
Ulysses with resentment, thus began. 

Ay — this is well — the villain leads the vile ; — 
Thus evermore the gods join like to like. 
Thou clumsy swine-herd, whither would'st conduct 
This morsel-hunting mendicant obscene, 
Defiler base of banquets ? many a post 
Shall he rub smooth, that props him while he begs 
Lean alms, sole object of his low pursuit, 
Who ne'er to sword or tripod yet aspired. 
Would'st thou afford him to me for a guard 
Or sweeper of my stalls, or to supply 
My kids with leaves, he should on bulkier thewes 
Supported stand, though nourish'd but with whey. 
But no such useful arts hath he acquired, 
Nor likes he work, but rather much to extort 
From others food for his unsated maw. 
But mark my prophecy, for it is true, 
At famed Ulysses' house should he arrive, 
His sides shall shatter many a footstool hurl'd 
Against them by the offended princes there. 

He spake, and drawing nigh, with his raised foot, 
Insolent as he was and brutish, smote 
Ulysses' haunch, yet shook not from his path 
The firm-set chief, who doubtful mused awhile 
Whether to rush on him, and with his staff 
To slay him, or uplifting him on high, 
Downward to dash him headlong ; but his wrath 
Restraining, calm he suffer'd the affront. 
Him then Eumseus with indignant look 
Rebuking, raised his hands, and fervent pray'd. 

Nymphs of the fountains, progeny of Jove ! 
If e'er Ulysses on your altar burn'd 
The thighs of fatted lambs or kidlings, grant 
This my request. let the hero soon, 
Conducted by some deity, return ! 
So shall he quell that arrogance which safe 
Thou now indulgest, roaming day by day 
The city, while bad shepherds mar the flocks. 

To whom the goat-herd answer thus return'd 
Melanthius. Marvellous ! how rare a speech 
The subtle cur hath framed ! whom I will send 
Far hence at a convenient time on board 
My bark, and sell him at no little gain. 
I would, that he who bears the silver bow 
As sure might pierce Telemachus this day 
In his own house, or that the suitors might, 
As that same wanderer shall return no more ! 

He said, and them left pacing slow along, 
But soon, himself, at his lord's house arrived ; 
There entering bold, he with the suitors sat 
Opposite to Eurymachus, for him 
He valued most. The sewers his portion placed 
Of meat before him, and the maiden, chief 
Directress of the household, gave him bread. 
And now, Ulysses, with the swain his friend 
Approach'd, when, hearing the harmonious lyre, 
Both stood, for Phemius had begun his song. 
He grasp'd the swine-herd's hand, and thus he said. 

This house, Eumseus ! of Ulysses seems 
Passing magnificent, and to be known 
With ease for his among a thousand more. 
One pile supports another, and a wall 
Crested with battlements surrounds the court ; 
Firm too the folding-doors all force of man 
Defy ; but numerous guests, as I perceive, 
Now feast within ; witness the savoury steam 
Fast-fuming upward, and the sounding harp, 
Divine associate of the festive board. 

To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 


480 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Thou hast well guess'd ; no wonder ; thou art quick 
On every theme ; but let us well forecast 
This business. Wilt thou, entering first thyself 
The splendid mansion, with the suitors mix, 
Me leaving here ? or shall I lead the way 
While thou remain'st behind ? yet linger not, 
Lest seeing thee without, some servant strike 
Or drive thee hence. Consider which were best. 

Him answer'd then the patient hero bold. 
It is enough. I understand. Thou speak'st 
To one intelligent. Lead thou the way 
Me leaving here, for neither stripes nor blows 
To me are strange. Much exercised with pain 
In fight and on the deep, I have long since 
Learn'd patience. Follow next what follow may ! 
But to suppress the appetite, I deem 
Impossible ; the stomach is a source 
Of ills to man, an avaricious gulf 
Destructive, which to satiate, ships are rigg'd, 
Seas traversed, and fierce battles waged remote. 

Thus they discoursing stood ; Argus the while, 
Ulysses' dog, uplifted where he lay 
His head and ears erect. Ulysses him 
Had bred long since himself, but rarely used, 
Departing first to Ilium. Him the youths 
In other days led frequent to the chase 
Of wild goat, hart, and hare ; but now he lodged 
A poor old cast-off, of his lord forlorn, 
Where mules and oxen had before the gate 
Much ordure left, with which Ulysses' hinds 
Should, in due time, manure his spacious fields. 
There lay, with dog-devouring vermin foul 
All over, Argus ; soon as he perceived 
Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears 
Clapp'd close, and with his tail glad sign he gave 
Of gratulation, impotent to rise 
And to approach his master as of old. 
Ulysses, noting him, wiped off a tear 
Unmark'd, and of Eumaeus quick enquired. 

I can but wonder seeing such a dog 
Thus lodged, Eumaeus ! beautiful in form 
He is, past doubt, but whether he hath been 
As fleet as fair I know not ; rather such 
Perchance as masters sometimes keep to grace 
Their tables, nourish'd more for show than use. 

To whom, Eumaeus, thou didst thus reply. 
He is the dog of one dead far remote. 
But had he now such feat-performing strength 
As when Ulysses left him going hence 
To Ilium, in one moment thou shouldst mark, 
Astonish'd, his agility and force. 
He never in the sylvan deep recess 
The wild beast saw that 'scaped him, and he track'd 
Their steps infallible ; but he hath now 
No comfort, for (the master dead afar) 
The heedless servants care not for his dog. 
Domestics, missing once their lord's control, 
Grow wilful, and refuse their proper tasks ; 
For whom Jove dooms to servitude, he takes 
At once the half of that man's worth away. 

He said, and, entering at the portal, join'd 
The suitors. Then his destiny released 
Old Argus, soon as he had lived to see 
Ulysses in the twentieth year restored. 

Godlike Telemachus, long ere the rest, 
Marking the swine-herd's entrance, with a nod 
Summon'd him to approach. Eumaeus cast 
His eye around, and seeing vacant there 
The seat which the dispenser of the feast 
Was wont to occupy while he supplied 


The numerous guests, planted it right before 

Telemachus, and at his table sat, 

On which the herald placed for him his share 

Of meat, and from the baskets gave him bread. 

Soon after him, Ulysses enter'd slow 

The palace, like a squalid beggar old, 

Staff-propp'd, and in loose tatters foul attired. 

Within the portal on the ashen sill 

He sat, and seeming languid, lean'd against 

A cypress pillar by the builder's art 

Polish'd long since, and planted at the door. 

Then took Telemachus a loaf entire 

Forth from the elegant basket, and of flesh 

A portion large as his two hands contain'd, [thus. 

And beckoning close the swine-herd, charged him 

These to the stranger ; whom advise to ask 
Some dole from every suitor ; bashful fear 
111 suits the mendicant by want oppress'd. 

He spake ; Eumaeus went, and where he sat 
Arriving, in wing'd accents thus began. 

Telemachus, oh stranger, sends thee these, 
And counsels thee to importune for more 
The suitors, one by one ; for bashful fear 
111 suits the mendicant by want oppress'd. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Jove, king of all, grant every good on earth 
To kind Telemachus, and the complete 
Accomplishment of all that he desires ! 

He said,and with both hands outspread, the mess 
Receiving as he sat, on his worn bag 
Disposed it at his feet. Long as the bard 
Chaunted, he ate, and when he ceased to eat, 
Then also ceased the bard divine to sing. 
And now ensued loud clamour in the hall 
And tumult, when Minerva, drawing nigh 
To Laertiades, impell'd the chief 
Crusts to collect, or any pittance small 
At every suitor's hand, for trial's sake 
Of just and unjust ; yet deliverance none 
From evil she design'd for any there. 
From left to right \ his progress he began 
Petitioning, with outstretch'd hands, the throng, 
As one familiar with the beggar's art. 
They pitying gave to him, but view'd him still 
With wonder, and enquiries mutual made 
Who, and whence was he ? Then the goat-herd rose 
Melanthius, and the assembly thus address'd. 

Hear me, ye suitors of the illustrious queen ! 
This guest, of whom ye ask, I have beheld 
Elsewhere ; the swine-herd brought him ; but him- 
I know not, neither who nor whence he is. [self 

So he ; then thus Antinoiis stern rebuked 
The swine-herd. Ah, notorious as thou art, 
Why hast thou shown this vagabond the way 
Into the city ? are we not enough 
Infested with these troublers of our feasts ? 
Deem'st it a trifle that such numbers eat 
At thy lord's cost, and hast thou, therefore, led 
This fellow hither, found we know not where ? 

To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
Antinoiis ! though of high degree, thou speak'st 
Not wisely. What man to another's house 
Repairs to invite him to a feast, unless 
He be of those who by profession serve 
The public, prophet, healer of disease, 
Ingenious artist, or some bard divine 
Whose music may exhilarate the guests % 

i That he might begin auspiciously. Wine was served 
in the same direction. F. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


481 


These, and such only, are in every land 
Call'd to the banquet ; none invites the poor, 
Who much consume, and no requital yield. 
But thou of all the suitors roughly treat'st 
Ulysses' servants most, and chiefly me ; 
Yet thee I heed not, while the virtuous queen 
Dwells in this palace, and her godlike son. 
To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
Peace ! answer not verbose a man like him. 
Antinoiis hath a tongue accustom'd much 
To tauntings, and promotes them in the rest. 
Then, turning to Antinoiis, quick he said — 
Antinoiis ! as a father for his son 
Takes thought, so thou for me, who bidd'st me 

chase 
The stranger harshly hence ; but God 1 forbid ! 
Impart to him. I grudge not, but myself 
Exhort thee to it ; neither, in this cause, 
Fear thou the queen, or in the least regard 
Whatever menial throughout all the house 
Of famed Ulysses. Ah ! within thy breast 
Dwells no such thought ; thou lovest not to impart 
To others, but to gratify thyself. 

To whom Antinoiis answer thus return' d. 
High-soaring and intemperate in thy speech 
How hast thou said, Telemachus ? Would all 
As much bestow on him, he should not seek 
Admittance here again three months to come. 

So saying, he seized the stool which, banqueting, 
He press'd with his nice feet, and from beneath 
The table forth advanced it into view. 
The rest all gave to him, with bread and flesh 
Filling his wallet, and Ulysses, now, 
Returning to his threshold, there to taste 
The bounty of the Greeks, paused in his way 
Beside Antinoiis, whom he thus address'd. 

Kind sir, vouchsafe to me ! for thou appear'st 
Not least, but greatest of the Achaians here, 
And hast a kingly look. It might become 
Thee therefore above others to bestow, 
So should I praise thee wheresoe'er I roam. 
I also lived the happy owner once 
Of such a stately mansion, and have given 
To numerous wanderers (whencesoe'er they came) 
All that they needed ; I was also served 
By many, and enjoy 'd all that denotes 
The envied owner opulent and blest. 
But Jove (for so it pleased him) hath reduced 
My all to nothing, prompting me, in league 
With rovers of the deep, to sail afar 
To iEgypt, for my sure destruction there. 
Within the ^Egyptian stream my barks well oar'd 
I station'd, and, enjoining strict my friends 
To watch them close-attendant at their side, 
Commanded spies into the hill-tops ; but they, 
Under the impulse of a spirit rash 
And hot for quarrel, the well-cultured fields 
Pillaged of the ^Egyptians, captive led 
Their wives and little-ones, and slew the men. 
Ere long, the loud alarm their city reach'd. 
Down came the citizens, by dawn of day, 
With horse and foot and with the gleam of arms 
Filling the plain. Then Jove with panic dread 
Struck all my people ; none found courage more 
To stand, for mischiefs swarm'd on every side. 
There, numerous by the glittering spear we fell 
Slaughter'd, while others they conducted thence 
Alive to servitude ; but me they gave 

i Here again ®e6s occurs in the abstract. 


To Dmetor, king in Cyprus, Jasus' son ; 
He entertain'd me liberally, and thence 
This land I reach'd, but poor and woe-begone. 
Then answer thus Antinoiis harsh return'd. 
What daemon introduced this nuisance here, 
This troubler of our feast ? stand yonder, keep 
Due distance from my table, or expect 
To see an iEgypt and a Cyprus worse 
Than those, bold mendicant and void of shame ! 
Thou hauntest each, and inconsiderate each 
Gives to thee, because gifts at others' cost 
Are cheap, and, plentifully served themselves, 
They squander, needless, viands not their own. 

To whom Ulysses while he slow retired. 
Gods ! how illiberal with that specious form ! 
Thou wouldst not grant the poor a grain of salt 
From thy own board, who at another's fed 
So nobly, canst not spare a crust to me. 
He spake ; then raged Antinoiis still the more, 
And in wing'd accents, louring, thus replied. 

Take such dismission now as thou deservest, 
Opprobrious ! hast thou dared to scoff at me ? 

So saying, he seized his stool, and on the joint 
Of his right shoulder smote him ; firm as rock 
He stood, by no such force to be displaced, 
But silent shook his brows, and dreadful deeds 
Of vengeance ruminating, sought again 
His seat the threshold, where his bag full-charged 
He grounded, and the suitors thus address'd. 

Hear now, ye suitors of the matchless queen, 
My bosom's dictates. Trivial is the harm, 
Scarce felt, if, fighting for his own, his sheep 
Perchance, or beeves, a man receive a blow. 
But me Antinoiis struck for that I ask'd 
Food from him merely to appease the pangs 
Of hunger, source of numerous ills to man. 
If then the poor man have a God to avenge 
His wrongs, I pray to him that death may seize 
Antinoiis, ere his nuptial hour arrive ! 

To whom Antinoiis answer thus return'd, 
Son of Eupithes. Either seated there 
Or going hence, eat, stranger, and be still ; 
Lest for thy insolence, by hand or foot 
We drag thee forth, and thou be flay'd alive. 

He ceased, whom all indignant heard, and thus 
Even his own proud companions censured him. 

Antinoiis ! thou didst not well to smite 
The wretched vagabond. thou art doom'd 
For ever, if there be a God in heaven 2 ; 
For in similitude of strangers oft, 
The gods, who can with ease all shapes assume, 
Repair to populous cities, where they mark 
The outrageous and the righteous deeds of men. 

So they, for whose reproof he little cared. 
But in his heart Telemachus that blow 
Resented, anguish-torn, yet not a tear 
He shed, but silent shook his brows, and mused 
Terrible things. Penelope, meantime, 
Told of the wanderer so abused beneath 
Her roof, among her maidens thus exclaim'd. 

So may Apollo, glorious archer, smite 
Thee also ! Then Eurynome replied, 


2 Ej 877 ttov tis iirovpduios 6e6s icrri. 

Eustathius, and Clarke after him, understand an aposio- 
pesis here, as if the speaker meant to saj'— what if there 
should be ? or— suppose there should be ? But the sen- 
tence seems to fall in better with what follows interpreted 
as above, and it is a sense of the passage not unwarranted 
by the opinion of other commentators. — See Schaufelber- 
gerus. 


482 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Oh might our prayers pi'evail, none of them all 
Should see bright-charioted Aurora more. 

Her answer'd then Penelope discreet. 
Nurse ! they are odious all, for that alike 
All teem with mischief ! but Antinoiis' looks 
Remind me ever of the gloom of death. 
A stranger hath arrived who, begging, roams 
The house, (for so his penury enjoins) 
The rest have given him, and have fill'd his bag 
With viands, but Antinoiis hath bruised 
His shoulder with a foot-stool hurl'd at him. 

While thus the queen conversing with her train 
In her own chamber sat, Ulysses made 
Plenteous repast. Then calling to her side 
Eumseus, thus she signified her will. 

Eumseus, noble friend ! bid now approach 
Yon stranger. I would speak with him, and ask 
If he have seen Ulysses, or have heard 
Tidings, perchance, of the afflicted chief, 
For much a wanderer by his garb he seems. 
To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
Were those Achaians silent, thou should'st hear, 
queen ! a tale that would console thy heart. 
Three nights I housed him, and within my cot 
Three days detain'd him, (for his ship he left 
A fugitive, and came direct to me) 
But half untold his history still remains. 
As when his eye one fixes on a bard 
From heaven instructed in such themes as charm 
The ear of mortals, ever as he sings 
The people press insatiable to hear, 
So, in my cottage, seated at my side, 
That stranger with his tale enchanted me. 
Laertes, he affirms, hath been his guest 
Erewhile in Crete, where Minos' race resides, 
And thence he hath arrived, after great loss, 
A suppliant to the very earth abased ; 
He adds, that in Thesprotia's neighbour realm 
He of Ulysses heard, both that he lives, 
And that he comes laden with riches home. 

To whom Penelope, discreet, replied. 
Haste ! call him. I would hear myself his tale. 
Meantime, let these, or in the palace gate 
Sport jocular, or here; their hearts are light, 
For their possessions are secure ; their wine 
None drinks, or eats their viands, save their own ; 
While my abode, day after day, themselves 
Haunting, my beeves and sheep, and fatted goats 
Slay for the banquet, and my casks exhaust 
Extravagant, whence endless waste ensues ; 
For no such friend as was Ulysses once 
Have I to expel the mischief. But might he 
Revisit once his native shores again, 
Then, aided by his son, he should avenge, 
Incontinent, the wrongs which now I mourn. 

Then sneezed Telemachus with sudden force, 
That all the palace rang ; his mother laugh'd, 
And in wing'd accents thus the swain bespake. 

Haste — bid him hither — heard'st thou not the 
Propitious of my son % oh might it prove [sneeze 
A presage of inevitable death 
To all these revellers ! may none escape ! 
Now mark me well. Should the event his tale 
Confirm, at my own hands he shall receive 
Mantle and tunic both for his reward. 

She spake ; he went, and where Ulysses sat 
Arriving, in wing'd accents thus began. 

Penelope, my venerable friend ! 
Calls thee, the mother of Telemachus. 


Oppress'd by numerous troubles, she desires 

To ask thee tidings of her absent lord. 

And should the event verify thy report, 

Thy meed shall be (a boon which much thou need'st) 

Tunic and mantle ; but she gives no more ; 

Thy sustenance x thou must, as now, obtain, 

Begging it at their hands who chuse to give. 

Then thus Ulysses, hero toil-inured. 
Eumseus ! readily I can relate 
Truth, and truth only, to the prudent queen 
Icarius' daughter ; for of him I know 
Much, and have suffer' d sorrows like his own. 
But dread I feel of this imperious throng 
Perverse, whose riot and outrageous acts 
Of violence echo through the vault of heaven. 
And even now, when for no fault of mine 
Yon suitor struck me as I pass'd, and fill'd 
My flesh with pain, neither Telemachus 
Nor any interposed to stay his arm. 
Now, therefore, let Penelope, although 
Impatient, till the sun descends postpone 
Her questions ; then she may enquire secure 
When comes her husband, and may nearer place 
My seat to the hearth-side, for thinly clad 
Thou know'st I am, whose aid I first implored. 
He ceased ; at whose reply Eumseus sought 
Again the queen, but ere he yet had pass'd 
The threshold, thus she greeted his return. 

Comest thou alone, Eumseus ? why delays 
The invited wanderer ? dreads he other harm \ 
Or sees he aught that with a bashful awe 
Fills him ? the bashful poor are poor indeed. 
To whom, Eumseus, thou didst thus reply. 
He hath well spoken ; none who would decline 
The rudeness of this contumelious throng 
Could answer otherwise ; thee he entreats 
To wait till sun-set, and that course, queen, 
Thou shalt thyself far more commodious find, 
To hold thy conference with the guest, alone. 

Then answer thus Penelope return'd. 
The stranger, I perceive, is not unwise, 
Whoe'er he be, for on the earth are none 
Proud, insolent, and profligate as these. 

So spake the queen. Then (all his message told) 
The good Eumseus to the suitors went 
Again, and with his head inclined toward 
Telemachus, lest others should his words 
Witness, in accents wing'd him thus address'd. 

Friend and kind master ! I return to keep 
My herds, and to attend my rural charge, 
Whence we are both sustain'd. Keep thou, mean- 
All here with vigilance, but chiefly watch [time, 
For thy own good, and save thyself 'from harm; 
For numerous here brood mischief, whom the gods 
Exterminate, ere yet their plots prevail ! 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
So be it, father ! and (thy evening-mess 
Eaten) depart ; to-morrow come again, 
Bringing fair victims hither ; I will keep, 
I and the gods, meantime, all here secure. 

He ended ; then resumed once more the swain 
His polish'd seat, and both with wine and food 
Now satiate, to his charge return'd, the court 
Leaving and all the palace throng'd with guests ; 
They (for it now was evening) all alike 
Turn'd jovial to the song and to the dance. 

1 This seems added by Eumaeus to cut off from Ulysses 
the hope that might otherwise tempt him to use fiction. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


483 


BOOK XVIII. 

ARGUMENT. 

The beggar Irus arrives at the palace; a combat takes 
place between him and Ulysses, in which Irus is by one 
blow vanquished. Penelope appears to the suitors, and 
having reminded them of the presents which she had a 
right to expect from them, receives a gift from each. 
Eurymachus, provoked by a speech of Ulysses, flings a 
footstool at him, which knocks down the cup-bearer ; a 
general tumult is the consequence, which continues 
until by the advice of Telemachus, seconded by Am- 
phinomus, the suitors retire to their respective homes. 

Now came a public mendicant, a man 
Accustom'd, seeking alms, to roam the streets 
Of Ithaca ; one never sated yet 
With food or drink ; yet muscle had he none, 
Or strength of limb, though giant-built in show. 
Arnseus was the name which at his birth 
His mother gave him, but the youthful band 
Of suitors, whom as messenger he served, 
All named him Irus. He, arriving, sought 
To drive Ulysses forth from his own home, 
And in rough accents rude him thus rebuked. 

Forth from the porch, old man ! lest by the foot 
I drag thee quickly forth. Seest not how all 
Wink on me, and by signs give me command 
To drag thee hence ? nor is it aught but shame 
That checks me. Yet arise, lest soon with fists 
Thou force me to adjust our difference. 

To whom Ulysses, louring dark, replied. 
Peace, fellow ! neither word nor deed of mine 
Wrongs thee, nor feel I envy at the boon, 
However plentiful, which thou receivest. 
The sill may hold us both ; thou dost not well 
To envy others ; thou appear'st like me 
A vagrant ; plenty is the gift of heaven. 
But urge me not to trial of our fists, 
Lest thou provoke me, and I stain with blood 
Thy bosom and thy lips, old as I am. 
So, my attendance should to-morrow 'prove 
More tranquil here ; for thou should'st leave, I 
Ulysses' mansion, never to return. [judge, 

Then answer'd Irus, kindling with w disdain. 
Gods ! with what volubility of speech 
The table-hunter prates, like an old hag 
Collied with chimney-smutch ! but ah beware ! 
For I intend thee mischief, and to dash 
With both hands every grinder from thy gums, 
As men untooth a pig pilfering the corn. 
Come — gird thee, that all here may view the strife — 
But how wilt thou oppose one young as I ? 

Thus on the threshold of the lofty gate 
They, wrangling, chafed each other, whose dispute 
The high-born youth Antinous mark'd ; he laugh'd 
Delighted, and the suitors thus address' d. 

Oh friends ! no pastime ever yet occurr'd 
Pleasant as this which, now, the gods themselves 
Afford us. Irus and the stranger brawl 
As they would box. Haste— let us urge them on. 

He said ; at once loud-laughing all arose ; 
The ill-clad disputants they round about 
Encompass'd, and Antinous thus began. 

Attend, ye noble suitors, to my voice. 
Two paunches lie of goats here on the fire, 
Which fill'd with fat and blood we set apart 
For supper ; he who conquers, and in force 
Superior proves, shall freely take the paunch 


Which he prefers, and shall with us thenceforth 
Feast always ; neither will we here admit 
Poor man beside to beg at our repasts. 

He spake, whom all approved ; next, artful chief 
Ulysses thus, dissembling, them address'd. 

Princes ! unequal is the strife between 
A young man and an old with misery worn ; 
But hunger, always counsellor of ill, 
Me moves to fight, that many a bruise received, 
I may be foil'd at last. Now swear ye all 
A solemn oath, that none, for Irus' sake 
Shall, interposing, smite me with his fist 
Clandestine, forcing me to yield the prize. 

He ceased, and, as he bade, all present swore 
A solemn oath ; then thus, amid them all 
Standing, Telemachus majestic spake. 

Guest ! if thy courage and thy manly mind 
Prompt thee to banish this man hence, no force 
Fear thou beside, for who smites thee, shall find 
Yet other foes to cope with ; I am here 
In the host's office, and the royal chiefs 
Eurymachus and Antinous, alike 
Discreet, accord unanimous with me. 

He ceased, whom all approved. Then, with his 
Ulysses braced for decency his loins [rags 

Around, but gave to view his brawny thighs 
Proportion'd fair, and stripp'd his shoulders broad, 
His chest and arms robust ; while, at his side, 
Dilating more the hero's limbs and more 
Minerva stood ; the assembly with fixt eyes 
Astonish'd gazed on him, and looking full 
On his next friend, a suitor thus remark'd. 

Irus shall be in Irus found no more. 
He hath pull'd evil on himself. What thewes 
And what a haunch the senior's tatters hid ! 

So he, — meantime in Irus' heart arose 
Horrible tumult; yet, his loins by force 
Girding, the servants dragg'd him to the fight 
Pale, and his flesh all quivering as he came ; 
Whose terrors thus Antinous sharp rebuked. 

Now, wherefore livest, and why wast ever born 
Thou mountain-mass of earth ! if such dismay 
Shake thee with thought of combat with a man 
Ancient as he, and worn with many woes ? 
But mark, I threaten not in vain ; should he 
O'ercome thee, and in force superior prove, 
To Echetus thou goest ; my sable bark 
Shall waft thee to Epirus, where he reigns 
Enemy of mankind ; of nose and ears 
He shall despoil thee with his ruthless steel, 
1 And tearing by the roots the parts away 
That mark thy sex, shall cast them to the dogs. 
He said ; his limbs new terrors at that sound 
Shook under him ; into the middle space 
They led him, and each raised his hands on high. 
Then doubtful stood Ulysses toil-inured, 
Whether to strike him lifeless to the earth 
At once, or fell him with a managed blow. 
To smite with managed force at length he chose 
As wisest, lest, betray'd by his own strength, 
He should be known. With elevated fists 
Both stood ; him Irus on the shoulder struck, 
But he his adversary on the neck 
Pash'd close beneath his ear ; he split the bones, 
And blood in sable streams ran from his mouth. 


1 Tradition says that Echetus, for a love-affair, con- 
demned his daughter to lose her eyes, and to grind iron 
barley-grains, while her lover was doomed to suffer what 
Antinous threatens to Irus. F. 
n2 


484 


THE ODYSSEY. 


With many an hideous yell he dropp'd, his teeth 
Chatter'd, and with his heels he drumm'd the 

ground. 
The wooers, at that sight, lifting their hands 
In glad surprise, laugh 'd all their breath away. 
Then, through the vestibule, and right across 
The court, Ulysses dragg'd him by the foot 
Into the portico, where propping him 
Against the wall, and giving him his staff, 
In accents wing'd he bade him thus farewell. 

There seated now, dogs drive and swine away, 
Nor claim (thyself so base) supi'eme control 
O'er other guests and mendicants, lest harm 
Reach thee, hereafter, heavier still than this. 

So saying, his tatter" d wallet o'er his back 
He threw suspended by its leathern twist, 
And toward the threshold turning, sat again. 
They laughing ceaseless still, the palace-door 
Re-enter'd, and him, courteous, thus bespake. 

Jove, and all Jove's assessors in the skies 
Vouchsafe thee, stranger, whatsoe'er it be, 
Thy heart's desire ! who hast our ears relieved 
From that insatiate beggar's irksome tone. 
Soon to Epirus he shall go, dispatch'd 
To Echetus the king, pest of mankind. 

So they ; to whose propitious words the chief 
Listen'd delighted. Then Antinoiis placed 
The paunch before him, and Amphinomus 
Two loaves, selected from the rest ; he fill'd 
A goblet also, drank to him, and said, 

My father, hail ! stranger, be thy lot 
Hereafter blest, though adverse now and hard ! 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
To me, Amphinomus, endued thou seem'st 
With much discretion, who art also son 
Of such a sire, whose fair report I know, 
Dulichian Nysus opulent and good. 
Fame speaks thee his, and thou appear'st a man 
Judicious ; hear me, therefore ; mark me well. 
Earth nourishes, of all that breathe or creep, 
No creature weak as man ; for while the gods 
Grant him prosperity and health, no fear 
Hath he, or thought, that he shall ever mourn ; 
But when the gods with evils unforeseen 
Smite him, he bears them with a grudging mind ; 
| For such as the complexion of his lot 
By the appointment of the sire of all, 
Such is the colour of the mind of man. 
I, too, have been familiar in my day 
With wealth and ease, but I was then self-will'd, 
And many wrong'd, embolden'd by the thought 
Of my own father's and my brethren's power. 
Let no man, therefore, be unjust, but each 
Use modestly what gift soe'er of heaven. 
So do not these. These ever bent I see 
On deeds injurious, the possessions large 
Consuming, and dishonouring the wife 
Of one, who will not, as I judge, remain 
Long absent from his home, but is, perchance, 
Even at the door. Thee, therefore, may the gods 
Steal hence in time ; ah, meet not his return 
To his own country ! for they will not part, 
(He and the suitors) without blood, I think, 
If once he enter at these gates again ! 

He ended, and libation pouring, quaff 'd 
The generous juice, then in the prince's hand 
Replaced the cup ; he, pensive, and his head 
Inclining low, pass'd from him ; for his heart 
Foreboded ill ; yet 'scaped not even he, 
But in the snare of Pallas caught, his life 


To the heroic arm and spear resign'd 

Of brave Telemachus. Reaching, at length, 

The seat whence he had risen, he sat again. 

Minerva then, goddess ccerulean-eyed, 
Prompted Icarius' daughter to appear 
Before the suitors ; so to expose the more 
Their drift iniquitous, and that herself 
More bright than ever in her husband's eyes 
Might shine, and in her son's. Much mirth she 
And. bursting into laughter, thus began, [feign'd l , 

I wish, Eurynome ! (who never felt 
That wish till now) though I detest them all, 
To appear before the suitors, in whose ears 
I will admonish, for his good, my son, 
Not to associate with that lawless crew 
Too much, who speak him fair, but foul intend. 

Then answer thus Eurynome return'd. 
My daughter ! wisely hast thou said and well. 
Go ! bathe thee and anoint thy face, then give 
To thy dear son such counsel as thou wilt 
Without reserve ; but show not there thy cheeks 
Sullied with tears, for profit none accrues 
From grief like thine, that never knows a change. 
And he is now bearded, and hath attain'd 
That age which thou wast wont with warmest prayer 
To implore the gods that he might live to see. 

Her answer'd, then, Penelope discreet. 
Persuade not me, though studious of my good, 
To bathe, Eurynome ! or to anoint 
My face with oil ; for all my charms the gods 
Inhabitants of Olympus then destroy'd, 
When he, embarking, left me. Go, command 
Hippodamia and Autonoe 
That they attend me to the hall, and wait 
Beside me there ; for decency forbids 
That I should enter to the men, alone. [dame 

She ceased, and through the house the ancient 
Hasted to summon whom she had enjoin'd. 

But Pallas, goddess of the azure eyes, 
Diffused, meantime, the kindly dew of sleep 
Around Icarius' daughter ; on her couch 
Reclining, soon as she reclined, she dozed, 
And yielded to soft slumber all her frame. 
Then, that the suitors might admire her more, 
The glorious goddess clothed her, as she lay, 
With beauty of the skies ; her lovely face 
She with ambrosia purified, with such 
As Cytherea chaplet-crown'd employs 
Herself, when in the eye-ensnaring dance 
She joins the Graces ; to a statelier height 
Beneath her touch, and ampler size she grew, 
And fairer than the elephantine bone 
Fresh from the carver's hand. These gifts conferr'd 
Divine, the awful deity retired. 
And now, loud-prattling as they came, arrived 
Her handmaids ; sleep forsook her at the sound, 
She wiped away a tear, and thus she said. 

Me gentle sleep, sad mourner as I am, 
Hath here involved. would that by a death 
As gentle chaste Diana would herself 
This moment set me free, that I might waste 
My life no longer in heart-felt regret 
Of a lamented husband's various worth 
And virtue, for in Greece no peer had he ! 

She said, and through her chambers' stately door 
Issuing, descended ; neither went she sole, 
But with those two fair menials of her train. 

1 This seems the sort of laughter intended by the word 
'Axpt'tou. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


485 


Arriving, most majestic of her sex, 
In presence of the numerous guests, beneath 
The portal of the stately dome she stood 
Between her maidens, with her lucid veil 
Mantling her lovely cheeks. Then, every knee 
Trembled, and every heart with amorous heat 
Dissolved, her charms all coveting alike, 
While to Telemachus her son she spake. 

Telemachus ! thou art no longer wise 
As once thou wast, and even when a child. 
For thriven as thou art, and at full size 
Arrived of man, so fair-proportion'd too, 
That even a stranger, looking on thy growth 
And beauty, would pronounce thee nobly born, 
Yet is thy intellect still immature. 
For what is this? why suffer'st thou a guest 
To be abused in thy own palace ? how ? 
Know'st not that if the stranger seated here 
Endure vexation, the disgrace is thine \ 

Her answer'd then Telemachus discreet. 
I blame thee not, my mother, that thou feel'st 
Thine anger moved ; yet want I not a mind 
Able to mark and to discern between 
Evil and good, child as I lately was, 
Although I find not promptitude of thought 
Sufficient always, overawed and check'd 
By such a multitude, all bent alike 
On mischief, of whom none takes part with me. 
But Irus and the stranger have not fought, 
Urged by the suitors, and the stranger proved 
Victorious ; yes — heaven knows how much I wish 
That, (in the palace some, some in the court) 
The suitors all sat vanquish'd, with their heads 
Depending low, and with enfeebled limbs, 
Even as that same Irus, while I speak, 
With chin on bosom propp'd at the hall-gate 
Sits drunkard-like, incapable to stand 
Erect, or to regain his proper home. 

So they ; and now addressing to the queen 
His speech, Eurymachus thus interposed. 

O daughter of Icarius ! could all eyes 
Throughout Iiisian l Argos view thy charms, 
Discreet Penelope ! more suitors still 
Assembling in thy courts would banquet here 
From morn to eve ; for thou surpassest far 
In beauty, stature, worth, all womankind. 

To whom replied Penelope discreet. 
The gods, Eurymachus ! reduced to nought 
My virtue, beauty, stature, when the Greeks, 
Whom my Ulysses follow'd, sail'd to Troy. 
Could he, returning, my domestic charge 
Himself intend, far better would my fame 
Be so secured, and wider far diffused. 
But I am wretched now, such storms the gods 
Of woe have sent me. When he left his home, 
Clasping my wrist with his right hand, he said. 

My love I for I imagine not that all 
The warrior Greeks shall safe from Troy return, 
Since fame reports the Trojans brave in fight, 
Skill' d in the spear, mighty to draw the bow, 
And nimble vaulters to the backs of steeds 
High-mettled, which to speediest issue bring 
The dreadful struggle of all- wasting war, — 
I know not, therefore, whether heaven intend 
My safe return, or I must perish there. 
But manage thou at home. Cherish, as now, 
While I am absent, or more dearly still 
My parents, and what time our son thou seest 

1 From Iasus, once king of Peloponnesus. 


Mature, then wed ; wed even whom thou wilt, 
And hence to a new home. — Such were his words, 
All which shall full accomplishment ere long 
Receive. The day is near, when hapless I, 
Lost to all comfort by the will of Jove, 
Must meet the nuptials that my soul abhors. 
But this thought now afflicts me, and my mind 
Continual haunts. Such was not heretofore 
The suitors' custom'd practice ; all who chose 
To engage in competition for a wife 
Well-qualitied and well-endow'd, produced 
From their own herds and fatted flocks a feast 
For the bride's friends, and splendid presents made, 
But never ate as ye, at others' cost. 

She eeased ; then brave Ulysses toil-inured 
Rejoiced that, soothing them, she sought to draw 
From each some gift, although on other views, 
And more important far, himself intent. 

Then thus Antino'us, Eupithes' son. 
Icarius' daughter wise ! only accept 
Such gifts as we shall bring, for gifts demand 
That grace, nor can be decently refused ; 
But to our rural labours, or elsewhere 
Depart not we, till first thy choice be made 
Of the Achaian, chief in thy esteem. 

Antino'us spake, whose answer all approved. 
Then each dispatch'd his herald who should bring 
His master's gift. Antinous' herald, first, 
A mantle of surpassing beauty brought, 
Wide, various, with no fewer clasps adorn'd 
Than twelve, all golden, and to every clasp 
Was fitted opposite its eye exact. 
Next, to Eurymachus his herald bore 
A necklace of wrought gold, with amber rich 
Bestudded, every bead bright as a sun. 
Two servants for Eurydamas produced 
Ear-pendants fashion'd with laborious art, 
Broad, triple-gemm'd, of brilliant light profuse. 
The herald of Polyctor's son, the prince 
Pisander, brought a collar to his lord, 
A sumptuous ornament. Each Greecian gave, 
And each a gift dissimilar from all. 
Then, loveliest of her sex, turning away, 
She sought her chamber, whom her maidens fair 
Attended, charged with those illustrious gifts. 
Then turn'd they all to dance and pleasant song 
Joyous, expecting the approach of even. 
Ere long the dusky evening came, and them 
Found sporting still. Then, placing in the hall 
Three hearths, that should illumine wide the house, 
They compass'd them around with fuel-wood 
Long-season'd and new-split, mingling the sticks 
With torches. The attendant women watch'd 
And fed those fires by turns, to whom, himself, 
Their unknown sovereign thus his speech address'd. 

Ye maidens of the long-regretted chief 
Ulysses ! to the inner courts retire, 
And to your virtuous queen, that following there 
Your several tasks, spinning and combing wool, 
Ye may amuse her ; I, meantime, for these 
Will furnish light, and should they chuse to stay 
Till golden morn appear, they shall not tire 
My patience aught, for I can much endure. 

He said ; they tittering on each other gazed. 
But one, Melantho with the blooming cheeks, 
Rebuked him rudely. Dolius was her sire, 
But by Penelope she had been rear'd 
With care maternal, and in infant years 
Supplied with many a toy ; yet even she 
Felt not her mistress' sorrows in her heart, 


486 


THE ODYSSEY. 


But of Eurymachus enamour'd, oft 

His lewd embraces met ; she, with sharp speech 

Reproachful, to Ulysses thus replied. 

Why, what a brainsick vagabond art thou ! 
Who neither wilt to the smith's forge retire 
For sleep, nor to the public portico, 
But here remaining, with audacious prate 
Disturb'st this numerous company, restrain'd 
By no respect or fear ; either thou art 
With wine intoxicated, or, perchance, 
Art always fool, and therefore babblest now. 
Say, art thou drunk with joy that thou hast foil'd 
The beggar Irus ? Tremble, lest a man 
Stronger than Irus suddenly arise, 
Who on thy temples pelting thee with blows 
Far heavier than his, shall drive thee hence 
With many a bruise, and foul with thy own blood. 

To whom Ulysses, frowning stern, replied. 
Snarler ! Telemachus shall be inform'd 
This moment of thy eloquent harangue, 
That he may hew thee for it, limb from limb. 

So saying, he scared the women ; back they flew 
Into the house, but each with faltering knees 
Through dread, for they believed his threats sincere. 
He then illumined by the triple blaze, 
Watch'd close the lights, busy from hearth to hearth, 
But hi his soul, meantime, far other thoughts 
Revolved, tremendous, not conceived in vain. 

Nor Pallas (that they might exasperate more 
Laertes' son) permitted to abstain 
From heart-corroding bitterness of speech 
Those suitors proud, of whom Eurymachus, 
Offspring of Polybus, while thus he jeer'd 
Ulysses, set the others in a roar. 

Hear me, ye suitors of the illustrious queen ! 
I shall promulge my thought. This man, methinks, 
Not unconducted by the gods, hath reach'd 
Ulysses' mansion, for to me the light 
: Of yonder torches altogether seems 

His own, an emanation from his head, 
j Which not the smallest growth of hair obscures. 

He ended ; and the city- waster chief 
I Himself accosted next. Art thou disposed 
I To serve me, friend ! would I afford thee hire, 
: A labourer at my farm % thou shalt not want 
Sufficient wages ; thou may'st there collect 
Stones for my fences, and may'st plant my oaks, 
For which I would supply thee all the year 
With food, and clothes, and sandals for thy feet. 
But thou hast learn'd less creditable arts, 
: Nor hast a will to work, preferring much 
By beggary from others to extort 
Wherewith to feed thy never-sated maw. 

Then answer, thus, Ulysses wise return' d. 
Forbear, Eurymachus ; for were we match'd 
In work against each other, thou and I, 
Mowing in spring-time, when the days are long, 
I with my well-bent sickle in my hand, 
Thou arm'd with one as keen, for trial sake 
Of our ability to toil unfed 
Till night, grass still sufficing for the proof; 
Or if, again, it were our task to drive 
Yoked oxen of the noblest breed, sleek-hair'd, 
[ Big-limb'd, both batten'd to the full with grass, 
; Their age and aptitude for work the same, 
i Not soon to be fatigued, and were the field 
I In size four acres, with a glebe through which [see 
: The share might smoothly slide, then shouldst thou 
, How straight my furrow should be cut and true, 
i Or should Saturnian Jove this day excite 


Here, battle, or elsewhere, and were I arm'd 

With two bright spears and with a shield, and bore 

A brazen casque well-fitted to my brows, 

Me then thou shouldst perceive mingling in fight 

Amid the foremost chiefs, nor with the crime 

Of idle beggary shouldst upbraid me more. 

But thou art much a railer, one whose heart] 

Pity moves not, and seem'st a mighty man 

And valiant to thyself, only because 

Thou herd'st with few, and those of little worth. 

But should Ulysses come, at his own isle 

Again arrived, wide as these portals are, 

To thee, at once, too narrow they should seem 

To shoot thee forth with speed enough abroad. 

He ceased — then tenfold indignation fired 
Eurymachus ; he furrow'd deep his brow 
With frowns, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

Wretch, I shall roughly handle thee anon, 
Who thus with fluent prate presumptuous darest 
Disturb this numerous company, restrain'd 
By no respect or fear. Either thou art 
With wine intoxicated, or, perchance, 
Art always fool, and therefore babblest now ; 
Or thou art frantic haply with delight 
That thou hast foil'd yon vagabond obscure. 

So saying, he seized a stool ; but to the knees 
Ulysses flew of the Dulichian prince 
Amphinomus, and sat, fearing incensed 
Eurymachus ; he on his better hand 
Smote full the cup-bearer ; on the hall-floor 
Loud rang the fallen beaker, and himself 
Lay on his back clamouring in the dust. 
Straight through the dusky hall tumult ensued 
Among the suitors, of whom thus, a youth, 
With eyes directed to the next, exclaim'd. 

Would that this rambling stranger had elsewhere 
Perish'd, or ever he had here arrived, 
Then no such uproar had he caused as this ! 
This doth the beggar ; he it is for whom 
We wrangle thus, and may despair of peace 
Or pleasure more ; now look for strife alone. 

Then in the midst Telemachus upstood 
Majestic, and the suitors thus bespake. 
Sirs ! ye are mad, and can no longer eat 
Or drink in peace ; some daemon troubles you. 
But since ye all have feasted, to your homes 
Go now, and, at your pleasure, to your beds ; 
Soonest were best, but I thrust no man hence. 

He ceased ; they gnawing stood their lips, aghast 
With wonder that Telemachus in his speech 
Such boldness used. Then rose Amphinomus, 
Brave son of Nisus offspring of the king 
Aretus, and the assembly thus address'd. 

My friends ! let none with contradiction thwart 
And rude reply words rational and just ; 
Assault no more the stranger, nor of all 
The servants of renown'd Ulysses here 
Harm any. Come. Let the cup-bearer fill 
To all, that due libation made, to rest 
We may repair at home, leaving the prince 
To accommodate beneath his father's roof 
The stranger, for he is the prince's guest. 

He ended, whose advice none disapproved. 
The hero Mulius then, Dulichian-born, 
And herald of Amphinomus, the cup 
Filling, dispensed it, as he stood, to all ; 
They, pouring forth to the immortals, quaff'd 
The luscious beverage, and when each had made 
Libation, and such measure as he would 
Of wine had drunk, then all to rest retired. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


487 


BOOK XIX. 

ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses and Telemachus remove the arms from the hall 
to an upper-chamher. The hero then confers with 
Penelope, to whom he gives a fictitious narrative of his 
adventures. Euryclea, while hathing Ulysses, discovers 
him by a scar on his knee, but he prevents her commu- 
nication of that discovery to Penelope. 


They went, but left the noble chief behind 
In his own house, contriving, by the aid 
Of Pallas, the destruction of them all, 
And thus, in accents wing'd, again he said. 

My son ! we must remove and safe dispose 
All these my well-forged implements of war ; 
And should the suitors, missing them, enquire 
Where are they? thou shalt answer smoothly thus: 
I have convey'd them from the reach of smoke, 
For they appear no more the same which erst 
Ulysses, going hence to Ilium, left, 
So smirch'd and sullied by the breath of fire. 
This weightier reason (thou shalt also say) 
Some god suggested to me, — lest, inflamed 
With wine, ye wound each other in your brawls, 
Shaming both feast and courtship ; for the view 
Itself of arms incites to their abuse. 

He ceased, and in obedience to his will, 
Calling the ancient Euryclea forth, 
His nurse, Telemachus enjoin'd her thus. 

Go — shut the women in ; make fast the doors 
Of their apartment, while I safe dispose 
Elsewhere my father's implements of war, 
Which, during his long absence, here have stood 
Till smoke hath sullied them. For I have been 
An infant hitherto, but wiser grown, 
Would now remove them from the breath of fire. 

Then thus the gentle matron in return. 
Yes truly, — and I wish that now, at length, 
Thou would'st assert the privilege of thy years, 
My son, thyself assuming charge of all, 
Both house and stores ; but who shall bear the light ? 
Since they, it seems, who would, are all forbidden. 

To whom Telemachus discreet replied. 
This guest ; for no man, from my table fed, 
Come whence he may, shall be an idler here. 

He ended, nor his words flew wing'd away, 
But Euryclea bolted every door. 
Then, starting to the task, Ulysses caught, 
And his illustrious son, the weapons thence, 
Helmet, and bossy shield, and pointed spear, 
While Pallas from a golden lamp illumed 
The dusky way before them. At that sight 
Alarm'd, the prince his father thus address'd. 

Whence — whence is this, my father ? I behold 
A prodigy ! the walls of the whole house, 
The arches, fir-tree beams, and pillars tall 
Shine in my view, as with the blaze of fire ! 
Some power celestial, doubtless, is within. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Soft ! ask no questions. Give no vent to thought. 
Such is the custom of the powers divine. 
Hence, thou, to bed. I stay, that I may yet 
Both in thy mother and her maidens move 
More curiosity ; yes —she with tears 
Shall question me of all that I have seen. 

He ended, and the prince, at his command, 
Guided by flaming torches, sought the couch 
Where he was wont to sleep, and there he slept 


On that night also, waiting the approach 
Of sacred dawn. Thus was Ulysses left 
Alone, and planning sat in solitude, 
By Pallas' aid, the slaughter of his foes. 

At length, Diana-like, or like herself 
All golden Venus (her apartment left) 
Enter'd Penelope. Beside the hearth 
Her women planted her accustom'd seat 
With silver wreathed and ivory. That throne 
Icmalius made, artist renown'd, and join'd 
A footstool to its splendid frame beneath, 
Which ever with an ample fleece they spread. 
There sat discreet Penelope ; then came 
Her beautiful attendants from within, 
Who clear'd the litter' d bread, the board, and cups 
From which the insolent companions drank. 
They also raked the embers from the hearths 
Now dim, and with fresh billets piled them high, 
Both for illumination and for warmth. 
Then yet again Melantho with rude speech 
Opprobrious, thus, assail'd Ulysses' ear. 

Guest — wilt thou trouble us throughout the night 
Ranging the house 2 and linger'st thou a spy 
Watching the women? Hence— get thee abroad, 
Glad of such fare as thou hast found, or soon 
With torches beaten we will thrust thee forth. 

To whom Ulysses, frowning stern, replied. 
Petulant woman ! wherefore thus incensed 
Inveigh'st thou against me ? is it because 
I am not sleek ? because my garb is mean ? 
Because I beg ? thanks to necessity — 
I would not else. But such as I appear, 
Such all who beg and all who wander are. 
I also lived the happy owner once 
Of such a stately mansion, and have given 
To numerous wanderers, whencesoe'er they came, 
All that they needed ; I was also served 
By many, and enjoy'd all that denotes 
The envied owner opulent and blest. 
But Jove (for so it pleased him) hath reduced 
My all to nothing. Therefore well beware 
Thou also, mistress ! lest a day arrive 
When all these charms by which thou shinest among 
Thy sister-menials, fade ; fear, too, lest her 
Thou shouldst perchance irritate, whom thou serv- 
And lest Ulysses come, of whose return [est, 

Hope yet survives ; but even though the chief 
Have perish'd, as ye think, and comes no more, 
Consider yet his son, how bright the gifts 
Shine of Apollo in the illustrious prince 
Telemachus ; no woman, unobserved 
By him, can now commit a trespass here ; 
His days of heedless infancy are past. 

He ended, whom Penelope discreet 
O'erhearing, her attendant sharp rebuked. 

Shameless, audacious woman ! known to me 
Is thy great wickedness, which with thy fife 
Thou shalt atone ; for thou wast well aware, 
(Hearing it from myself) that I design'd 
To ask this stranger of my absent lord, 
For whose dear sake I never cease to mourn. 

Then to her household's governess she said ; 
Bring now a seat, and spread it with a fleece, 
Eurynome ! that, undisturb'd, the guest 
May hear and answer all that I shall ask. 

She ended. Then the matron brought in haste 
A polish'd seat, and spread it with a fleece, 
On which the toil-accustom' d hero sat, 
And thus the chaste Penelope began. 

Stranger ! my first enquiry shall be this — 


488 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Who art thou ? whence ? where horn, and sprung 
from whom ? 
Then answer thus Ulysses, wise, retum'd. 

Queen ! uncensurable hy the lips 

Of mortal man ! thy glory climbs the skies 
Unrival'd, like the praise of some great king 
Who o'er a numerous people and renown'd 
Presiding like a deity, maintains 
Justice and truth. The earth, under his sway, 
Her produce yields abundantly ; the trees 
Fruit-laden bend ; the lusty flocks bring forth ; 
The ocean teems with finny swarms beneath 
His just controul, and all the land is blest. 
Me therefore question of what else thou wilt 
In thy own palace, but forbear to ask 
From whom I sprang, and of my native land, 
Lest thou, reminding me of those sad themes, 
Augment my woes ; for I have much endured ; 
Nor were it seemly, in another's house, 
To pass the hours in sorrow and in tears, 
Wearisome when indulged with no regard 
To time or place ; thy train (perchance thyself) 
Would blame me, and I should reproach incur 
As one tear-deluged through excess of wine. 

Him answer 'd then Penelope discreet. 
The immortal gods, stranger, then destroy'd 
My form, my grace, my beauty, when the Greeks 
Whom my Ulysses follow'd, sail'd to Troy. 
Could he, returning, my domestic charge 
Himself intend, far better would my fame 
Be so secured, and wider far diffused. 
But I am wretched now, such storms of woe 
The gods have sent me ; for as many chiefs 
As hold dominion in the neighbour isles 
Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown'd 
Zacynthus ; others, also, rulers here 
In pleasant Ithaca, me, loth to wed, 
Woo ceaseless, and my household stores consume. 
I, therefore, neither guest nor suppliant heed, 
Nor public herald more, but with regret 
Of my Ulysses wear my soul away. 
They, meantime, press my nuptials, which by art 

1 still procrastinate. Some god the thought 
Suggested to me, to commence a robe 

Of amplest measure and of subtlest woof, 
Laborious task; which done, I thus address' d them. 
Princes, my suitors ! since the noble chief 
Ulysses is no more, enforce not now 
My nuptials ; wait till I shall finish first 
A funeral robe, (lest all my threads be marr'd) 
Which for the ancient hero I prepare 
Laertes, looking for the mournful hour 
When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest. 
Else, I the censure dread of all my sex, 
Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud. 
Such was my speech ; they, unsuspicious all, 
With my request complied. Thenceforth, all day 
I wove the ample web, and, by the aid 
Of torches, ravel'd it again at night. 
Three years by artifice I thus their suit 
Eluded safe ; but when the fourth arrived, 
And the same season after many moons 
And fleeting days return'd, passing my train 
Who had neglected to release the dogs, 
They came, surprised, and reprimanded me. 
Thus, through necessity, not choice, at last 
I have perform'd it, in my own despight. 
But no escape from marriage now remains, 
Nor other subterfuge for me ; meantime 
My parents urge my nuptials, and my son 


(Of age to note it) with disgust observes 
His wealth consumed ; for he is now become 
Adult, and abler than myself to rule 
The house, a prince distinguished by the gods. 
Yet, stranger, after all, speak thy descent ; 
Say whence thou art ; for not of fabulous birth 
Art thou, nor from the oak, nor from the rock. 
Her answer'd then Ulysses, ever wise. 

spouse revered of Laertiades ! 

Resolvest thou still to learn from whom I sprang ? 
Learn then ; but know that thou shalt much aug- 
My present grief, natural to a man [ment 

Who hath, like me, long exiled from his home 
Through various cities of the sons of men 
Wander'd remote, and numerous woes endured. 
Yet, though it pain me, I will tell thee all. 

There is a land amid the sable flood 
CalPd Crete ; fair, fruitful, circled by the sea. 
Numerous are her inhabitants, a race 
Not to be summ'd, and ninety towns she boasts. 
Diverse their language is ; Achaians some, 
And some indigenous are ; Cydonians there, 
Crest-shaking Dorians, and Pelasgians dwell. 
One city in extent the rest exceeds, 
Cnossus ; the city in which Minos reign'd, 
Who, ever at a nine-years-close, conferr'd 
With Jove himself ; from him my father sprang, 
The brave Deucalion ; for Deucalion's sons ' 
Were two, myself and king Idomeneus. 
To Ilium he, on board his gallant barks 
Follow'd the Atridse. I, the youngest-born, 
By my illustrious name, iEthon, am known, 
But he ranks foremost both in worth and years. 
There I beheld Ulysses, and within 
My walls received him ; for a violent wind 
Had driven him from Malea (while he sought 
The shores of Troy) to Crete. The storm his barks 
Bore into the Amnisus, for the cave 
Of Ilythia known, a dangerous port, 
And which with difficulty he attain'd. 
He, landing, instant to the city went, 
Seeking Idomeneus ; his friend of old, 
As he affirm 'd, and one whom much he loved. 
But he was far remote, ten days advanced, 
Perhaps eleven, on his course to Troy. 
Him therefore I conducted to my home, 
Where hospitably, and with kindest care 

1 entertain'd him, (for I wanted nought) 
And for himself procured and for his band, 
By public contribution, corn, and wme, 

And beeves for food, that all might be sufficed. 
Twelve days his noble Greecians there abode, 
Port-lock'd by Boreas blowing with a force 
Resistless even on the land, some god 
So roused his fury ; but the thirteenth day 
The wind all fell, and they embark'd again. 
With many a fiction specious, as he sat, 
He thus her ear amused ; she at the sound 
Melting, with fluent tears her cheeks bedew'd ; 
And as the snow by Zephyrus diffused, 
Melts on the mountain tops, when Eurus breathes, 
And fills the channels of the running streams, 
So melted she, and down her lovely cheeks 
Pour'd fast the tears, him mourning as remote 
Who sat beside her. Soft compassion touch'd 
Ulysses of his consort's silent woe ; 
His eyes, as they had been of steel or horn, 
Moved not, yet artful, he suppress'd his tears, 
And she, at length, with overflowing grief 
Satiate, replied, and thus enquired again. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Now, stranger, I shall prove thee, as I judge, 
If thou, indeed, hast entertain'd in Crete 
My spouse and his brave followers, as thou say'st. 
Describe his raiment and himself ; his own 
Appearance, and the appearance of his friends. 

Then her Ulysses answer'd, ever wise. 
Hard is the task, queen ! (so long a time 
Hath since elapsed) to tell thee. Twenty years 
Have pass'd since he forsook my native isle, 
Yet from my best remembrance, I will give 
A likeness of him, such as now I may. 
A double cloak, thick-piled, Meeonian-dyed, 
The noble chief had on ; two fastenings held 
The golden clasp, and it display'd in front 
A well-wrought pattern with much art design'd. 
A hound between his fore-feet holding fast 
A dappled fawn, gaped eager on his prey. 
All wonder'd, seeing how in lifeless gold 
Express'd, the dog with open mouth her throat 
Attempted still, and how the fawn with hoofs 
Thrust trembling forward, struggled to escape. 
That glorious mantle much I noticed, soft 
To touch, as the dried garlick's glossy film ; 
Such was the smoothness of it, and it shone 
Sun-bright ; full many a maiden, trust me, view'd 
The splendid texture with admiring eyes. 
But mark me now ; deep treasure in thy mind 
This word. I know not if Ulysses wore 
That cloak at home, or whether of his train 
Some warrior gave it to him on his way, 
Or else some host of his ; for many loved 
Ulysses, and with him might few compare. 
I gave to him, myself, a brazen sword, 
A purple cloak magnificent, and vest 
Of royal length, and, when he sought his bark, 
With princely pomp dismiss'd him from the shore. 
An herald also waited on the chief, 
Somewhat his senior ; him I next describe. 
His back was bunch'd, his visage swarthy, curl'd 
His poll, and he was named Eurybates ; 
A man whom most of all his followers far 
Ulysses honour'd, for their minds were one. 

He ceased ; she, recognising all the proofs 
Distinctly by Ulysses named, was moved 
Still more to weep, till with o'erflowing grief 
Satiate, at length she answer'd him again. 

Henceforth, O stranger, thou who hadst before 
My pity, shalt my reverence share and love. 
I folded for him with these hands the cloak 
Which thou describest, produced it when he went, 
And gave it to him ; I that splendid clasp 
Attach'd to it myself, more to adorn 
My honour'd lord, whom to his native land 
Return'd secure I shall receive no more. 
In such an evil hour Ulysses went 
To that bad city never to be named. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Consort revered of Laertiades ! 
No longer let anxiety impair 
Thy beauteous form, nor any grief consume 
Thy spirits more for thy Ulysses' sake. 
And yet I blame thee not ; a wife deprived 
Of her first mate to whom she had produced 
Fair fruit of mutual love, would mourn his loss, 
Although he were inferior far to thine, 
Whom fame affirms the semblance of the gods. 
But cease to mourn. Hear me. I will relate 
A faithful tale, nor will from thee withhold 
Such tidings of Ulysses living still, 
And of his safe return, as I have heard 


Lately, in yon neighbouring opulent land 
Of the Thesprotians. He returns enrich'd 
With many precious stores from those obtain'd 
Whom he hath visited ; but he hath lost, 
Departing from Thrinacia's isle, his bark 
And all his loved companions in the deep, 
For Jove was adverse to him, and the Sun, 
Whose beeves his followers slew. They perish'd 
Amid the billowy flood ; but him, the keel [all 
Bestriding of his bark, the waves at length 
Cast forth on the Phseacians' land, a race 
Allied to heaven, who reverenced like a god 
Thy husband, honour'd him with numerous gifts, 
And willing were to have convey'd him home. 
Ulysses, therefore, had attain'd long since 
His native shore, but that he deem'd it best 
To travel far, that he might still amass 
More wealth ; so much Ulysses all mankind 
Excels in policy, and hath no peer. 
This information from Thesprotia's king 
I gain'd, from Phidon ; to myself he swore 
Libation offering under his own roof, [crew 

That both the bark was launch'd, and the stout 
Prepared, that should conduct him to his home. 
But me he first dismiss'd ; for, as it chanced, 
A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, bound 
To corn-enrich'd Dulichium. All the wealth 
He show'd me by the chief amass'd, a store 
To feed the house of yet another prince 
To the tenth generation ; so immense 
His treasures were within that palace lodged. 
Himself he said was to Dodona gone, 
Counsel to ask from the oracular oaks 
Sublime of Jove, how safest he might seek, 
After long exile thence, his native land, 
If openly were best, or in disguise. 
Thus, therefore, he is safe, and at his home 
Well-nigh arrived, nor shall his country long 
Want him. I swear it with a solemn oath. 
First Jove be witness, king and lord of all ! 
Next these domestic gods of the renown' d 
Ulysses, in whose royal house I sit, 
That thou shalt see my saying all fulfill 'd. 
Ulysses shall this self-same year return, 
This self-same month, ere yet the next begin. 

Him answer'd then Penelope discreet. 
Grant heaven, my guest, that this good word of 

thine 
Fail not ! then, soon shalt thou such bounty share 
And friendship at my hands, that, at first sight, 
Whoe'er shall meet thee shall pronounce thee blest. 
But ah ! my soul forebodes how it will prove ; 
Neither Ulysses will return, nor thou 
Receive safe conduct hence ; for we have here 
None, such as once Ulysses was, to rule 
His household with authority, and to send 
With honourable convoy to his home 
The worthy guest, or to regale him here. 
Give him the bath, my maidens ; spread his couch 
With linen soft, with fleecy gaberdines ' 
And rugs of splendid hue, that he may lie 
Waiting, well-warm'd, the golden morn's return. 
Attend him also at the peep of day 
With bath and unction, that, his seat resumed 
Here in the palace, he may be prepared 
For breakfast with Telemachus ; and woe 


1 A gaberdine is a shaggy cloak of coarse but warm 
materials. Such always make part of Homer's bed-fur- 
niture. 


490 


THE ODYSSEY. 


To him who shall presume to incommode 
Or cause him pain ; that man shall be cashier'd 
Hence instant, burn his anger as it may. 
For how, my honour'd inmate ! shalt thou learn 
That I in wisdom oeconomic aught 
Pass other women, if unbathed, unoil'd, 
Ill-clad, thou sojourn here? man's life is short. 
Whoso is cruel, and to cruel arts 
Addict, on him all men, while yet he lives, 
Call plagues and curses down, and after death 
Scorn and proverbial mockeries hunt his name. 
But men, humane themselves, and given by choice 
To offices humane, from land to land 
Are rumour'd honourably by their guests, 
And every tongue is busy in their praise. 
Her answer'd then Ulysses ever-wise. 
Consort revered of Laertiades ! 
Warm gaberdines and rugs of splendid hue 
To me have odious been, since first the sight 
Of Crete's snow-mantled mountain-tops, I lost, 
Sweeping the billows with extended oars. 
No ; I will pass, as I am wont to pass 
The sleepless night ; for on a sordid couch 
Outstretch'd, full many a night have I reposed 
Till golden-charioted Aurora dawn'd. 
Nor me the foot-bath pleases more ; my foot 
Shall none of all thy minist'ring maidens touch, 
Unless there be some ancient matron grave 
Among them, who hath pangs of heart endured 
Numerous, and keen as I have felt myself; 
Her I refuse not. She may touch my feet. 

Him answer'd then prudent Penelope. 
Dear guest ! for of all travellers here arrived 
From distant regions, I have none received 
Discreet as thou, or whom I more have loved, 
So just thy matter is, and with such grace 
Express'd, — I have an ancient maiden grave, 
The nurse who at my hapless husband's birth 
Received him in her arms, and with kind care 
Maternal rear'd him ; she shall wash thy feet, 
Although decrepit. Euryclea, rise ! 
Wash one coeval with thy lord ; for such 
The feet and hands, it may be, are become 
Of my Ulysses now ; since man beset 
With sorrow once, soon wrinkled grows and old. 

She said, then Euryclea with both hands 
Covering her face, in tepid tears profuse 
Dissolved, and thus in mournful strains began. 

Alas ! my son, trouble for thy dear sake 
Distracts me. Jove surely of all mankind 
Thee hated most, though ever in thy heart 
Devoutly given ; for never mortal man 
So many thighs of fatted victims burn'd, 
And chosen hecatombs produced as thou 
To Jove the Thunderer, him entreating still 
That he would grant thee a serene old age, 
And to instruct, thyself, thy glorious son. 
Yet thus the god requites thee, cutting off 
All hope of thy return : — oh ancient sir ! 
Him too, perchance, where'er he sits a guest 
Beneath some foreign roof, the women taunt, 
As all these shameless ones have taunted thee, 
Fearing whose mockery thou forbidd'st their hands 
This office, which Icarius' daughter wise 
To me enjoins, and which I, glad, perform. 
Yes, I will wash thy feet ; both for her sake 
And for thy own, — for sight of thee hath raised 
A tempest in my mind. Hear now the cause ! 
Full many a guest forlorn we entertain, 
But never any have I seen, whose size, 


The fashion of whose foot, and pitch of voice, 
Such likeness of Ulysses show'd, as thine. 

To whom Ulysses, ever shrewd, replied. 
Such close similitude, O ancient dame ! 
As thou observest between thy lord and me, 
All who have seen us both, have ever found. 

He said ; then taking the resplendent vase 
Allotted always to that use, she first 
Infused cold water largely, then the warm. 
Ulysses (for beside the hearth he sat) 
Turn'd quick his face into the shade, alarm'd 
Lest, handling him, she should at once remark 
His scar, and all his stratagem unveil. 
She then, approaching, minister'd the bath 
To her own king, and at first touch discern'd 
That token, by a bright-tusk' d boar of old 
Impress'd, what time he to Parnassus went 
To visit there Autolycus and his sons, 
His mother's noble sire, who all mankind 
In furtive J arts and fraudful oaths excell'd. 
For such endowments he by gifts received 
From Hermes' self, to whom the thighs of kids 
He offer'd and of lambs, and, in return, 
The watchful Hermes never left his side. 
Autolycus, arriving in the isle 
Of pleasant Ithaca, the new-born son 
Of his own daughter found, whom on his knees 
At close of supper Euryclea placed, 
And thus the royal visitant address'd. 

Thyself, Autolycus ! devise a name 
For thy own daughter's son, by numerous prayers 
Of thine and fervent, from the gods obtain'd.^ 

Then answer thus Autolycus return'd. 
My daughter and my daughter's spouse ! the name 
Which I shall give your boy, that let him bear. 
Since after provocation and offence 
To numbers given of either sex, I come, 
Call him, Ulysses' 2 ; and when, grown mature, 
He shall Parnassus visit, the abode 
Magnificent in which his mother dwelt, 
And where my treasures lie, from my own stores 
I will enrich and send him joyful home. 

Ulysses, therefore, that he might obtain 
Those princely gifts, went thither. Him arrived, 
With right-hand gratulation and with words 
Of welcome kind, Autolycus received, 
Nor less his offspring ; but the mother most 
Of his own mother clung around his neck, 
Amphithea ; she with many a fervent kiss 
His forehead press'd, and his bright-beaming eyes. 
Then bade Autolycus his noble sons 
Set forth a banquet. They, at his command, 
Led in a fatted ox of the fifth year, 
Which slaying first, they spread him carved abroad, 
Then scored his flesh, transfix'd it with the spits, 
And roasting all with culinary skill 
Exact, gave each a portion. Thus they sat 
Feasting all day, and till the sun declined ; 
But when the sun declined, and darkness fell, 
Each sought his couch, and took the gift of sleep. 
Then, soon as day-spring's daughter rosy-palm'd 

1 Homer's morals seem to allow to a good man dissimu- 
lation, and even an ambiguous oath, should they be ne- 
cessary to save him from a villain. Thus in Book XX. 
Telemachus swears by Zeus, that he does not hinder his 
mother from marrying whom she pleases of the wooers, 
though at the same time he is plotting their destruction 
with his father. F. 

2 In the Greek 'OAY22ET'2 from the verb bUaaa — 
Irascor, I am angry. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


491 


Aurora look'd abroad, forth went the hounds, 
And with the hounds Ulysses, and the youths, 
Sons of Autolycus, to chase the boar. 
Arrived at the Parnassian mount, they climb'd 
His bushy sides, and to his airy heights 
Ere long attain'd. It was the pleasant hour 
When from the gently-swelling flood profound 
The sun, emerging, first smote on the fields. 
The hunters reach'd the valley ; foremost ran, 
Questing, the hounds ; behind them, swift, the sons 
Came of Autolycus, with whom advanced 
The illustrious prince Ulysses, pressing close 
The hounds, and brandishing his massy spear. 
There, hid in thickest shades, lay an huge boar. 
That covert neither rough winds blowing moist 
Could penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun 
Smite through it, or fast falling showers pervade, 
So thick it was, and underneath, the ground 
With litter of dry foliage strew'd profuse. 
Hunters and dogs approaching him, his ear 
The sound of feet perceived ; upridging high 
His bristly back and glaring fire, he sprang 
Forth from the shrubs, and in defiance stood 
Near and right opposite. Ulysses, first, 
Rush'd on him, elevating his long spear 
Ardent to wound him ; but, preventing quick 
His foe, the boar gash'd him above the knee. 
Much flesh, assailing him oblique, he tore 
With his rude tusk, but to the hero's bone 
Pierced not ; Ulysses his right shoulder reach'd \ 
And with a deadly thrust impell'd the point 
Of his bright spear through him and far beyond. 
Loud yell'd the boar, sank in the dust, and died. 
Around Ulysses, then, the busy sons 
Throng'd of Autolycus ; expert they braced 
The wound of the illustrious hunter bold, 
With incantation stanch'd the sable blood, 
And sought in haste their father's house again, 
Whence, heal'd and gratified with splendid gifts 
They sent him soon rejoicing to his home, 
Themselves rejoicing also. Glad their son 
His parents saw again, and of the scar 
Enquired, where given, and how ? He told them 
How to Parnassus with his Mends he went, [all, 
Sons of Autolycus to hunt, and how 
A boar had gash'd him with his ivory tusk. 

That scar, while chafing him with open palms, 
The matron knew ; she left his foot to fall ; 
Down dropp'd his leg into the vase ; the brass 
Rang, and, o'ertilted by the sudden shock, 
Pour'd forth the water, flooding wide the floor. 
Her spirit joy at once and sorrow seized ; 
Tears fill'd her eyes ; her intercepted voice 
Died in her throat ; but to Ulysses' beard 
Her hand advancing, thus, at length she spake. 

Thou art himself, Ulysses. Oh my son ! 
Dear to me, and my master as thou art, 
I knew thee not, till I had touch'd the scar. 

She said, and to Penelope her eyes 
Directed, all impatient to declare 
Her own Ulysses even then at home. 
But she, nor eye nor ear for aught that pass'd 
Had then, her fix'd attention so entire 
Minerva had engaged. Then, darting forth 
His arms, the hero with his right-hand close 
Compress'd her throat, and nearer to himself 
Drawing her with his left, thus caution'd her. 

Why would'st thou ruin me ? Thou gavest me 
milk 
Thyself from thy own breast. See me return'd 


After long sufferings, in the twentieth year, 
To my own land. But since (some god the thought 
Suggesting to thee) thou hast learn'd the truth, 
Silence ! lest others learn it from thy lips. 
For this I say, nor shall the threat be vain ; 
If God vouchsafe to me to overcome 
The haughty suitors, when I shall inflict 
Death on the other women of my house, 
Although my nurse, thyself shalt also die. 

Him answer' d Euryclea then, discreet. 
My son ! oh how could so severe a word 
Escape thy lips ? my fortitude of mind 
Thou know'st, and even now shalt prove me firm 
As iron, secret as the stubborn rock. 
But hear and mark me well. Should'st thou 
Assisted by a power divine, to slay [prevail 

The haughty suitors, I will then, myself, 
Give thee to know of all the female train 
Who have dishonour'd thee, and who respect. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
My nurse, it were superfluous ; spare thy tongue 
That needless task. I can distinguish well 
Myself, between them, and shall know them all ; 
But hold thy peace. Hush ! leave it with the gods. 

So he ; then went the ancient matron forth, 
That she might serve him with a second bath, 
For the whole first was spilt. Thus, laved at length, 
And smooth'd with oil, Ulysses nearer pull'd 
His seat toward the glowing hearth to enjoy 
More warmth, and drew his tatters o'er the scar. 
Then, prudent, thus Penelope began. 

One question, stranger, I shall yet propound, 
Though brief, for soon the hour of soft repose 
Grateful to all, and even to the sad 
Whom gentle sleep forsakes not, will arrive. 
But heaven to me immeasurable woe 
Assigns, — whose sole delight is to consume 
My days in sighs, while here retired I sit, 
Watching my maidens' labours and my own ; 
But (night return'd, and all to bed retired) 
I press mine also, yet with deep regret 
And anguish lacerated, even there. 
As when at spring's first entrance, her sweet song 
The azure -crested nightingale renews, 
Daughter of Pandarus ; within the grove's 
Thick foliage perch'd, she pours her echoing voice 
Now deep, now clear, still varying the strain 
With which she mourns her Itylus, her son 
By royal Zethus, whom she, erring 1 , slew, 
So also I, by soul-distressing doubts 
Toss'd ever, muse if I shall here remain 
A faithful guardian of my son's affairs, 
My husband's bed respecting, and not less 
My own fair fame, or whether I shall him 
Of all my suitors follow to his home 
Who noblest seems, and offers richest dower. 
My son while he was infant yet, and own'd 
An infant's mind, could never give consent 
That I should wed and leave him ; but, at length, 
Since he hath reach'd the stature of a man, 
He wishes my departure hence, the waste 
Viewing indignant by the suitors made. 
But I have dream'd. Hear, and expound my dream. 
My geese are twenty, which within my walls 
I feed with sodden wheat ; they serve to amuse 

1 She intended to slay the son of her husband's brother 
Amphion, incited to it by envy of his wife, who had six 
children, while herself had only two, but through mistake 
she slew her own son Itylus, and for her punishment was 
transformed by Jupiter into a nightingale. 


492 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Sometimes my sorrow. From the mountains came 

An eagle, huge, hook-beak'd, brake all their necks, 

And slew them ; scatter'd on the palace-floor 

They lay, and he soar'd swift into the skies. 

Dream only as it was, I wept aloud, 

Till all my maidens, gather'd by my voice, 

Arriving, found me weeping still, and still 

Complaining, that the eagle had at once 

Slain all my geese. But, to the palace-roof 

Stooping again, he sat, and with a voice 

Of human sound, forbad my tears, and said — 

Courage ! daughter of the far-renown'd 
Icarius ! no vain dream thou hast beheld, 
But, in thy sleep, a truth. The slaughter'd geese 
Denote thy suitors. I who have appear'd 
An eagle in thy sight, am yet indeed 
Thy husband, who have now, at last, return'd, 
Death, horrid death designing for them all. 

He said ; then waking at the voice, I cast 
An anxious look around, and saw my geese 
Beside their tray, all feeding as before. 

Her then Ulysses answer'd, ever wise. 

queen ! it is not possible to miss 

Thy dream's plain import, since Ulysses' self 
Hath told thee the event ! thy suitors all 
Must perish ; not one suitor shall escape. 

To whom Penelope discreet replied. 
Dreams are inexplicable, my guest ! 
And oft-times mere delusions that receive 
No just accomplishment. There are two gates 1 
Through which the fleeting phantoms pass ; of horn 
Is one, and one of ivory. Such dreams 
As through the thin-leaf 'd ivory portal come 
Soothe, but perform not, uttering empty sounds ; 
But such as through the polish'd horn escape, 
If haply seen by any mortal eye, 
Prove faithful witnesses, and are fulfill'd. [think, 
But through those gates my wondrous dream, I 
Came not ; thrice welcome were it else to me 
And to my son. Now mark my words ; attend. 
This is the hated morn that from the house 
Removes me of Ulysses. I shall fix, 
This day, the rings for trial to them all 
Of archership ; Ulysses' custom was 
To plant twelve spikes 2 , all regular arranged 
Like galley-props, and crested with a ring, 
Then standing far remote, true in his aim 
He with his whizzing shaft would thrid them all. 
This is the contest in which now I mean 
To prove the suitors ; him, who with most ease 
Shall bend the bow, and shoot through all the rings, 

1 follow, this dear mansion of my youth 
Leaving, so fair, so fill'd with every good, 
Though still to love it even in my dreams. 

Her answer'd then Ulysses, ever wise. 
Consort revered of Laertiades ! 
Postpone not this contention, but appoint 
Forthwith the trial ; for Ulysses here 

1 The difference of the two substances may perhaps 
serve to account for the preference given in this case to 
the gate of horn ; horn being transparent, and as such 
emblematical of truth ; while ivory, from its whiteness, 
promises light, but is, in fact, opaque. F. 

2 The translation here is somewhat pleonastic, for the 
sake of perspicuity ; the original is clear in itself, but not 
to us who have no such practice. Twelve stakes were 
fixed in the earth, each having a ring at the top; the 
order in which they stood was so exact, that an arrow 
sent with an even hand through the first ring, would pass 
them all. 


Will sure arrive, ere they (his polish'd bow 
Long tampering) shall prevail to stretch the nerve, 
And speed the arrow through the iron rings. 

To whom Penelope replied discreet. 
Would'st thou with thy sweet converse, my guest! 
Here soothe me still, sleep ne'er should influence 
These eyes the while ; but always to resist 
Sleep's power is not for man, to whom the gods 
Each circumstance of his condition here 
Fix universally. Myself will seek 
My own apartment at the palace-top, 
And there will lay me down on my sad couch, 
For such it hath been, and with tears of mine 
Ceaseless bedew'd, e'er since Ulysses went 
To that bad city, never to be named. 
There will I sleep ; but sleep thou here below, 
Either, thyself, preparing on the ground 
Thy couch, or on a couch by these prepared. 

So saying, she to her splendid chamber thence 
Retired, not sole, but by her female train 
Attended ; there arrived, she wept her spouse, 
Her loved Ulysses, till Minerva dropp'd 
The balm of slumber on her weary lids. 


BOOK XX. 


ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses, doubting whether he shall destroy or not the 
women servants who commit lewdness with the suitors, 
resolves at length to spare them for the present. He 
asks an omen from Jupiter, and that he would grant 
him also to hear some propitious words from the lips of 
one in the family. His petitions are both answered. 
Preparation is made for the feast. Whilst the suitors 
sit at table, Pallas smites them with a horrid frenzy. 
Theoclymenus, observing the strange effects of it, pro- 
phesies their destruction, and they deride his prophecy. 

But in the vestibule the hero lay 

On a bull's hide undress'd, o'er which he spread 

The fleece of many a sheep slain by the Greeks, 

And, cover'd by the household's governess 

With a wide cloak, composed himself to rest. 

Yet slept he not, but meditating lay 

Woe to his enemies. Meantime the train 

Of women, wonted to the suitors' arms, 

Issuing all mirth and laughter, in his soul 

A tempest raised of doubts, whether at once 

To slay, or to permit them yet to give 

Their lusty paramours one last embrace. 

As growls the mastiff standing on the start 

For battle, if a stranger's foot approach 

Her cubs new-whelp'd — so growl'd Ulysses' heart, 

While wonder fill'd him at their impious deeds. 

But, smiting on his breast, thus he reproved 

The mutinous inhabitant within. 

Heart ! bear it. Worse than this thou didst en- 
When, uncontroulable by force of man, [dure 
The Cyclops thy illustrious friends devour'd. 
Thy patience then fail'd not, till prudence found 
Deliverance for thee on the brink of fate. 

So disciplined the hero his own heart, 
Which, tractable, endured the rigorous curb, 
And patient ; yet he turn'd from side to side. 
As when some hungry swain turns oft a maw 
Unctuous and savoury on the burning coals, 
Quick expediting his desired repast, 
So he from side to side roll'd, pondering deep 


THE ODYSSEY. 


493 


How likeliest with success he might assail 
Those shameless suitors ; one to many opposed. 
Then, sudden from the skies descending, came 
Minerva in a female form ; her stand 
Above his head she took, and thus she spake. 

Why sleep'st thou not, unhappiest of mankind ? 
Thou art at home ; here dwells thy wife, and here 
Thy son ; a son, whom all might wish their own. 

Then her Ulysses answer' d, ever wise. 

goddess ! true is all that thou hast said, 
But, not without anxiety, I muse 

How, single as I am, I shall assail 

Those shameless suitors who frequent my courts 

Daily, and always their whole multitude. 

This weighter theme I meditate beside ; 

Should I, with Jove's concurrence and with thine 

Prevail to slay them, how shall I escape, 

Myself 1 , at last ? oh goddess, weigh it well. 

Him answer'd then Pallas coerulean-eyed. 
Oh faithless man ! a man will in his friend 
Confide, though mortal, and in valour less 
And wisdom than himself ; but I who keep 
Thee in all difficulties, am divine. 

1 tell thee plainly. Were we hemm'd around 
By fifty troops of shouting warriors bent 

To slay thee, thou should'st yet securely drive 
The flocks away and cattle of them all. 
But yield to sleep's soft influence ; for to lie 
All night thus watchful, is, itself, distress. 
Fear not. Deliverance waits, not far remote. 

So saying, she o'er Ulysses' eyes diffused 
Soft slumbers, and when sleep that soothes the mind 
And nerves the limbs afresh had seized him once, 
To the Olympian summit swift return'd. 
But his chaste spouse awoke ; she weeping sat 
On her soft couch, and noblest of her sex, 
Satiate at length with tears, her prayer address'd 
First to Diana of the powers above. 

Diana, aweful progeny of Jove ! 
I would that with a shaft this moment sped 
Into my bosom, thou would'st here conclude 
My mournful life ! or, oh that, as it flies, 
Snatching me through the pathless air, a storm 
Would whelm me deep in ocean's restless tide ! 
So, when the gods their parents had destroy'd, 
Storms suddenly the beauteous daughters 2 snatch'd 
Of Pandarus away ; them left forlorn 
Venus with curds, with honey and with wine 
Fed duly ; Juno gave them to surpass 
All women in the charms of face and mind, 
With graceful stature eminent the chaste 
Diana bless'd them, and in works of art 
Illustrious, Pallas taught them to excel. 
But when the foam-sprung goddess to the skies 
A suitress went on their behalf, to obtain 
Blest nuptials for them from the thunderer Jove, 
(For Jove the happiness, himself, appoints, 
And the unhappiness of all below) 
Meantime, the harpies ravishing away 
Those virgins, gave them to the furies three, 
That they might serve them. that me the gods 
Inhabiting Olympus so would hide 
From human eyes for ever, or bright-hair'd 
Diana pierce me with a shaft, that while 
Ulysses yet engages all my thoughts, 
My days concluded, I might 'scape the pain 

1 That is, how shall I escape the vengeance of their kin- 
dred? 

2 Aedon, Cleothera, Merope. 


Of gratifying some inferior chief ! 

This is supportable, when (all the day 

To sorrow given) the mourner sleeps at night ; 

For sleep, when it hath once the eyelids veil'd, 

All reminiscence blots of all alike, 

Both good and ill ; but me the gods afflict 

Not seldom even in dreams, and at my side, 

This night again, one lay resembling him ; 

Such as my own Ulysses when he join'd 

Achaia's warriors ; my exulting heart 

No airy dream believed it, but a truth, 

While thus she spake, in orient gold enthroned 
Came forth the morn ; Ulysses, as she wept, 
Heard plain her lamentation ; him that sound 
Alarm'd ; he thought her present, and himself 
Known to her. Gathering hastily the cloak 
His covering, and the fleeces, them he placed 
Together on a throne within the hall, 
But bore the bull's-hide forth into the air. 
Then, lifting high his hands to Jove, he pray'd. 

Eternal sire ! if over moist and dry 
Ye have with good will sped me to my home 
After much suffering, grant me from the lips 
Of some domestic now awake, to hear 
Words of propitious omen, and thyself 
Vouchsafe me still some other sign abroad. 

Such prayer he made, and Jove omniscient heard. 
Sudden he thunder' d from the radiant heights 
Olympian ; glad, Ulysses heard the sound. 
A woman, next, a labourer at the mill 
Hard by, where all the palace-mills were wrought, 
Gave him the omen of propitious sound. 
Twelve maidens, day by day, toil'd at the mills, 
Meal grinding, some of barley, some of wheat, 
Marrow 3 of man. The rest (their portion ground) 
All slept ; she only from her task as yet 
Ceased not, for she was feeblest of them all ; 
She rested on her mill, and thus pronounced 
The happy omen by her lord desired. 

Jove, father, governor of heaven and earth ! 
Loud thou hast thunder'd from the starry skies 
By no cloud veil'd ; a sign propitious, given 
To whom I know not ; but oh grant the prayer 
Of a poor bond-woman ! appoint their feast 
This day, the last that in Ulysses' house 
The suitors shall enjoy, for whom I drudge, 
With aching heart and trembling knees their meal 
Grinding continual. Feast they here no more ! 

She ended, and the listening chief received 
With equal joy both signs ; for well he hoped 
That he should punish soon those guilty men, 
And now the other maidens in the hall 
Assembling, kindled on the hearth again 
The unwearied blaze ; then, godlike from his couch 
Arose Telemachus, and fresh attired, 
Athwart his shoulders his bright faulchion slung, 
Bound his fair sandals to his feet, and took 
His sturdy spear pointed with glittering brass ; 
Advancing to the portal, there he stood, 
And Euryclea thus, his nurse, bespake. 

Nurse ! have ye with respectful notice served 
Our guest? or hath he found a sordid couch 
Even where he might? for, prudent though she be, 
My mother, inattentive oft, the worse 
Treats kindly, and the better sends away. 

Whom Euryclea answer'd thus discreet. 
Blame not, my son ! who merits not thy blame. 
The guest sat drinking till he would no more, 

3 fJLveXbv avdpa>v. 


494 


THE ODYSSEY. 


And ate, till, question'd, he replied — enough. 
But when the hour of sleep call'd him to rest, 
She gave commandment to her female train 
To spread his couch. Yet he, like one forlorn, 
And through despair, indifferent to himself, 
Both bed and rugs refused, and in the pox-ch 
On skins of sheep and on an undress'd hide 
Reposed, where we threw covering over him. 

She ceased, and grasping his bright-headed spear, 
Forth went the prince attended, as he went, 
By his fleet hounds ; to the assembled Greeks 
In council with majestic gait he moved, 
And Euryclea, daughter wise of Ops, 
Pisenor's son, call'd to the serving-maids. 

Haste ye ! be diligent ! sweep the palace-floor 
And sprinkle it ; then give the sumptuous seats 
Their purple coverings. Let others cleanse 
With sponges all the tables, Avash and rinse 
The beakers well, and goblets rich-emboss'd ; 
Run others to the fountain, and bring thence 
Water with speed. The suitors will not long 
Be absent, but will early come to-day, 
For this day is a public festival '. 

So she ; whom all, obedient, heard ; forth went 
Together, twenty to the crystal fount, 
While in their several provinces the rest 
Bestirr'd them brisk at home. Then enter'd all 
The suitors, and began cleaving the wood. 
Meantime, the women from the fountain came, 
Whom soon the swine-herd follow'd, driving three 
His fattest brawns ; them in the spacious court 
He feeding left, and to Ulysses' side 
Approaching, coux^teously bespake the chief. 

Guest ! look the Greecians on thee with respect 
At length, or still disdainful as before ? 

Then, answer thus Ulysses wise return'd. 
Yes — and I would that vengeance from the gods 
Might pay their insolence, who in a house 
Not theirs, dominion exercise, and plan 
Unseemly projects, shameless as they are ! 

Thus they conferr'd ; and now Melanthius came 
The goat-herd, driving, with the aid of two 
His fellow-swains, the fattest of his goats 
To feast the suitors. In the sounding porch 
The goats he tied, then, drawing near, in terms 
Reproachful thus assail'd Ulysses' ear. 

How, stranger ! perseverest thou, begging, still 
To vex the suitors ? wilt thou not depart ? 
Scarce shall we settle this dispute, I judge, 
Till we have tasted each the other's fist ; 
Thou art unreasonable thus to beg 
Here always ; have the Greeks no feasts beside ? 

He spake, to whom Ulysses answer none 
Return'd, but shook his brows, and silent framed 
Terrible purposes. Then, third, approach'd 
Chief o'er the herds, Philoetius ; fatted goats 
He for the suitors brought, with which he drove 
An heifer ; (ferry-men had pass'd them o'er, 
Carriers of all who on their coast arrive) 
He tied them in the sounding porch, then stood 
Beside the swine-herd, to whom thus he said. 

Who is this guest, EumEeus, here arrived 
So lately ? from what nation hath he come ? 
What parentage and country boasts the man ? 
I pity him, whose figure seems to speak 
Royalty in him. Heaven will surely plunge 
The race of common wanderers deep in woe, 
If thus it destine even kings to mourn. 

1 The new moon. 


He ceased ; and, with his right hand, drawing 
Welcomed Ulysses, whom he thus bespake. [nigh, 

Hail venerable guest ! and be thy lot 
Prosperous at least hereafter, who art held 
At present, in the bond of numerous ills. 
Thou, Jupiter, of all the gods, art most 
Severe, and sparest not to inflict distress 
Even on creatures from thyself derived 2 . 
I had no sooner mark'd thee, than my eyes 
Swam, and the sweat gush'd from me at the thought 
Of dear Ulysses ; for if yet he live 
And see the sun, such tatters, I suppose, 
He wears, a wanderer among human-kind. 
But if already with the dead he dwell 
In Pluto's drear abode, oh then, alas 
For kind Ulysses ! who consign' d to me, 
While yet a boy, his Cephalenian herds, 
And they have now increased to such a store 
Innumerable of broad-fronted beeves, 
As only care like mine could have produced. 
These, by command of others, I transport 
For their regale, who neither heed his son, 
Nor tremble at the anger of the gods, 
But long have wish'd ardently to divide 
And share the substance of our absent lord. 
Me therefore this thought occupies, and haunts 
My mind not seldom ; while the heir survives 
It were no small offence to drive his herds 
Afar, and migrate to a foreign land ; 
Yet here to dwell, suffering oppressive wrongs 
While I attend another's beeves, appears 
Still less supportable ; and I had fled, 
And I had served some other mighty chief 
Long since, (for patience fails me to endure 
My present lot) but that I cherish still 
Some hope of my ill-fated lord's return, 
To rid his palace of these lawless guests. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Herdsman ! since neither void of sense thou seem'st, 
Nor yet dishonest, but myself am sure 
That thou art owner of a mind discreet, 
Hear therefore, for I swear ! bold I attest 
Jove and this hospitable board, and these 
The lares 3 of the noble chief, whose hearth 
Protects me now, that ere thy going hence, 
Ulysses surely shall have reach'd his home, 
And thou shalt see him, if thou wilt, thyself, 
Slaying the suitors who now lord it here. 

Him answer'd then the keeper of his beeves. 
Oh stranger ! would but the Saturnian king 
Perform that word, thou should'st be taught (thy- 
Eye-witness of it) what an arm is mine. [self 

Eumseus also every power of heaven 
Entreated, that Ulysses might possess 
His home again. Thus mutual they conferr'd. 

Meantime, in conference close the suitors plann'd 
Death for Telemachus ; but while they sat 
Consulting, on their left the bird of Jove 
An eagle soar'd, grasping a timorous dove. 
Then thus Amphinomus the rest bespake. 

Oh friends ! our consultation how to slay 
Telemachus, will never smoothly run 
To its effect ; but let us to the feast. 

So spake Amphinomus, whose counsel pleased. 
Then, all into the royal house repair'd, 
And on the thrones and couches throwing off 
Their mantles, slew the fatted goats, the brawns, 

2 He is often called — irar^p avdpwv re Oewv tc 

3 Household gods who presided over the hearth. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


495 


The sheep full-sized, and heifer of the herd. 
The roasted entrails first they shared, then fill'd 
The beakers, and the swine-herd placed the cups ; 
Philoetius, chief intendant of the beeves, 
Served all with baskets elegant of bread, 
While all their cups Melanthius charged with wine, 
And they assail'd at once the ready feast. 
Meantime Telemachus, with forecast shrewd, 
Fast by the marble threshold, but within 
The spacious hall his father placed, to whom 
A sordid seat he gave and scanty board. 
A portion of the entrails, next, he set 
Before him, fill'd a golden goblet high, 
And thus, in presence of them all, began. 

There seated now, drink as the suitors drink. 
I will, myself, their biting taunts forbid, 
And violence. This edifice is mine, 
Not public property ; my father first 
Possess'd it, and my right from him descends. 
Suitors ! control your tongues, nor with your hands 
Offend, lest contest fierce and war ensue. 

He ceased ; they gnawing, sat, their lips, aghast 
With wonder that Telemachus in his speech 
Such boldness used. Then spake Eupithes' son, 
Antinoiis, and the assembly thus address'd. 

Let pass, ye Greeks ! the language of the prince, 
Harsh as it is, and big with threats to us. 
Had Jove permitted, his orations here, 
Although thus eloquent, ere now had ceased. 

So spake Antinoiis, whom Ulysses' son 
Heard unconcern'd. And now the heralds came 
In solemn pomp, conducting through the streets 
A sacred hecatomb, when in the grove 
Umbrageous of Apollo, king shaft-arm'd, 
The assembled Greecians met. The savoury roast 
Finish'd,and from the spits withdrawn, each shared 
His portion of the noble feast, and such 
As they enjoy 'd themselves the attendants placed 
Before Ulysses, for the hero's son 
Himself, Telemachus, had so enjoin'd. 
But Pallas (that they might exasperate more 
Ulysses) suffer' d not the suitor chiefs 
To banquet, guiltless of heart-piercing scoffs 
Malign. There was a certain suitor named 
Ctesippus, born in Samos ; base of mind 
Was he and profligate, but in the wealth 
Confiding of his father, woo'd the wife 
Of long-exiled Ulysses. From his seat 
The haughty suitors thus that man address'd. 

Ye noble suitors, I would speak ; attend ! 
The guest is served ; he hath already shared 
Equal with us ; nor less the laws demand 
Of hospitality ; for neither just 
It were nor decent, that a guest, received 
Here by Telemachus, should be denied 
His portion of the feast. Come then — myself 
Will give to him, that he may also give 
To her who laved him in the bath, or else 
To whatsoever menial here he will. 

So saying, he from a basket near at hand 
Heaved an ox-foot, and with a vigorous arm 
Hurl'd it. Ulysses gently bow'd his head, 
Shunning the blow, but gratified his just 
Resentment with a broad sardonic l smile 
Of dread significance. He smote the wall. 
Then thus Telemachus rebuked the deed. 
Ctesippus, thou art fortunate ; the bone 
Struck not the stranger, for he shunn'd the blow 

1 A smile of displeasure. 


Else, I had surely thrust my glittering lance 

Right through thee ; then, no hymeneal rites 

Of thine should have employ'd thy father here, 

But thy funereal. No man therefore treat 

Me with indignity within these walls, 

For though of late a child, I can discern 

Now, and distinguish between good and ill. 

Suffice it that we patiently endure 

To be spectators daily of our sheep 

Slaughter'd, our bread consumed, our stores of 

wine 
Wasted ; for what can one to all opposed \ 
Come then — persist no longer in offence 
And hostile hate of me ; or if ye wish 
To slay me, pause not. It were better far 
To die, and I had rather much be slain, 
Than thus to witness your atrocious deeds 
Day after day ; to see our guests abused, 
With blows insulted, and the women dragg'd 
With a licentious violence obscene 
From side to side of all this fair abode. 

He said, and all sat silent, till at length 
Thus Agelatis spake, Diastor's son. 

My friends ! let none with contradiction thwart 
And rude reply, words rational and just ; 
Assault no more the stranger, nor of all 
The servants of renown'd Ulysses here 
Harm any. My advice, both to the queen 
And to Telemachus shall gentle be, 
May it but please them. While the hope survived 
Within your bosoms of the safe return 
Of wise Ulysses to his native isle, 
So long good reason was that she should use 
Delay, and hold our wooing in suspense ; 
For had Ulysses come, that course had proved 
Wisest and best ; but that he comes no more 
Appears now manifest. Thou, therefore, prince ! 
Seeking thy mother, counsel her to wed 
The noblest, and who offers richest dower, 
That thou, for thy peculiar, may'st enjoy 
Thy own inheritance in peace and ease, 
And she, departing, find another home. 

To whom Telemachus, discreet, replied. 
I swear by Jove, and by my father's woes, 
Who either hath deceased far from his home, 
Or lives a wanderer, that I interpose 
No hindrance to her nuptials. Let her wed 
Who offers most, and even whom she will. 
But to dismiss her rudely were a deed 
Unfilial That I dare not ;— God forbid ! 

So spake Telemachus. Then Pallas struck 
The suitors with delirium ; wide they stretch'd 
Their jaws with unspontaneous laughter loud; 
Their meat dripp'd blood ; tears fill'd their eyes, 

and dire 
Presages of approaching woe, their hearts. 
Then thus the prophet Theo cly menus 2 .^ 
Ah miserable men ! what curse is this 
That takes you now ? night wraps itself around 
Your faces, bodies, limbs ; the palace shakes 
With peals of groans— and oh, what floods ye weep ! 
I see the walls and arches dappled thick 
With gore ; the vestibule is throng'd, the court 
On all sides throng'd with apparitions grim 
Of slaughter'd men sinking into the gloom 
Of Erebus ; the sun is blotted out [ture. 

From heaven, and midnight whelms you prema- 

2 Who had sought refuge in the ship of Telemachus 
when he left Sparta, and came with him to Ithaca. 


496 


THE ODYSSEY. 


He said, they, hearing, laugh'd ; and thus the son 
Of Polybus, Eurymachus replied. 

This wanderer from a distant shore hath left 
His wits behind. Hoa there ! conduct him hence 
Into the forum ; since he dreams it night 
Already, teach him there that it is day. 

Then answer'd godlike Theoclymenus. 
I have no need, Eurymachus, of guides 
To lead me hence, for I have eyes and ears, 
The use of both my feet, and of a mind 
In no respect irrational or wild. 
These shall conduct me forth, for well I know 
That evil threatens you, such too as none 
Shall 'scape of all the suitors, whose delight 
Is to insult the unoffending guest 
Received beneath this hospitable roof. 

He said, and, issuing from the palace, sought 
Piraeus' house, who gladly welcomed him. 
Then all the suitors on each other cast 
A look significant, and, to provoke 
Telemachus the more, fleer'd at his guests. 
Of whom a youth thus, insolent, began. 

No living wight, Telemachus, had e'er 
Guests such as thine. Witness, we know not who, 
This hungry vagabond, whose means of life 
Are none, and who hath neither skill nor force 
To earn them, a mere burthen on the ground. 
Witness the other also, who upstarts 
A prophet suddenly. Take my advice ; 
I counsel wisely ; send them both on board 
Some gallant bark to Sicily for sale ; 
Thus shall they somewhat profit thee at last. 

So spake the suitors, whom Telemachus 
Heard unconcern'd, and silent, look'd and look'd 
Toward his father, watching still the time 
When he should punish that licentious throng. 
Meantime, Icarius' daughter, who had placed 
Her splendid seat opposite, heard distinct 
Their taunting speeches. They, with noisy mirth, 
Feasted deliciously, for they had slain 
Many a fat victim ; but a sadder feast 
Than, soon, the goddess and the warrior chief 
Should furnish for them, none shall ever share, 
Of which their crimes had furnish'd first the cause. 


BOOK XXI. 

ARGUMENT. 

Penelope proposes to the suitors a contest with the how, 
herself the prize. They prove unable to bend the bow ; 
when Ulysses having with some difficulty possessed 
himself of it, manages it with the utmost ease, and dis- 
patches his arrow through twelve rings erected for the 
trial. 

Minerva now, goddess coerulean-eyed, 
Prompted Icarius' daughter, the discreet 
Penelope, with bow and rings to prove 
Her suitors in Ulysses' courts, a game 
Terrible in conclusion to them all. 
First, taking in her hand the brazen key 
Well-forged, and fitted with an ivory grasp, 
Attended by the women of her train 
She sought her inmost chamber, the recess 
In which she kept the treasures of her lord, 
His brass, his gold, and steel elaborate. 
Here lay his stubborn bow, and quiver fill'd 


With numerous shafts, a fatal store. That bow 

He had received and quiver from the hand 

Of godlike Iphitus Eurytides, 

Whom, in Messenia 1 , in the house he met 

Of brave Orsilochus. Ulysses came 

Demanding payment of arrearage due 

From all that land ; for a Messenian fleet 

Had borne from Ithaca three hundred sheep, 

With all their shepherds ; for which cause, ere yet 

Adult, he voyaged to that distant shore, 

Deputed by his sire, and by the chiefs 

Of Ithaca, to make the just demand. 

But Iphitus had thither come to seek [lost, 

Twelve mares and twelve mule colts which he had 

A search that cost him soon a bloody death. 

For, coming to the house of Hercules 

The valiant task-performing son of Jove, 

He perish'd there, slain by his cruel host 

Who, heediess of heaven's wrath, and of the rights 

Of his own board, first fed, then slaughter'd him ; 

For in his house the mares and colts were hidden. 

He, therefore, occupied in that concern, 

Meeting Ulysses there, gave him the bow 

Which, erst, huge Eurytus had borne, and which 

Himself had from his dying sire received. 

Ulysses, in return, on him bestow'd 

A spear and sword, pledges of future love 

And hospitality ; but never more 

They met each other at the friendly board, 

For, ere that hour arrived, the son of Jove 

Slew his own guest, the godlike Iphitus. 

Thus came the bow into Ulysses' hands, 

Which never in his gallant barks he bore 

To battle with him, (though he used it oft 

In times of peace) but left it safely stored 

At home, a dear memorial of his friend. 

Soon as, divinest of her sex, arrived 
At that same chamber, with her foot she press'd 
The oaken threshold bright, on which the hand 
Of no mean architect had streteh'd the line, 
Who had erected also on each side 
The posts on which the splendid portal hung, 
She loosed the ring and brace, then introduced 
The key, and aiming 2 at them from without, 
Struck back the bolts. The portals, at that stroke, 
Sent forth a tone deep as the pastured bull's, 
And flew wide open. She, ascending, next 
The elevated floor on which the chests 
That held her own fragrant apparel stood, 
With lifted hand aloft took down the bow 
In its embroider 'd bow-case safe enclosed. 
Then sitting there, she laid it on her knees, 
Weeping aloud, and drew it from the case. 
Thus weeping over it long time she sat, 
Till satiate, at the last, with grief and tears, 
Descending by the palace steps she sought 
Again the haughty suitors, with the bow 
Elastic, and the quiver in her hand 
Replete with pointed shafts, a deadly store. 
Her maidens, as she went, bore after her 
A coffer fill'd with prizes by her lord, [came, 

Much brass and steel; and when at length she 
Loveliest of women, where the suitors sat, 
Between the pillars of the stately dome 
Pausing, before her beauteous face she held 

i A province of Laconia. 

2 The reader will of course observe, that the whole of 
this process implies a sort of mechanism very different 
from that with which we are acquainted.— The transla- 
tion, I believe, is exact. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


497 


Her lucid veil, and by two matrons chaste 
Supported, the assembly thus address'd. 

Ye noble suitors, hear, who rudely haunt 
This palace of a chief long absent hence, 
Whose substance ye have now long time consumed, 
Nor palliative have yet contrived, or could, 
Save your ambition to make me a bride, — 
Attend this game to which I call you forth. 
Now, suitors ! prove yourselves with this huge bow 
Of wide-renown'd Ulysses ; he who draws 
Easiest the bow, and who his arrow sends 
Through twice six rings, he takes me to his home, 
And I must leave this mansion of my youth 
Plenteous, magnificent, which doubtless oft 
I shall remember even in my dreams. 

So saying, she bade Eumseus lay the bow 
Befoi'e them, and the twice six rings of steel. 
He wept, received them, and obey'd ; nor wept 
The herdsman less, seeing the bow which erst 
His lord had occupied ; when at their tears 
Indignant, thus, Antinoiis began. 

Ye rural drones, whose purblind eyes see not 
Beyond the present hour, egregious fools ! 
Why weeping trouble ye the queen, too much 
Before afflicted for her husband lost ? 
Either partake the banquet silently, 
Or else go weep abroad, leaving the bow, 
That stubborn test, to us ; for none, I judge, 
None here shall bend this polish'd bow with ease, 
Since in this whole assembly I discern 
None like Ulysses, whom myself have seen 
And recollect, though I was then a boy. 

He said, but in his heart meantime the hope 
Cherish'd, that he should bend, himself, the bow, 
And pass the rings ; yet was he destined first 
Of all that company to taste the steel 
Of brave Ulysses' shaft, whom in that house 
He had so oft dishonour'd, and had urged 
So oft all others to the like offence. 
Amidst them then the sacred might arose 
Of young Telemachus, who thus began. 

Saturnian Jove questionless hath deprived 
Me of all reason. My own mother, famed 
For wisdom as she is, makes known to all 
Her purpose to abandon this abode 
And follow a new mate, while heedless I 
Trifle and laugh as I were still a child. 
But come, ye suitors ! since the prize is such, 
A woman, like to whom none can be found 
This day in all Achaia ; on the shores 
Of sacred Pylus ; in the cities proud 
Of Argos or Mycense ; or even here 
In Ithaca ; or yet within the walls 
Of black Epirus ; and since this yourselves 
Know also, wherefore should I speak her praise ? 
Come then, delay not, waste not time in vain 
Excuses, turn not from the proof, but bend 
The bow, that thus the issue may be known. 
I also will, myself, that task essay ; 
And should I bend the bow, and pass the rings, 
Then shall not my illustrious mother leave 
Her son forlorn, forsaking this abode 
To follow a new spouse, while I remain 
Disconsolate, although of age to bear, 
Successful as my sire, the prize away. 

So saying, he started from his seat, cast off 
His purple cloak, and laid his sword aside, 
Then fix'd, himself, the rings, furrowing the earth 
By line, and opening one long trench for all, 
And stamping close the glebe. Amazement seized 


All present, seeing with how prompt a skill 
He executed, though untaught, his task. 
Then hasting to the portal, there he stood. 
Thrice, struggling, he essay'd to bend the bow, 
And thrice desisted, hoping still to draw [rings. 
The bow-string * home, and shoot through all the 
And now the fourth time striving with full force 
He had prevail'd to string it, but his sire 
Forbad his eager efforts by a sign. 
Then thus the royal youth to all around. 

Gods ! either I shall prove of little force 
Hereafter, and for manly feats unapt, 
Or I am yet too young, and have not strength 
To quell the aggressor's contumely. But come 
(For ye have strength surpassing mine) try ye 
The bow, and bring this contest to an end. 

He ceased, and set the bow down on the floor, 
Reclining it against the pannels smooth 
That lined the wall ; the airow next he placed, 
Leaning against the bow's bright-polish 'd horn, 
And to the seat, whence he had risen, return'd. 
Then thus Eupithes' son, Antinoiis spake. 

My friends ! come forth successive from the 
Where he who ministers the cup begins, [right 2 , 

So spake Antinoiis, and his counsel pleased. 
Then, first, Leiodes, OEnops' son, arose. 
He was their soothsayer, and ever sat 
Beside the beaker, inmost of them all. 
To him alone of all, licentious deeds 
Were odious, and with indignation fired, 
He witness'd the excesses of the rest. 
He then took foremost up the shaft and bow, 
And, station'd at the portal, strove to bend 
But bent it not, fatiguing, first, his hands 
Delicate and uncustom'd to the toil. 
He ceased, and the assembly thus bespake. 

My friends, I speed not ; let another try ; 
For many princes shall this bow of life 
Bereave, since death more eligible seems, 
Far more, than loss of her, for whom we meet 
Continual here, expecting still the prize. 
Some suitor haply at this moment, hopes 
That he shall wed whom long he hath desired, 
Ulysses' wife, Penelope ; let him 
Essay the bow, and trial made, address 
His spousal offers to some other fair 
Among the long-stoled princesses of Greece, 
This princess leaving his, whose proffer'd gifts 
Shall please her most, and whom the Fates ordain. 

He said, and set the bow down on the floor, 
Reclining it against the pannels smooth 
That lined the wall ; the arrow, next, he placed, 
Leaning against the bow's bright-polish'd horn, 
And to the seat whence he had risen return'd. 
Then him Antinoiis, angry, thus reproved. 

What word, Leiodes, grating to our ears 
Hath 'scaped thy lips ? I hear it with disdain. 
Shall this bow fatal prove to many a prince, 
Because thou hast thyself too feeble proved 
To bend it ? no. Thou wast not born to bend 
The unpliant bow, or to direct the shaft, 
But here are nobler who shall soon prevail. 

He said, and to Melanthius gave command, 

1 This first attempt of Telemachus and the suitors was 
not an attempt to shoot, but to lodge the bow-string on 
the opposite horn, the bow having been released at one 
end, and slackened while it was laid by. 

2 Antinoiis prescribes to them this manner of rising to 
the trial for the good omen's sake, the left hand being held 
unpropitious. 

K K 


408 


THE ODYSSEY. 


The goat-herd. Hence, Melanthius, kindle fire ; 

Beside it place, with fleeces spread, a form 

Of length commodious ; from within procure 

A large round cake of suet next, with which 

When we have chafed and suppled the tough bow 

Before the fire, we will again essay 

To bend it, and decide the doubtful strife. 

He ended, and Melanthius, kindling fire, 
Beside it placed, with fleeces spread, a form 
Of length commodious ; next he brought a cake 
Ample and round of suet from within, 
With which they chafed the bow, then tried again 
To bend, but bent it not ; superior strength 
To theirs that task required. Yet two, the rest 
In force surpassing, made no trial yet, 
Antiuous, and Eurymachus the brave. 

Then went the herdsman and the swine-herd 
Together ; after whom, the glorious chief [forth 
Himself the house left also, and when all 
Without the court had met, with gentle speech 
Ulysses, then, the faithful pair address'd. 

Herdsman ! and thou, Eumaeus ! shall I keep 
A certain secret close, or shall I speak 
Outright ? my spirit prompts me, and I will. 
What welcome should Ulysses at your hands 
Receive, arriving suddenly at home, 
Some god his guide ? would ye the suitors aid, 
Or would ye aid Ulysses ? answer true. 

Then thus the chief intendant of his herds. 
Would Jove but grant me my desire, to see 
Once more the hero, and would some kind power 
Restore him, I would show thee soon an arm 
Strenuous to serve him, and a dauntless heart. 

Eumseus also fervently implored 
The gods in prayer, that they would render back 
Ulysses to his home. He, then, convinced 
Of then' unfeigning honesty, began, 

Behold him ! I am he myself, arrived 
After long sufferings in the twentieth year ! 
I know how welcome to yourselves alone 
Of all my train I come, for I have heard 
None others praying for my safe return. 
I therefore tell you truth ; should heaven subdue 
The suitors under me, ye shall receive 
Each at my hands a bride, with lands and house 
Near to my own, and ye shall be thenceforth 
Dear friends and brothers of the prince my son. 
Lo ! also this indisputable proof 
That ye may know and trust me. View it here. 
It is the scar which in Parnassus erst 
(Where with the sons I hunted of renown'd 
Autolycus) I from a boar received. 

So saying, he stripp'd his tatters, and unveiPd 
The whole broad scar ; then soon as they had seen 
And surely recognized the mark, each cast 
His arms around Ulysses, wept, embraced 
And press'd him to his bosom, kissing oft 
His brows and shoulders, who as oft their hands 
And foreheads kiss'd, nor had the setting sun 
Beheld them satisfied, but that himself 
Ulysses thus admonish'd them, and said. 

Cease now from tears, lest any, coming forth, 
Mark and report them to our foes within. 
Now to the hall again, but one by one, 
Not all at once, I foremost, then yourselves, 
And this shall be the sign. Full well I know 
That, all unanimous, they will oppose 
Delivery of the bow and shafts to me ; 
But thou, (proceeding with it to my seat) 
Eumaeus, noble friend ! shalt give the bow 


Into my grasp ; then bid the women close 
The massy doors, and should they hear a groan 
Or other noise made by the princes shut 
Within the hall, let none set step abroad, 
But all work silent. Be the palace-door 
Thy charge, my good Philoetius ! key it fast 
Without a moment's pause, and fix the brace i. 

He ended, and returning to the hall, 
Resumed his seat ; nor staid his servants long 
Without, but follow'd their illustrious lord. 
Eurymachus was busily employ'd 
Turning the bow, and chafing it before 
The sprightly blaze, but after all could find 
No power to bend it. Disappointment wrung 
A groan from his proud heart, and thus he said. 

Alas ! not only for myself I grieve, 
But grieve for all. Nor though I mourn the loss 
Of such a bride, mourn I that loss alone, 
(For lovely Greecians may be found no few 
In Ithaca, and in the neighbour isles) 
But should we so inferior prove at last 
To brave Ulysses, that no force of ours 
Can bend his bow, we are for ever shamed. 

To whom Antinous, thus, Eupithes' son. 
Not so ; (as even thou art well-assured 
Thyself, Eurymachus!) but Phoebus claims 
This day his own. Who then, on such a day, 
Would strive to bend it ? Let it rather rest. 
And should we leave the rings where now they 
I trust that none entering Ulysses' house [stand, 
Will dare displace them. Cup-bearer, attend ! 
Serve all with wine, that, first, libation made, 
We may religiously lay down the bow. 
Command ye too Melanthius, that he drive 
Hither the fairest goats of all his flocks 
At dawn of day, that burning first the thighs 
To the ethereal archer, we may make 
New trial, and decide at length the strife. 

So spake Antinous, and his counsel pleased. 
The heralds then pour'd water on their hands, 
While youths crown'd high the goblets which they 
From right to left, distributing to all. [bore 

When each had made libation, and had drunk 
Till well sufficed, then, artful to effect 
His shrewd designs, Ulysses thus began. 

Hear, ye suitors of the illustrious queen, 
My bosom's dictates. But I shall entreat 
Chiefly Eurymachus and the godlike youth 
Antinous, whose advice is wisely given. 

Tamper no longer with the bow, but leave 
The matter with the gods, who shall decide 
The strife to-morrow, favouring whom they will. 
Meantime, grant me the polish'd bow, that I 
May trial make among you of my force, 
If I retain it still in like degree 
As erst, or whether wandering and defect 
Of nourishment have worn it all away. 

He said, whom they with indignation heard 
Extreme, alarm'd lest he should bend the bow, 
And sternly thus Antinous replied. 

Desperate vagabond ! ah wretch deprived 
Of reason utterly ! art not content ? 
Esteem'st it not distinction proud enough 
To feast with us the nobles of the land % 
None robs thee of thy share, thou witnessest 
Our whole discourse, which, save thyself alone, 

i The 8e<T[A6s seems to have hecn a strap designed to 
close the only aperture by which the bolt could be dis- 
placed, and the door opened. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


499 


No needy vagrant is allow'd to hear. 

Thou art befool'd by wine, as many have been, 

Wide-throated drinkers, unrestrain'd by rule. 

Wine in the mansion of the mighty chief 

Pirithoiis, made the valiant Centaur mad 

Eurytion, at the Lapithsean 1 feast. 

He drank to drunkenness, and being drunk, 

Committed great enormities beneath 

Pirithoiis' roof, and such as fill'd with rage 

The hero-guests, who therefore by his feet 

Dragg'd him right through the vestibule, amerced 

Of nose and ears, and he departed thence 

Provoked to frenzy by that foul disgrace, 

Whence war between the human kind arose 

And the bold Centaurs — but he first incurr'd 

By his ebriety that mulct severe. 

Great evil, also, if thou bend the bow, 

To thee I prophesy ; for thou shalt find 

Advocate or protector none in all 

This people, but we will dispatch thee hence 

Incontinent on board a sable bark 

To Echetus, the scoui'ge of human kind, 

From whom is no escape. Drink then in peace, 

And contest shun with younger men than thou. 

Him answer'd then Penelope discreet. 
Antinoiis ! neither seemly were the deed 
Nor just, to maim or harm whatever guest 
Whom here arrived Telemachus receives. 
Canst thou expect, that should he even prove 
Stronger than ye, and bend the massy bow, 
He will conduct me hence to his own home, 
And make me his own bride ? No such design 
His heart conceives, or hope ; nor let a dread 
So vain the mind of any overcloud 
Who banquets here, since it dishonours me. 

So she ; to whom Eurymachus reply'd, 
Offspring of Polybus. matchless queen ! 
Icarius' prudent daughter ! none suspects 
That thou wilt wed with him ; a mate so mean 
Should ill become thee ; but we fear the tongues 
Of either sex, lest some Achaian say 
Hereafter, (one inferior far to us) 
Ah ! how unworthy are they to compare 
With him whose wife they seek ! to bend his bow 
Pass'd all their power, yet this poor vagabond, 
Arriving from what country none can tell, 
Bent it with ease, and shot through all the rings. 
So will they speak, and so shall we be shamed. 

Then answer thus Penelope return'd. 
No fair report, Eurymachus, attends 
Their names or can, who, riotous as ye, 
The house dishonour and consume the wealth 
Of such a chief. Why shame ye thus 
The guest is of athletic frame, well form'd 
And large of limb ! he boasts him also sprung 
From noble ancestry. Come then — consent — 
Give him the bow, that we may see the proof; 
For thus I say, and thus will I perform ; 
Sure as he bends it, and Apollo gives 
To him that glory, tunic fair and cloak 
Shall be his meed from me, a javelin keen 
To guard him against men and dogs, a sword 
Of double edge, and sandals for his feet, 
And I will send him whither most he would. 
Her answer'd then prudent Telemachus. 

1 When Pirithoiis, one of the Lapithae, married Hippo- 
damia, daughter of Adrastus, he invited the Centaurs to 
the wedding. The Centaurs, intoxicated with wine, at- 
tempted to ravish the wives of the Lapithas, who, in 
resentment of that insult, slew them. 


Mother — the bow is mine ; and save myself, 
No Greek hath right to give it, or refuse. 
None who in rock-bound Ithaca possess 
Dominion, none in the steed-pastured isles 
Of Elis, if I chose to make the bow 
His own for ever, should that choice controul. 
But thou into the house repairing, ply 
Spindle and loom, thy province, and enjoin 
Diligence to thy maidens ; for the bow 
Is man's concern alone, and shall be mine 
Especially, since 1 am master here. 

She heard astonish'd, and the prudent speech 
Reposing of her son deep in her heart, 
Withdrew ; then mounting with her female train 
To her superior chamber, there she wept 
Her lost Ulysses, till Minerva bathed 
With balmy dews of sleep her weary lids. 
And now the noble swine-herd bore the bow 
Toward Ulysses, but with one voice all 
The suitors, clamorous, reproved the deed, 
Of whom a youth thus insolent exclaim'd. 

Thou clumsy swine-herd, whither bear'stthe bow, 
Delirious wretch \ the hounds that thou hast train'd 
Shall eat thee at thy solitary home 
Ere long, let but Apollo prove, at last, 
Propitious to us, and the powers of heaven. 

So they, whom hearing he replaced the bow 
Where erst it stood, terrified at the sound 
Of such loud menaces ; on the other side 
Telemachus as loud assail'd his ear. 

Friend ! forward with the bow ; or soon repent 
That thou obey'dst the many. I will else 
With huge stones drive thee, younger as 1 am, 
Back to the field. My strength surpasses thine. 
I would to heaven that I in force excell'd 
As far, and prowess, every suitor here ! 
So would I soon give rude dismission hence 
To some, who live but. to imagine harm, [heard, 

He ceased, whose words the suitors laughing 
And for their sake, in part their wrath resign'd 
Against Telemachus ; then through the hall 
Eumseus bore, and to Ulysses' hand 
Consign'd the bow ; next summoning abroad 
The ancient nurse, he gave her thus in charge. 

It is the pleasure of Telemachus, 
Sage Euryclea ! that thou key secure 
The doors ; and should ye hear perchance a groan 
Or other noise made by the princes shut 
Within the hall, let none look curious forth, 
But each in quietness pursue her work. 

So he ; nor flew his words useless away, 
But she incontinent shut fast the doors. 
Then noiseless sprang Philoetius forth, who closed 
The portals also of the palace-court. 
A ship-rope of ^Egyptian reed, it chanced, 
Lay in the vestibule ; with that he braced 
The doors securely, and re-entering fill'd 
Again his seat, but watchful eyed his lord. 
He now assaying with his hand the bow, 
Made curious trial of it every way, 
And turn'd it on all sides, lest haply worms 
Had in its master's absence drill'd the horn. 
Then thus a suitor to his next remark'd. 

He hath an eye methinks exactly skill'd 
In bows, and steals them ; or perhaps at home 
Hath such himself, or feels a strong desire 
To make them ; so inquisitive the rogue 
Adept in mischief, shifts it to and fro ! 

To whom another insolent replied. 
I wish him like prosperity in all 


500 


THE ODYSSEY. 


His efforts, as attends his effort made 

On this same bow, which he shall never bend. 

So they ; but when the wary hero wise 
Had made his hand familiar with the bow 
Poising it and examining — at once — 
As when in harp and song adept, a bard 
Unlabouring strains the chord to a new lyre, 
The twisted entrails of a sheep below 
With fingers nice inserting, and above, 
With such facility Ulysses bent 
His own huge bow, and with his right hand play'd 
The nerve, which in its quick vibration sang 
Clear as the swallow's voice. Keen anguish seized 
The suitors, wan grew every cheek, and Jove 
Gave him his rolling thunder for a sign. 
That omen, gi-anted to him by the son 
Of wily Saturn, with delight he heard. 
He took a shaft that at the table side 
Lay ready drawn ; but in his quiver's womb 
The rest yet slept, by those Achaians proud 
To be, ere long, experienced. True he lodged 
The arrow on the centre of the bow, 
And, occupying still his seat, drew home 
Nei-veandnotch'd arrow-head ; with steadfast sight 
He aim'd and sent it ; right through all the rings 
From first to last the steel-charged weapon flew 
Issuing beyond, and to his son he spake, [ceived 

Thou need'st not blush, young prince, to have re- 
A guest like me ; neither my arrow swerved, 
Nor laboured I long time to draw the bow ; 
My strength is unimpair'd, not such as these 
In scorn affirm it. But the waning day 
Calls us to supper, 1 after which succeeds 
Jocund variety, the song, the harp, 
With all that heightens and adorns the feast. 

He said, and with his brows gave him the sign. 
At once the son of the illustrious chief 
Slung his keen faulchion, grasp'd his spear, and 
Arm'd bright for battle at his father's side, [stood 


BOOK XXII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses, with some little assistance from Telemachus, 
Eumasus, and Philcetius, slays all the suitors, and twelve 
of the female servants who had allowed themselves an 
illicit intercourse with them, are hanged. Melanthius 
also is punished with miserable mutilation. 


Then, girding up his rags, Ulysses sprang 
With bow and full-charged quiver to the door ; 
Loose on the broad stone at his feet he pour'd 
His arrows, and the suitors thus bespake. 

This prize, though difficult, hath been achieved. 
Now for another mark which never man 
Struck yet, but I will strike it if I may, 
And if Apollo make that glory mine. 

He said, and at Antinous aim'd direct 
A bitter shaft ; he, purposing to drink, 
Both hands advanced toward the golden cup 
Twin-ear'd, nor aught suspected death so nigh. 

i This is an instance of the 2apddviov f.id\a ro?ou 
mentioned in Book XX. ; such as, perhaps, could not be 
easily paralleled. I question if there be a passage, cither 
in ancient or modern tragedy, so truly terrible as this 
seeming levity of Ulysses, in the moment when he was 
going to begin the slaughter. 


For who, at the full banquet, could suspect 
That any single guest, however brave, 
Should plan his death, and execute the blow ? 
Yet him Ulysses with an arrow pierced 
Full in the throat, and through his neck behind 
Started the glittering point. Aslant he droop'd ; 
Down fell the goblet, through his nostrils flew 
The spouted blood, and spurning with his foot 
The board, he spread his viands in the dust. 
Confusion, when they saw Antinous fallen, 
Seized all the suitors ; from the thrones they sprang, 
Flew every way, and on all sides explored 
The palace-walls, but neither sturdy lance 
As erst, nor buckler could they there discern. 
Then, furious, to Ulysses thus they spake. 

Thy arrow, stranger, was ill-aim'd ; a man 
Is no just mark. Thou never shalt dispute j 
Prize more. Inevitable death is thine. 
For thou hast slain a prince noblest of all 
In Ithaca, and shalt be vultures' food. 

Various their judgments were, but none believed 
That he had slain him wittingly, nor saw 
The infatuate men fate hovering o'er them all. 
Then thus Ulysses, louring dark, replied. 

O dogs ! not fearing aught my safe return 
From Ilium, ye have shorn my substance close, 
Lain with my women forcibly, and sought, 
While yet I lived, to make my consort yours, 
Heedless of the inhabitants of heaven 
Alike, and of the just revenge of man. 
But death is on the wing ; death for you all. 

He said ; their cheeks all faded at the sound, 
And each with sharpen'd eyes search'd every nook 
For an escape from his impending doom, 
Till thus, alone, Eurymachus replied. 

If thou indeed art he, the mighty chief 
Of Ithaca return'd, thou hast rehearsed 
With truth the crimes committed by the Greeks 
Frequent, both in thy house and in thy field. 
But he, already, who was cause of all, 
Lies slain, Antinous ; he thy palace fill'd 
With outrage, not solicitous so much 
To win the fair Penelope, but thoughts 
Far different framing, which Saturnian Jove 
Hath baffled all ; to rule himself supreme 
In noble Ithaca, when he had kill'd 
By an insidious stratagem thy son. 
But he is slain. Now therefore, spare thy own, 
Thy people ; public reparation due 
Shall sure be thine, and to appease thy wrath 
For all the waste that, eating, drinking here 
We have committed, we will yield thee, each, 
Full twenty beeves, gold paying thee beside 
And brass, till joy shall fill thee at the sight, 
However just thine anger was before. 

To whom Ulysses, frowning stern, replied. 
Eurymachus, would ye contribute each 
His whole inheritance, and other sums 
Still add beside, ye should not, even so, 
These hands of mine bribe to abstain from blood, 
Till every suitor suffer for his wrong. 
Ye have your choice. Fight with me, or escape 
(Whoever may) the terrours of his fate, 
But ye all perish, if my thought be true. 

He ended, they with trembling knees and hearts 
All heard, whom thus Eurymachus address'd. 

To your defence, my friends ! for respite none 
Will he to his victorious hands afford, 
But arm'd with bow and quiver, will dispatch 
Shafts from the door till he have slain us all. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


501 


Therefore to arms — draw each his sword — oppose 

The tables to his shafts, and all at once 

Rush on him ; that, dislodging him at least 

From portal and from threshold, we may give 

The city on all sides a loud alarm, 

So shall this archer soon have shot his last. 

Thus saying, he drew his brazen faulchion keen 
Of double edge, and with a dreadful cry 
Sprang on him ; but Ulysses with a shaft 
In that same moment through his bosom driven 
Transfix'd his liver, and down dropp'd his sword. 
He, staggering around his table, fell 
Convolved in agonies, and overturn'd 
Both food and wine ; his forehead smote the floor; 
Woe fill'd his heart, and spurning with his heels 
His vacant seat, he shook it till he died. 
Then with his faulchion drawn, Amphinomus 
Advanced to drive Ulysses from the door, 
And fierce was his assault ; but, from behind, 
Telemachus between his shoulders fix'd 
A brazen lance, and urged it through his breast. 
Full on his front, with hideous sound, he fell. 
Leaving the weapon planted in his spine 
Back flew Telemachus, lest had he stood 
Drawing it forth, some enemy, perchance, 
Should either pierce him with a sudden thrust 
Oblique, or hew him with a downright edge. 
Swift, therefore, to his father's side he ran, 
Whom reaching, in wing'd accents thus he said. 

My father ! I will now bring thee a shield, 
An helmet, and two spears : I will enclose 
Myself in armour also, and will give 
Both to the herdsmen and Eumaeus arms 
Expedient now, and needful for us all. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Run ; fetch them, while I yet have arrows left, 
Lest, single, I be justled from the door. 

He said, and at his word forth went the prince, 
Seeking the chamber where he had secured 
The armour. Thence he took four shields, eight 

spears, 
With four hair-crested helmets, charged with which 
He hasted to his father's side again, 
And, arming first himself, furnish' d with arms 
His two attendants. Then, all clad alike 
In splendid brass, beside the dauntless chief 
Ulysses, his auxiliars firm they stood. 
He while a single arrow unemploy'd 
Lay at his foot, right-aiming, ever pierced 
Some suitor through, and heaps on heaps they fell. 
But when his arrows fail'd the royal chief, 
His bow reclining at the portal's side 
Against the palace wall, he slung himself 
A four-fold buckler on his arm, he fix'd 
A casque whose crest waved awful o'er his brows 
On his illustrious head, and fill'd his gripe 
With two stout spears, well-headed both with brass. 

There was a certain postern 1 in the wall 
At the gate-side, the customary pass 
Into a narrow street, but barr'd secure. 
Ulysses bade his faithful swine-herd watch 

1 If the ancients found it difficult to ascertain clearly 
the situation of this opaodvpr), well may we. The trans- 
lator has given it the position which to him appeared most 
probable.— There seem to hare been two of these posterns, 
one leading to a part from which the town might be 
alarmed, the other to the chamber to which Telemachus 
went for armour. There was one, perhaps, on each side 
of the portal, and they appear to have been at some height 
above the floor. 


That egress, station'd near it, for it own'd 
One sole approach ; then Agelaus loud 
Exhorting all the suitors, thus exclaim'd. 

Oh friends ! will none, ascending to the door 
Of yonder postern, summon to our aid 
The populace, and spread a wide alarm ? 
So shall this archer soon have shot his last. 

To whom the keeper of the goats replied 
Melanthius. Agelaus ! prince renown'd ! 
That may not be. The postern and the gate 2 
Neighbour too near each other, and to force 
The narrow egress were a vain attempt ; 
One valiant man might thence repulse us all. 
But come — myself will furnish you with arms 
Fetch'd from above ; for there, as I suppose, 
(And not elsewhere) Ulysses, and his son 
Have hidden them, and there they shall be found. 

So spake Melanthius, and ascending sought 
Ulysses' chambers through the winding stairs 
And galleries of the house. Twelve bucklers thence 
He took, as many spears, and helmets bright 
As many, shagg'd with hah.', then swift return'd 
And gave them to his friends. Trembled the heart 
Of brave Ulysses, and his knees, at sight 
Of his opposers putting armour on, 
And shaking each his spear ; arduous indeed 
Now seem'd his task, and in wing'd accents brief 
Thus to his son Telemachus he spake. 

Either some woman of our train contrives 
Hard battle for us, furnishing with arms 
The suitors, or Melanthius arms them all. 

Him answer'd then Telemachus discreet. 
Father, this fault was mine, and be it charged 
On none beside ; I left the chamber-door 
Unbarr'd, which, more attentive than myself, 
Their spy perceived. But haste, Eumseus, shut 
The chamber-door, observing well, the while, 
If any woman of our train have done 
This deed, or whether, as I more suspect, 
Melanthius, Dolius' son, have given them arms. 

Thus mutual they conferr'd ; meantime, again 
Melanthius to the chamber flew in quest 
Of other arms. Eumeeus, as he went, 
Mark'd him, and to Ulysses thus he spake. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Behold, the traitor, whom ourselves supposed, 
Seeks yet again the chamber ! Tell me plain, 
Shall I, should I superior prove in force, 
Slay him, or shall I drag him thence to thee, 
That he may suffer at thy hands the doom 
Due to his treasons perpetrated oft 
Against thee, here, even in thy own house ? 

Then answer thus Ulysses shrewd return'd. 
I, with Telemachus, will here immew 
The lordly suitors close, rage as they may. 
Ye two, the while, bind fast Melanthius' hands 
And feet behind his back, then cast him bound 
Into the chamber, and (the door secured) 
Pass underneath his arms a double chain, 
And by a pillar's top weigh him aloft 
Till he approach the rafters, there to endure,. 
Living long time, the miseries he hath earn'd. 

He spake ; they prompt obey'd; together both 
They sought the chamber, whom the wretch within 
Heard not, exploring every nook for arms. 
They watching stood the door, from which, at length, 
Forth came Melanthius, bearing in one hand 
A casque, and in the other a broad shield 

2 At which Ulysses stood. 


502 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Time-worn and chapp'd with drought, which in 

his youth 
Warlike Laertes had been wont to hear. 
Long time neglected it had lain, till age 
Had loosed the sutures of its bands. At once 
Both, springing on him, seized and drew him in 
Forcibly by his locks, then cast him down 
Prone on the pavement, trembling at his fate. 
With painful stricture of the cord his hands 
They bound and feet together at his back, 
As their illustrious master had enjoin'd, 
Then weigh 'd him with a double chain aloft 
By a tall pillar to the palace-roof, 
And thus, deriding him, Eumseus spake. 

Now, good Melanthius, on that fleecy bed 
Reclined, as well befits thee, thou wilt watch 
All night, nor when the golden dawn forsakes 
The ocean stream, will she escape thine eye, 
But thou wilt duly to the palace drive 
The fattest goats, a banquet for thy friends. 

So saying, he left him in his dreadful sling. 
Then arming both, and barring fast the door, 
They sought brave Laertiades again. 
And now, courageous at the portal stood 
Those four, by numbers in the interior house 
Opposed of adversaries fierce in arms, 
When Pallas, in the form and with the voice 
Approach'd of Mentor, whom Laertes' son 
Beheld, and joyful at the sight, exclaim'd. 

Help, Mentor ! help — now recollect a friend 
And benefactor, born when thou wast born. 

So he, not unsuspicious that he saw 
Pallas, the heroine of heaven. Meantime 
The suitors fill'd with menaces the dome, 
And Agelaiis first, Damastor's son, 
In accents harsh rebuked the goddess thus. 

Beware, oh Mentor ! that he lure thee not 
To oppose the suitors and to aid himself. 
For thus will we. Ulysses and his son 
Both slain, in vengeance of thy purposed deeds 
Against us, we will slay thee next, and thou 
With thy own head shalt satisfy the wrong. 
Your force thus quell'd in battle, all thy wealth 
Whether in house or field, mingled with his, 
We will confiscate, neither will we leave 
Or son of thine, or daughter in thy house 
Alive, nor shall thy virtuous consort more 
Within the walls of Ithaca be seen. 

He ended, and his words with wrath inflamed 
Minerva's heart the more ; incensed, she turn'd 
Toward Ulysses, whom she thus reproved. 

Thou neither own'st the courage nor the force, 
Ulysses now, which nine whole years thou show'dst 
At Ilium, waging battle obstinate 
For high-born Helen, and in horrid fight 
Destroying multitudes, till thy advice 
At last laid Priam's bulwark'd city low. 
Why, in possession of thy proper home [oppose 
And substance, mourn'st thou want of power to 
The suitors ? Stand beside me, mark my deeds, 
And thou shalt own Mentor Alcimides 
A valiant friend, and mindful of thy love. 

She spake ; nor made she victory as yet 
Entire his own, proving the valour, first, 
Both of the sire and of his glorious son, 
But, springing in a swallow's form aloft, 
Perch 'd on a rafter of the splendid roof. 
Then, Agelaiis animated loud 
The suitors, whom Eurynomus also roused, 
Amphimedon, and Demoptolemus, 


And Polyctorides, Pisander named, 

And Polybus the brave ; for noblest far 

Of all the suitor chiefs who now survived 

And fought for life were these. The bow had quell'd 

And shafts, in quick succession sent, the rest. 

Then Agelaiis thus harangued them all. 

We soon shall tame, friends, this warrior's 
Whom Mentor, after all his airy vaunts [might, 
Hath left, and at the portal now remain 
Themselves alone. Dismiss not therefore, all, 
Your spears together, but with six alone 
Assail them first ; Jove willing, we shall pierce 
Ulysses, and subduing him, shall slay 
With ease the rest ; their force is safely scorn'd. 

He ceased ; and, as he bade, six hurl'd the spear 
Together ; but Minerva gave them all 
A devious flight ; ! one struck a column, one 
The planks of the broad portal, and a third 
Flung right his ashen beam ponderous with brass 
Against the wall. ' Then (every suitor's spear 
Eluded) thus Ulysses gave the word — 

Now friends ! I counsel you that ye dismiss 
Your spears at them, who, not content with past 
Enormities, thirst also for our blood. 

He said, and with unerring aim all threw 
Their glittering spears. Ulysses on the ground 
Stretch'd Demoptolemus ; Euryades 
Fell by Telemachus ; the swine-herd slew 
Elatus, and the keeper of the beeves 
Pisander ; in one moment all alike 
Lay grinding with their teeth the dusty floor. 
Back flew the suitors to the farthest wall, 
On whom those valiant four advancing, each 
Recover'd, quick, his weapon from the dead. 
Then hurl'd the desperate suitors yet again 
Their glittering spears, but Pallas gave to each 
A frustrate course ; one struck a column, one 
The planks of the broad portal, and a third 
Flung full his ashen beam against the wall. 
Yet pierced Amphimedon the prince's wrist, 
But slightly, a skin-wound, and o'er his shield 
Ctesippus reach 'd the shoulder of the good 
Eumseus, but his glancing weapon swift 
O'erflew the mark, and fell. And now the four, 
Ulysses, dauntless hero, and his friends 
All hurl'd their spears together in return. 
Himself Ulysses, city-waster chief, 
Wounded Eurydamas ; Ulysses' son 
Amphimedon ; the swine-herd Polybus ; 
And in his breast the keeper of the beeves 
Ctesippus, glorying over whom, he cried. 

Oh son of Polytherses ! whose delight 
Hath been to taunt and jeer, never again 
Boast foolishly, but to the gods commit 
Thy tongue, since they are mightier far than thou. 
Take this — a compensation for thy pledge 
Of hospitality, the huge ox-hoof, 
Which while he roam'd the palace, begging alms, 
Ulysses at thy bounteous hand received. 

So gloried he ; then grasping still his spear, 
Ulysses pierced Damastor's son, and next 
Telemachus, enforcing his long beam 
Sheer through his bowels and his back, trans- 
Leiocritus ; he prostrate smote the floor, [pierced 
Then Pallas from the lofty roof held forth 
Her host-confounding aegis o'er their heads, 

1 The deviation of three only is described, which must 
be understood, therefore, as instances of the ill success of 
all. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


503 


Withering their souls with fear. They through 

the hall 
Fled, scatter'd as an herd, which rapid-wing'd 
The gad-fly dissipates, infester fell 
Of beeves, when vernal suns shine hot and long. 
1 But, as when bow-beak'd vultures crooked-claw'd 
Stoop from the mountains on the smaller fowl; 
Terrified at the toils that spread the plain 
The flock takes wing, they, darting from above, 
Strike, seize, and slay, resistance or escape 
Is none, the fowler's heart leaps with delight ; 
So they, pursuing through the spacious hall 
The suitors, smote them on all sides, their heads 
Sounded beneath the sword, with hideous groans 
The palace rang, and the floor foam'd with blood. 
Then flew Leiodes to Ulysses' knees, 
Which clasping, in Aving'd accents thus he cried. 

I clasp thy knees, Ulysses ! oh respect 
My suit, and spare me ! Never have I word 
Injurious spoken, or injurious deed 
Attempted 'gainst the women of thy house, 
But others, so transgressing, oft forbad. 
Yet they abstain'd not, and a dreadful fate 
Due to then." wickedness have therefore found. 
But I, their soothsayer alone, must fall, . 
Though unoffending ; such is the return 
By mortals made for benefits received ! 

To whom Ulysses, louring-dark, replied. 
Is that thy boast ? Hast thou indeed for these 
The seer's high office fill'd % Then doubtless oft 
Thy prayer hath been that distant far might prove 
The day delectable of my return, 
And that my consort might thy own become 
To bear thee children ; wherefore thee I doom 
To a dire death which thou shalt not avoid. 

So saying, he caught the faulchion from the floor 
Which Agelaiis had let fall, and smote 
Leiodes, while he kneel'd, athwart his neck 
So suddenly, that ere his tongue had ceased 
To plead for life, his head was in the dust. 
But Phemius, son of Terpius, bard divine, 
Who, through compulsion, with his song regaled 
The suitors, a like dreadful death escaped. 
Fast by the postern, harp in hand, he stood, 
Doubtful if, issuing, he should take his seat 
Beside the altar of Hercsean 2 Jove, 
Where oft Ulysses offer'd, and his sire, 
Fat thighs of beeves, or whether he should haste, 
An earnest suppliant, to embrace his knees. 
That course, at length, most pleased him ; then 

between 
The beaker and an argent-studded throne 
He grounded his sweet lyre, and seizing fast 
The hero's knees, him suppliant thus address'd. 

I clasp thy knees, Ulysses ! oh respect 
My suit, and spare me. Thou shalt not escape 
Regret thyself hereafter, if thou slay 
Me, charmer of the woes of gods and men. 
Self-taught am I, and treasure in my mind 

1 In this simile we seem to have a curious account of the 
ancient manner of fowling. The nets (for vzcpea is used 
in that sense hy Aristophanes) were spread on a plain ; on 
an adjoining rising ground were stationed they who had 
charge of the vultures, (such Homer calls them) which 
were trained to the sport. The alarm being given to the 
birds below, the vultures were loosed, when if any of them 
escaped their talons, the nets were ready to enclose them. 
See Eustathius. Dacier. Clarke. 

2 So called because he was worshiped within the "EpKos 
or wall that surrounded the court. 


Themes of all argument from heaven inspired, 

And I can sing to thee as to a god. 

Ah then behead me not ! Put even the wish 

Far from thee ! for thy own beloved son 

Can witness, that not drawn by choice, or driven 

By stress of want, resorting to thine house 

I have i-egaled these revelers so oft, 

But under force of mightier far than I. 

So he ; whose words soon as the sacred might 
Heard of Telemachus, approaching quick 
His father, thus humane he interposed. 

Hold — harm not with the vengeful faulchion's 
This blameless man ; and we will also spare [edge 
Medon the herald, who hath ever been 
A watchful guardian of my boyish years, 
Unless Philoetius have already slain him, 
Or else Eumseus, or thyself, perchance, 
Unconscious, in the tumult of our foes. 

He spake, whom Medon hearing (for he lay 
Beneath a throne, and in a new-stript hide 
Enfolded, trembling with the dread of death) 
Sprang from his hiding-place, and casting off 
The skin, flew to Telemachus, embraced 
His knees, and in wing'd accents thus exclaim'd. 

Prince ! I am here — oh, pity me ! repress 
Thine own, and pacify thy father's wrath, 
That he destroy not me, through fierce revenge 
Of their iniquities who have consumed 
His wealth, and in their folly scorn'd his son. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied, 
Smiling complacent. Fear not ; my own son 
Hath pleaded for thee. Therefore (taught thyself 
That truth) teach others the superior worth 
Of benefits with injuries compared. 
But go ye forth, thou and the sacred bard, 
That ye may sit distant in yonder court 
From all this carnage, while I give command 
Myself concerning it, to those within. 

He ceased ; they going forth, took each his seat 
Beside Jove's altar, but with careful looks 
Suspicious, dreading without cease the sword. 
Meantime Ulysses search'd his hall in quest 
Of living foes, if any still survived 
Unpunish'd ; but he found them all alike 
Weltering in dust and blood ; numerous they lay 
Like fishes when they strew the sinuous shore 
Of ocean, from the grey gulf drawn aground 
In nets of many a mesh ; they on the sands 
Lie spread, athirst for the salt wave, till hot 
The gazing sun dries all their life away ; 
So lay the* suitors heap'd, and thus at length 
The prudent chief gave order to his son. 

Telemachus ; bid Euryclea. come 
Quickly, the nurse, to whom I would impart 
The purpose which now occupies me most. 

He said ; obedient to his sire, the prince 
Smote on the door, and summon'd loud the nurse. 

Arise, thou ancient governess of all 
Our female menials, and come forth ; attend 
My father; he hath somewhat for thine ear. 

So he ; nor flew his words useless away, 
For throwing wide the portal, forth she came, 
And by Telemachus conducted, found 
Ere long Ulysses amid all the slain, 
With blood defiled and dust ; dread he appear'd 
As from the pastured ox newly-devour'd 
The lion stalking back ; his ample chest 
With gory drops and his broad cheeks are hung, 
Tremendous spectacle ! such seem'd the chief, 
Blood-stain' d all over. She the carnage spread 


504 


THE ODYSSEY. 


On all sides seeing, and the pools of blood, 
Felt impulse forcible to publish loud 
That wonderous triumph ; but her lord repress'd 
The shout of rapture ei*e it burst abroad, 
And in wing'd accents thus his will enforced. 

Silent exult, ancient matron dear ! 
Shout not, be still. Unholy is the voice 
Of loud thanksgiving over slaughter'd men. 
Their own atrocious deeds and the gods' will 
Have slain all these ; for whether noble guest 
Arrived or base, they scoff 'd at all alike, 
And for their wickedness have therefore died. 
But say ; of my domestic women, who 
Have scorn'd me, and whom find'st thou innocent ? 

To whom good Euryclea thus replied. 
My son ! I will declare the truth ; thou keep'st 
Female domestics fifty in thy house, 
Whom we have made intelligent to comb 
The fleece, and to perform whatever task. 
Of these, twice six have overpass'd the bounds 
Of modesty, respecting neither me, 
Nor yet the queen ; and thy own son, adult 
So lately, no permission had from her 
To regulate the women of her train. 
But I am gone, I fly with what hath pass'd 
To the queen's ear, who nought suspects, so sound 
She sleeps, by some divinity composed. 

Then answer thus Ulysses wise return'd. 
Hush, and disturb her not. Go. Summon first 
Those wantons, who have long deserved to die. 

He ceased ; then issued forth the ancient dame 
To summon those bad women, and, meantime, 
Calling his son, Philcetius, and Eumaeus, 
Ulysses in wing'd accents thus began. 

Bestir ye, and remove the dead ; command 
Those women also to your help ; then cleanse 
With bibulous sponges and with water all 
The seats and tables ; when ye shall have thus 
Set all in order, lead those women forth, 
And in the centre of the spacious court, 
Between the scullery and the outer-wall 
Smite them with your broad faulchions till they lose 
In death the memory of their secret loves 
Indulged Avith wretches lawless as themselves. 

He ended, and the damsels came at once 
All forth, lamenting, and with tepid tears 
Showering the ground ; with mutual labour, first, 
Bearing the bodies forth into the court, 
They lodged them in the portico ; meantime 
Ulysses stern enjoin'd them haste, and urged 
By sad necessity, they bore all out. 
With sponges and with water next they cleansed 
The thrones and tables, while Telemachus 
Besom'd the floor, Eumseus in that work 
Aiding him and the keeper of the beeves, 
And those twelve damsels bearing forth the soil. 
Thus order given to all within, they next 
Led forth the women, whom they shut between 
The scullery and the outer-wall in close 
Durance, from which no prisoner could escape, 
And thus Telemachus discreet began. 

An honourable death is not for these 
By my advice, who have so often heap'd 
Reproach on mine and on my mother's head, 
And held lewd commerce with the suitor-train. 

He said, and noosing a strong galley-rope 
To an huge column, led the cord around 
The spacious dome, suspended so aloft 
That none with quivering feet might reach the floor. 
As when a flight of doves entering the copse, 


Or broad-wing'd thrushes, strike against the net 
Within, ill rest entangled there they find, 
So they, suspended by the neck, expired 
All in one line together. Death abhorr'd ! 
With restless feet awhile they beat the air, 
Then ceased. And now through vestibule and hall 
They led Melanthius forth. With ruthless steel 
They pared away his ears and nose, pluck'd forth 
His parts of shame, destined to feed the dogs, 
And still indignant, lopp'd his hands and feet. 
Then, laving each his feet and hands, they sought 
Again Ulysses ; all their work was done, 
And thus the chief to Euryclea spake. 

Bring blast-averting sulphur, nux'se, bring fire ! 
That I may fumigate my walls ; then bid 
Penelope with her attendants down, 
And summon all the women of her train. 

But Euryclea thus his nurse replied. 
My son ! thou hast well said ; yet will I first 
Serve thee with vest and mantle. Stand not here 
In thy own palace clothed with tatters foul 
And beggarly, — she will abhor the sight. 

Then answer thus Ulysses wise return'd. 
Not so. Bring fire for fumigation first. 

He said ; nor Euryclea his loved nurse 
Longer delay'd, but sulphur brought and fire, 
When he with purifying steams himself 
Visited every part, the banquet-room, 
The vestibule, the court. Ranging meantime 
His house magnificent, the matron call'd 
The women to attend their lord in haste, 
And they attended, bearing each a torch. 
Then gather' d they around him all, sincere 
Welcoming his return ; with close embrace 
Enfolding him, each kiss'd his brows, and each 
His shoulders, and his hands lock'd fast in hers. 
He, irresistible the impulse felt 
To sigh and weep, well recognizing all. 


BOOK XXIII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Ulysses, with some difficulty, convinces Penelope of his 
identity, who, at length, overcome by force of evidence, 
receives him to her arms with transport. He entertains 
her with a recital of his adventures, and in his narration 
the principal events of the poem are recapitulated. In 
the morning, Ulysses, Telemachus, the herdsman and 
the swine-herd, depart into the country. 

And now, with exultation loud the nurse 

Again ascended, eager to apprize 

The queen of her Ulysses' safe return ; 

Joy braced her knees, with nimbleness of youth 

She stepp'd, and at her ear, her thus bespake. 

Arise, Penelope ! dear daughter, see 
With thy own eyes thy daily wish fulfilFd. 
Ulysses is arrived ; hath reach'd at last 
His native home, and all those suitors proud 
Hath slaughter'd, who his family distress'd, 
His substance wasted, and controul'd his son. 

To whom Penelope discreet replied. 
Bear nurse ! the gods have surely ta'en away 
Thy judgment ; they transform the wise to fools, 
And fools conduct to wisdom, and have marr'd 
Thy intellect, who wast discreet before. 
Why wilt thou mock me, wretched as I am, 
With tales extravagant ? and why disturb 


THE ODYSSEY. 


505 


Those slumbers sweet that seal'd so fast mine 

eyes ? 
For such sweet slumbers have I never known 
Since my Ulysses on his voyage sail'd 
To that bad city never to be named. 
Down instant to thy place again — begone — 
For had another of my maidens dared 
Disturb my sleep with tidings wild as these, 
I had dismiss'd her down into the house 
More roughly ; but thine age excuses thee. 

To whom the venerable matron thus. 
I mock thee not, my child ; no — he is come — 
Himself, Ulysses, even as I say, 
That stranger, object of the scorn of all. 
Telemachus well knew his sire arrived, 
But prudently conceal' d the tidings, so 
To ensure the more the suitors' punishment. 

So Euryclea ; she transported heard, 
And springing from the bed, wrapp'd in her arms 
The ancient woman, shedding tears of joy, 
And in wing'd accents ardent thus replied. 

Ah then, dear nurse, inform me ! tell me true ! 
Hath he indeed arrived as thou declarest % 
How dared he to assail alone that band 
Of shameless ones, for ever swarming here ? 

Then Euryclea, thus, matron beloved. 
I nothing saw or knew ; but only heard 
Groans of the wounded ; in the interior house 
We trembling sat, and every door was fast. 
Thus all remain'd, till by his father sent, 
Thy own son call'd me forth. Going I found 
Ulysses compass'd by the slaughter'd dead. 
They cover' d wide the pavement, heaps on heaps. 
It would have cheer'd thy heart to have beheld 
Thy husband lion-like with crimson stains 
Of slaughter and of dust all dappled o'er. 
Heap'd in the portal, at this moment, lie 
Their bodies, and he fumigates, meantime, 
The house with sulphur and with flames of fire, 
And hath himself sent me to bid thee down. 
Follow me, then, that ye may give your hearts 
To gladness both, for ye have much endured ; 
But the event, so long your soul's desire, 
Is come ; himself hath to his household gods 
Alive return'd, thee and his son he finds 
Unharm'd and at your home, nor hath he left 
Unpunish'd one of all his enemies. 

Her answer'd, then, Penelope discreet.' 
Ah dearest nurse ! indulge not to excess ' 
This dangerous triumph. Thou art well apprized 
How welcome his appearance here would prove 
To all, but chief to me, and to his son, 
Fruit of our love. But these things are not so ; 
Some god resentful of their evil deeds, 
And of their biting contumely severe, 
Hath slain those proud ; for whether noble guest 
Arrived or base, alike they scoff 'd at all, 
And for their wickedness have therefore died. 
But my Ulysses distant far, I know, 
From Greece hath perish'd, and returns no more. 

To whom thus Euryclea, nurse beloved. 
What word, my daughter, hath escaped thy lips, 
Who thus affirm'st thy husband, now within 
And at his own hearth-side, for ever lost % 
Canst thou be thus incredulous ? Hear again — 
I give thee yet proof past dispute, his scar 
Imprinted by a wild-boar's ivory tusk. 
Laving him I remark'd it, and desired, 
Myself, to tell thee, but he, ever wise, 
Compressing with both hands my lips, forbad. 


Come, follow me. My life shall be the pledge. 
If I deceive thee, kill me as thou wilt. 
To whom Penelope discreet replied. 
Ah, dearest nurse, sagacious as thou art, 
Thou little know'st to scan the counsels wise 
Of the eternal gods. But let us seek 
My son, however, that I may behold 
The suitors dead, and him by whom they died. 

So saying, she left her chamber, musing much 
In her descent, whether to interrogate 
Her lord apart, or whether to imprint, 
At once, his hands with kisses and his brows. 
O'erpassing light the portal-step of stone 
She enter'd. He sat opposite, illumed 
By the hearth's sprightly blaze, and close before 
A pillar of the dome, waiting with eyes 
Downcast, till viewing him, his noble spouse 
Should speak to him ; but she sat silent long, 
Her faculties in mute amazement held. 
By turns she riveted her eyes on his, 
And, seeing him so foul attired, by turns 
She recognized him not ; then spake her son 
Telemachus, and her silence thus reproved. 
My mother ! ah my hapless and my most 
Obdurate mother ! wherefore thus aloof 
Shunn'st thou my father, neither at his side 
Sitting affectionate, nor uttering word ? 
Another wife lives not who could endure 
Such distance from her husband new-return'd 
To his own country in the twentieth year, 
After much hardship ; but thy heart is still 
As ever, less impressible than stone. 

To whom Penelope discreet replied. 
I am all wonder, my son ! my soul 
Is stunn'd within me ; power to speak to him 
Or to interrogate him have I none, 
Or even to look on him ; but if indeed 
He be Ulysses, and have reach'd his home, 
I shall believe it soon, by proof convinced 
Of signs, known only to himself and me. 

She said ; then smiled the hero toil-inured, 
And in wing'd accents thus spake to his son. 
Leave thou, Telemachus, thy mother here 
To sift and prove me ; she will know me soon 
More certainly ; she sees me ill-attired 
And squalid now ; therefore she shows me scorn, 
And no belief hath yet that I am he. 
But we have need, thou and myself, of deep 
Deliberation. If a man have slain 
One only citizen, who leaves behind 
Few interested to avenge his death, 
Yet flying he forsakes both friends and home ; 
But we have slain the noblest princes far 
Of Ithaca, on whom our city most 
Depended ; therefore, I advise thee, think ! 
Him, prudent, then answer'd Telemachus. 
Be that thy care, my father ! for report 
Proclaims thee shrewdest of manldnd, with whom 
In ingenuity may none compare. 
Lead thou ; to follow thee shall be our part 
With prompt alacrity ; nor shall, I judge, 
Courage be wanting to our utmost force. 
Thus then replied Ulysses, ever wise. 
To me the safest counsel and the best 
Seems this. First wash yourselves, and put ye on 
Your tunics ; bid ye next the maidens take 
Their best attire, and let the bard divine 
Harping melodious play a sportive dance, 
That whether passenger or neighbour hear, 
All may imagine nuptials held within. 


506 


THE ODYSSEY. 


So shall not loud report that we have slain 

All those, alarm the city till we gain 

Our Avoods and fields, where, once arrived, such 

plans 
We will devise, as Jove shall deign to inspire. 

He spake, and all obedient in the bath 
First laved themselves, then put their tunics on ; 
The damsels also dress'd, and the sweet bard 
Harping melodious, kindled strong desire 
In all of jocund song and graceful dance. 
The palace under all its vaulted roof 
Remurmur'd to the feet of sportive youths 
And cinctured maidens, while no few abroad, 
Hearing such revelry within, remark'd ; — 

The queen with many wooers, weds at last. 
Ah fickle and unworthy fair ! too frail 
Always to keep inviolate the house 
Of her first lord, and wait for his return. 

So spake the people ; but they little knew 
What had befallen. Eurynome, meantime, 
With bath and unction served the illustrious chief 
Ulysses, and he saw himself attired 
Royally once again in his own house. 
Then Pallas over all his features shed 
Superior beauty, dignified his form 
With added amplitude, and pour'd his curls 
Like hyacinthine flowers down from his brows. 
As when some artist by Minerva made 
And Vulcan, wise to execute all tasks 
Ingenious, borders silver with a wreath 
Of gold, accomplishing a graceful work, 
Such grace the goddess o'er his ample chest 
Copious diffused, and o'er his manly brows. 
He, godlike, stepping from the bath, resumed 
His former seat magnificent, and sat 
Opposite to the queen, to whom he said. 

Penelope ! the gods to thee have given 
Of all thy sex, the most obdurate heart. 
Another wife lives not who could endure 
Such distance from her husband new-return'd 
To his own country in the twentieth year, 
After such hardship. But prepare me, nurse, 
A bed, for solitary I must sleep, 
Since she is iron, and feels not for me. 

Him, answer'd then prudent Penelope. 
I neither magnify thee, sir ! nor yet 
Depreciate thee, nor is my wonder such 
As hurries me at once into thy arms, 
Though my remembrance perfectly retains, 
Such as he was, Ulysses, when he sail'd 
On board his bark from Ithaca — Go, nurse, 
Prepare his bed, but not within the walls 
Of his own chamber built with his own hands. 
Spread it without, and spread it well with warm 
Mantles, with fleeces, and with richest rugs. 

So spake she, ' proving him, and, not untouched 
With anger at that word, thus he replied. 

Penelope, that order grates my ear. 
Who hath displaced my bed? The task were hard 
Even to an artist ; other than a god 
None might with ease remove it ; as for man, 
It might defy the stoutest in his prime 
Of youth, to heave it to a different spot. 
For in that bed elaborate, a sign, 


1 The proof consisted in this — that the bed being at- 
tached to the stump of an olive tree still rooted, was 
immoveable, and Ulysses having made it himself, no per- 
son present, he must needs be apprized of the impossibility 
of her orders, if he were indeed Ulysses ; accordingly, this 
demonstration of his identity satisfies all her scruples. 


A special sign consists ; I was myself 
The artificer ; I fashion'd it alone. 
Within the court a leafy olive grew 
Lofty, luxuriant, pillar-like in girth. 
Around this tree I built, with massy stones 
Cemented close, my chamber, roof 'd it o'er, 
And hung the glutinated portals on. 
I lopp'd the ample foliage and the boughs, 
And severing near the root its solid bole, 
Smooth'd all the rugged stump with skilful hand, 
And wrought it to a pedestal well squared 
And model'd by the line. I wimbled, next, 
The frame throughout, and from the olive-stump 
Beginning, fashion'd the whole bed above 
Till all was finish'd, plated o'er with gold, 
With silver, and with ivory, and beneath 
Close interlaced with purple cordage strong. 
Such sign I give thee. But if still it stand 
Unmoved, or if some other, severing sheer 
The olive from its bottom, have displaced 
My bed — that matter is best known to thee. 

He ceased ; she, conscious of the sign so plain 
Given by Ulysses, heard with fluttering heart 
And faultering knees that proof. Weeping she ran 
Direct toward him, threw her arms around 
The hero, kiss'd his forehead, and replied. 

Ah my Ulysses ! pardon me — frown not — 
Thou who at other times hast ever shown 
Superior wisdom ! all our griefs have flow'd 
From the gods' will ; they envied us the bliss 
Of undivided union sweet enjoy 'd 
Through life, from early youth to latest age. 
No. Be not angry now ; pardon the fault 
That I embraced thee not as soon as seen, 
For horror hath not ceased to overwhelm 
My soul, lest some false alien should, perchance, 
Beguile me, for our house draws numerous such. 
Jove's daughter, Argive Helen, ne'er had given 
Free entertainment to a stranger's love, 
Had she foreknown that the heroic sons 
Of Greece would bring her to her home again. 
But heaven incited her to that offence, 
Who never, else, had even in her thought 
Harbour'd the foul enormity, from which 
Originated even our distress. 
But now, since evident thou hast described 
Our bed, which never mortal yet beheld, 
Ourselves except and Actoris my own 
Attendant, given me when I left my home 
By good Icarius, and who kept the door, 
Though hard to be convinced, at last I yield. 

So saying, she awaken'd in his soul 
Pity and grief; and folding in his arms 
His blameless consort beautiful, he wept. 
Welcome as land appears to those who swim, 
Whose gallant bark Neptune with rolling waves 
And stormy winds hath sunk in the wide sea, 
A mariner or two, perchance, escape 
The foamy flood, and swimming reach the land, 
Weary indeed, and with in crusted brine 
All rough, but oh, how glad to climb the coast ! 
So welcome in her eyes Ulysses seem'd, 
Around whose neck winding her snowy arms, 
She clung as she would loose him never more. 
Thus had they wept till rosy-finger'd morn 
Had found them weeping, but Minerva check'd 
Night's almost finish'd course, and held, meantime, 
The golden dawn close prisoner in the deep, 
Forbidding her to lead her coursers forth, 
Lampus and Phaethon that furnish light 


THE ODYSSEY. 


507 


To all the earth, and join them to the yoke. 
Then thus, Ulysses to Penelope. 

My love ! we have not yet attain'd the close 
Of all our sufferings, but unmeasured toil 
Arduous remains, which Bmust still achieve. 
For so the spirit of the Theban seer 
Inform'd me, on that day, when to inquire 
Of mine and of my people's safe return 
I journey 'd down to Pluto's drear abode. 
But let us hence to bed, there to enjoy 
Tranquil repose. My love, make no delay. 

Him answer'd then prudent Penelope. 
Thou shalt to bed at whatsoever time 
Thy soul desires, since the immortal gods 
Give thee to me and to thy home again. 
But, thou hast spoken from the seer of Thebes 
Of arduous toils yet unperform'd ; declare 
What toils % Thou wilt disclose them, as I judge, 
Hereafter, and why not disclose them now % 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
Ah conversant with woe ! why would'st thou learn 
That tale ? but I will tell it thee at large. 
Thou wilt not hear with joy, nor shall myself 
With joy rehearse it; for he bade me seek 
City after city, bearing, as I go, 
A shapely oar, till I shall find, at length, 
A people who the sea know not, nor eat 
Food salted ; they trim galley crimson-prow'd 
Have ne'er beheld, nor yet smooth shaven oar 
With which the vessel wing'd scuds o'er the waves. 
He gave me also this authentic sign, 
Which I will tell thee. In what place soe'er 
I chance to meet a traveller who shall name 
The oar on my broad shoulder borne, a van 1 ; 
He bade me, planting it on that same spot, 
Worship the king of ocean with a bull, 
A ram, and a lascivious boar, then seek 
My home again, and sacrifice at home 
An hecatomb to the immortal gods 
Inhabitants of the expanse above. 
So shall I die, at length, the gentlest death 
Remote from ocean ; it shall find me late, 
In soft serenity of age, the chief 
Of a blest people. — Thus he prophesied. 

Him answer'd then Penelope discreet. 
If heaven appoint thee in old age a lot 
More tranquil, hope thence springs of thy escape 
Some future clay from all thy threaten'd woes. 

Such was their mutual conference sweet ; mean- 
Eurynome and Euryclea dress'd [time 

Their bed by light of the clear torch, and when 
Dispatchful they had spread it broad and deep, 
The ancient nurse to her own bed retired. 
Then came Eurynome, to whom in trust 
The chambers appertain'd, and with a torch 
Conducted them to rest ; she introduced 
The happy pair, and went ; transported they 
To rites connubial intermitted long, 
And now recover'd, gave themselves again 2 . 
Meantime, the prince, the herdsman, and the good 
Eumaeus, giving rest each to his feet, 
Ceased from the dance ; they made the women 
Also, and to their several chambers all [cease 

Within the twilight edifice repair'd. 

1 See the note on the same passage, Book XI. 

2 Aristophanes the grammarian and Aristarchus chose 
that the Odyssey should end here ; but the story is not 
properly concluded till the tumult occasioned by the 
slaughter of so many princes being composed, Ulysses finds 
himself once more in peaceable possession of his country. 


At length with conjugal endearment both 
Satiate, Ulysses tasted and his spouse 
The sweets of mutual converse. She rehearsed, 
Noblest of women, all her numerous woes 
Beneath that roof sustain' d, while she beheld 
The profligacy of the suitor-throng, 
Who in their wooing had consumed his herds 
And fatted flocks, and drawn his vessels dry ; 
While brave Ulysses, in his turn, to her 
Related his successes and escapes, 
And his afflictions also ; he told her all ; 
She listen'd charm'd, nor slumber on his eyes 
Fell once, or ere he had rehearsed the whole. 
Beginning, he discoursed, how at the first 
He conquer'd in Ciconia, and thence reach'd 
The fruitful shores of the Lotophagi ; 
The Cyclops' deeds he told her next, and how 
He well avenged on him his slaughter'd friends 
Whom, pitiless, the monster had devour'd. 
How to the isle of iEolus he came, 
Who welcomed him and safe dismiss'd him thence, 
Although not destined to regain so soon 
His native land ; for o'er the fishy deep 
Loud tempests snatch'd him sighing back again. 
How, also at Telepylus he arrived, 
Town of the Lgestrygonians, who destroy'd 
His ships with all their mariners, his own 
Except, who in his sable bark escaped. 
Of guileful Circe too he spake, deep-skih"d 
In various artifice, and how he reach'd 
With sails and oars the squalid realms of death, 
Desirous to consult the prophet there 
Theban Tiresias, and how there he view'd 
All his companions, and the mother bland 
Who bare him, nourisher of his infant years. 
How next he heard the Sirens in one strain 
All chiming sweet, and how he reach'd the rocks 
Erratic, Scylla and Charybdis dire, 
Which none secure from injury may pass. 
Then how the partners of his voyage slew 
The Sun's own beeves, and how the thunderer Jove 
Hurl'd down his smoky bolts into his bark, 
Depriving him at once of all his crew, 
Whose dreadful fate, he yet himself escaped. 
How to Ogygia's isle he came, where dwelt 
The nymph Calypso, who enamour'd wish'd 
To espouse him, and within her spacious grot 
Detain'd, and fed, and promised him a life 
Exempt for ever from the sap of age, 
But him moved not. How also he arrived 
After much toil, on the Phseacian coast, 
Where every heart revered him as a god, 
And whence, enriching him with brass and gold, 
And costly raiment first, they sent him home. 
At this last word, oblivious slumber sweet 
Fell on him, dissipating all his cares. 

Meantime, Minerva, goddess azure-eyed, 
On other thoughts intent, soon as she deem'd 
Ulysses with connubial joys sufficed, 
And with sweet sleep, at once from ocean roused 
The golden-axled chariot of the morn 
To illumine earth. Then from his fleecy couch 
The hero sprang, and thus his spouse enjoin'd. 

Oh consort dear ! already we have striven 
Against our lot till wearied with the toil, 
My painful absence, thou with ceaseless tears 
Deploring, and myself in deep distress 
Withheld reluctant from my native shores 
By Jove and by the other powers of heaven. 
But since we have in this delightful bed 


508 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Met once again, watch thou and keep secure 
All my domestic treasures, and ere long 
I will replace my numerous sheep destroy'd 
By those imperious suitors, and the Greeks 
Shall add yet others till my folds be fill'd. 
But to the woodlands go I now — to see 
My noble father, who for my sake mourns 
Continual ; as for thee, my love, although 
I know thee wise, I give thee thus in charge. 
The sun no sooner shall ascend, than fame 
Shall wide divulge the deed that I have done, 
Slaying the suitors under my own roof. 
Thou, therefore, with thy maidens sit retired 
In thy own chamber at the palace-top, 
Nor question ask, nor curious look abroad. 

He said, and covering with his radiant arms 
His shoulders, call'd Telemachus ; he roused 
Eumceus and the herdsman too, and bade 
All take their martial weapons in their hands. 
Not disobedient they, as he enjom'd, 
Put armour on, and issued from the gates 
Ulysses at their head. The earth was now 
Enlighten'd, but Minerva them in haste 
Led forth into the fields, unseen by all. 


BOOK XXIY. 


ARGUMENT. 

Mercury conducts the souls of the suitors down to Ades. 
Ulysses discovers himself to Laertes, and quells, hy the 
aid of Minerva, an insurrection of the people resenting 
the death of the suitors. 

And now Cyllenian Hermes summon'd forth 
The spirits of the suitors ; waving vide 
The golden wand of power to seal all eyes 
In slumber, and to ope them wide again, 
He drove them gibbering * down into the shades. 
As when the bats within some hallow' d cave 
Flit squeaking all around, for if but one 
Fall from the rock, the rest all follow him, 
In such connexion mutual they adhere ; 
So, after bounteous Mercury, the ghosts 
Troop'd downward gibbering ' all the dreary way. 
The ocean's flood and the Leucadian rock, 
The sun's gate also and the land of dreams 
They pass'd, whence next into the meads they came 
Of asphodel, by shadowy forms possess'd, 
Simulars of the dead. They found the souls 
Of brave Pelides there, and of his friend 
Patroclus, of Antilochus renown'd, 
And of the mightier Ajax, for his form 
And bulk, (Achilles sole except) of all 
The sons of the Achaians most admired. 
These waited on Achilles. Then appear'd 
The mournful ghost of Agamemnon, son 
Of Atreus, compass'd by the ghosts of all 
Who shared his fate beneath yEgisthus' roof, 
And him the ghost of Peleus' son bespake. 

Atrides ! of all heroes we esteem'd 
Thee dearest to the gods, for that thy sway 
Extended over such a glorious host 
At Ilium, scene of sorrow to the Greeks. 


1 Tpifrwcu — Terpiyvlai — 

the ghosts 

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 
Shaksp. 


But Fate, whose ruthless force none may escape 
Of all who breathe, pursued thee from the first. 
Thou shouldst have perish'd full of honour, full 
Of royalty, at Troy ; so all the Greeks [queath'd 
Had raised thy tomb, and thou hadst then be- 
Great glory to thy son ; but Fate ordain'd 
A death, oh how deplorable ! for thee. 

To whom Atrides' spirit thus replied. 
Blest son of Peleus, semblance of the gods, 
At Ilium, far from Argos, fallen ! for whom 
Contending, many a Trojan, many a chief 
Of Greece died also, while in eddies whelm'd 
Of dust thy vastness 2 spread the plain, nor thee 
The chariot aught or steed could interest more ! 
All day we waged the battle, nor at last 
Desisted, but for tempests sent from Jove. 
At length, we bore into the Greecian fleet 
Thy body from the field ; there first we cleansed 
With tepid baths, and oil'd thy shapely corse, 
Then placed thee on thy bier, while many a Greek 
Around thee wept, and shore his locks for thee. 
Thy mother also, hearing of thy death, 
With her immortal nymphs from the abyss 
Arose and came ; terrible was the sound 
On the salt flood ; a panic seized the Greeks, 
And every warrior had return'd on board 
That moment, had not Nestor, ancient chief, 
Illumed by long experience, interposed ; 
His counsels, ever wisest, wisest proved 
Then also, and he thus address'd the host. 

Sons of Achaia, fly not ; stay, ye Greeks ! 
Thetis arrives with her immortal nymphs 
From the abyss, to visit her dead son. 

So he ; and, by his admonition staid, 
The Greeks fled not. Then all around thee stood 
The daughters of the ancient of the deep, 
Mourning disconsolate ; with heavenly robes 
They clothed thy corse, and all the muses nine 
Deplored thee in full choir with sweetest tones 
Responsive, nor one Greecian hadst thou seen 
Dry-eyed, such grief the muses moved in all. 
Full seventeen days we day and night deplored 
Thy death, both gods in heaven and men below ; 
But on the eighteenth day, we gave thy corse 
Its burning, and fat sheep around thee slew 
Numerous, with many a pastured ox moon-horn'd. 
We burn'd thee clothed in vesture of the gods, 
With honey and with oil feeding the flames 
Abundant, while Achaia's heroes arm'd, 
Both horse and foot, encompassing thy pile, 
Clash'd on then" shields, and deafening was the din. 
But when the fires of Vulcan had at length 
Consumed thee, at the dawn we stored thy bones 
In unguent and in undiluted wine ; 
For Thetis gave to us a golden vase 
Twin-ear'd, which she profess'd to have received 
From Bacchus, work divine of Vulcan's hand. 
Within that vase, Achilles, treasured lie 
Thine and the bones of thy departed friend 
Patroclus, but a separate urn we gave 
To those of brave Antilochus, who most 
Of all thy friends at Ilium shared thy love 
And thy respect, thy friend Patroclus slain. 
Around both urns we piled a noble tomb, 
(We warriors of the sacred Argive host) 
On a tall promontory shooting far 
Into the spacious Hellespont, that all 
Who live, and who shall yet be born, may view 

2 Behemoth, biggest born of earth. 

Upheaved his vastness. Milton. 


THE ODYSSEY. 


509 


Thy record, even from the distant waves. 

Then, by permission from the gods obtain'd, 

To the Achaian chiefs in circus met 

Thetis appointed games. I have beheld 

The burial rites of many a hero bold, 

When on the death of some great chief, the youths 

Girding their loins anticipate the prize, 

But sight of those with wonder fill'd me most, 

So glorious past all others were the games 

By silver-footed Thetis given for thee, 

For thou wast ever favour'd of the gods. 

Thus hast thou not, Achilles ! although dead, 

Forgone thy glory, but thy fair report 

Is universal among all mankind ; 

But as for me, what recompense had I, 

My warfare closed ? for whom, at my return, 

Jove framed such dire destruction by the hands 

Of fell iEgisthus and my murtheress wife. 

Thus mutual they conferr'd ; meantime ap- 
proach 'd, 
Swift messenger of heaven, the Argicide, 
Conducting thither all the shades of those 
Slain by Ulysses. At that sight amazed 
Both moved toward them. Agamemnon's shade 
Knew well Amphimedon, for he had been 
Erewhile his father's guest in Ithaca, 
And thus the spirit of Atreus' son began. 

Amphimedon ! by what disastrous chance, 
Cosevals as ye seem, and of an air 
Distinguish'd all, descend ye to the deeps ? 
For not the chosen youths of a whole town 
Should form a nobler band. Perish'd ye sunk 
Amid vast billows and rude tempests raised 
By Neptune's power ? or on dry land through force 
Of hostile multitudes, while cutting off 
Beeves from the herd, or driving flocks away ? 
Or fighting for your city and your wives ? 
Resolve me ; I was once a guest of yours. 
Remember'st not what time at your abode 
With godlike Menelaus I arrived, 
That we might win Ulysses with his fleet 
To follow us to Troy ? scarce we prevail'd 
At last to gain the city-waster chief, 
And after all, consumed a whole month more 
The wide sea traversing from side to side. 

To whom the spirit of Amphimedon. 
Illustrious Agamemnon, king of men ! 
All this I bear in mind, and will rehearse 
The manner of our most disastrous end. 
Believing brave Ulysses lost, we woo'd 
Meantime his wife ; she our detested suit 
Would neither ratify nor yet refuse, 
But, planning for us a tremendous death, 
This novel stratagem, at last, devised. 
Beginning, in her own recess, a web 
Of slenderest thread, and of a length and breadth 
Unusual, thus the suitors she address'd. 

Princes, my suitors ! since the noble chief 
Ulysses is no more, enforce not yet 
My nuptials ; wait till I shall finish first 
A funeral robe (lest all my threads decay) 
Which for the ancient hero I prepare, 
Laertes, looking for the mournful hour 
When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest ; 
Else, I the censure dread of aU my sex, 
Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud. 
So spake the queen ; we, unsuspicious all, 
With her request complied. Thenceforth, all day 
She wove the ample web, and by the aid 
Of torches ravel'd it again at night. 


Three years she thus by artifice our suit 
Eluded safe, but when the fourth arrived, 
And the same season, after many moons 
And fleeting days return'd, a damsel then 
Of her attendants, conscious of the fraud, 
Reveal'd it, and Ave found her pulling loose 
The splendid web. Thus through constraint, at 
She finish'd it, and in her own despight. [length 
But when the queen produced, at length, her work 
Finish'd, new-blanch'd, bright as the sun or moon, 
Then came Ulysses, by some adverse god 
Conducted to the cottage on the verge 
Of his own fields, in which his swine-herd dwells ; 
There also the illustrious hero's son 
Arrived soon after, in his sable bark 
From sandy Pylus borne ; they plotting both 
A dreadful death for all the suitors, sought 
Our glorious city, but Ulysses last, 
And first Telemachus. The father came 
Conducted by his swine-herd, and attired 
In tatters foul ; a mendicant he seem'd, 
Time-worn, and halted on a staff. So clad, 
And entering on the sudden, he escaped 
All knowledge even of our eldest there, 
And we reviled and smote him ; he, although 
Beneath his own roof smitten and reproach'd, 
With patience suffer'd it awhile, but roused 
By inspiration of Jove segis-arm'd 
At length, in concert with his son convey'd 
To his own chamber his resplendent arms, 
There lodged them safe, and barr'd the massy 
Then, in his subtlety he bade the queen [doors. 
A contest institute with bow and rings 
Between the hapless suitors, whence ensued 
Slaughter to all. No suitor there had power 
To overcome the stubborn bow that mock'd 
All our attempts ; and when the weapon huge 
At length was offer'd to Ulysses' hands, 
With clamour'd menaces we bade the swain 
Withhold it from him, plead he as he might ; 
Telemachus alone, with loud command, 
Bade give it him, and the illustrious chief 
Receiving in his hand the bow, with ease 
Bent it, and sped a shaft through all the rings. 
Then springing to the portal steps, he pour'd 
The arrows forth, peer'd terrible around, 
Pierced king Antinous, and aiming sure 
His deadly darts, pierced others after him, 
Till in one common carnage heap'd we lay. 
Some god, as plain appear'd, vouchsafed them aid, 
Such ardour urged them, and with such dispatch 
They slew us on all sides ; hideous were heard 
The groans of dying men fell'd to the earth 
With head-strokes rude, and the floor swam with 
Such, royal Agamemnon ! was the fate [blood. 
By which we perish'd, all whose bodies lie 
Unburied still, and in Ulysses' house, 
For tidings none have yet our friends alarm'd 
And kindred, who might cleanse from sablegore 
Our clotted wounds, and mourn us on the bier, 
Which are the rightful privilege of the dead. 

Him answer'd, then, the shade of Atreus' son. 
Oh happy offspring of Laertes ! shrewd 
Ulysses ! matchless valour thou hast shown 
Recovering thus thy wife ; nor less appears 
The virtue of Icarius' daughter wise, 
The chaste Penelope, so faithful found 
To her Ulysses, husband of her youth. 
His glory, by superior merit earn'd, 
Shall never die, and the immortal gods 


510 


THE ODYSSEY, 


■ Shall make Penelope a theme of song 
j Delightful in the ears of all mankind. 

Not such was Clytenmestra, daughter vile 
I Of Tyndarus ; she shed her husband's blood, 

And shall be chronicled in song a wife 
[ Of hateful memory, by whose offence 
Even the virtuous of her sex are shamed. 

Thus they, beneath the vaulted roof obscure 
Of Pluto's house, conferring mutual stood. 
Meantime, descending from the city-gates, 
| Ulysses, by his son and by his swains 

■ Follow'd, arrived at the delightful farm 
Which old Laertes had with strenuous toil 

! Himself long since acquired. There stood his house 
[ Encompass'd by a bower in which the hinds 
I Who served and pleased him, ate, and sat, and 
An ancient woman, a Sicilian, dwelt [slept. 

There also, who in that sequester'd spot 
I Attended diligent her aged lord. 
| Then thus Ulysses to his followers spake. 

Haste now, and entering, slay ye of the swine 
The best for our regale, myself, the while, 
Will prove my father, if his eye hath still 
Discernment of me, or if absence long 
Have worn the knowledge of me from his mind. 

He said, and gave into his servants' care 
His arms ; they swift proceeded to the house, 
And to the fruitful grove himself as swift 
To prove his father. Down he went at once 
Into the spacious garden-plot, but found 
Nor Dolius there, nor any of his sons 
Or servants ; they were occupied elsewhere, 
And with the ancient hind himself, employ'd 
Collecting thorns with which to fence the grove. 
In that umbrageous spot he found alone 
Laertes, with his hoe clearing a plant ; 
Sordid his tunic was, with many a patch 
Mended unseemly ; leathern were his greaves, 
Thong-tied and also patch'd, a frail defence 
Against sharp thorns, while gloves secured his 

hands 
From briar-points, and on his head he bore 
A goat-skin casque, nourishing hopeless woe. 
No sooner then the hero toil-inured 
Saw him age-worn and wretched, than he paused 
Beneath a lofty pear-tree's shade to weep. 
There standing much he mused, whether, at once, 
Kissing and clasping in his arms his sire, 
To tell him all, by what means he had reach'd 
His native country, or to prove liim first. 
At length he chose as his best course, with words 
Of seeming strangeness to accost his ear, 
And with that purpose, moved direct toward him. 
He stooping low, loosen'd the earth around 
A garden-plant, when his illustrious son 
Now, standing close beside him, thus began. 
Old sir ! thou art no novice in these toils 
Of culture, but thy garden thrives ; I mark 
In all thy ground no plant, fig, olive, vine, 
Pear-tree or flower-bed suffering through neglect. 
But let it not offend thee if I say 
That thou neglect'st thyself, at the same time 
Oppress'd with age, sun-parch'd, and ill-attired. 
Not for thy inactivity, methinks, 
Thy master slights thee thus, nor speaks thy form 
Or thy surpassing stature servile aught 
In thee, but thou resemblest more a king. 
Yes — thou resemblest one who, bathed and 
Should softly sleep ; such is the claim of age. 
But tell me true — for whom labourest thou, 


And whose this garden ? answer me beside, 

For I would learn ; have I indeed arrived 

In Ithaca, as one whom here I met 

Even now assured me, but who seem'd a man 

Nor overwise, refusing both to hear 

My questions, and to answer when I ask'd 

Concerning one in other days my guest 

And friend, if he have still his being here, 

Or have deceased and journey'd to the shades ? 

For I will tell thee ; therefore mark. Long since 

A stranger reach'd my house in my own land, 

Whom I with hospitality received, 

Nor ever sojourn'd foreigner with me 

Whom I loved more. He was by birth, he said, 

Ithacan, and Laertes claim'd his sire, 

Son of Arcesias. Introducing him 

Beneath my roof, I entertain'd him well, 

And proved by gifts his welcome at my board. 

I gave him seven talents of wrought gold, 

A goblet, argent all, with flowers emboss'd, 

Twelve single cloaks, twelve carpets, mantles twelve 

Of brightest lustre, with as many vests, 

And added four fair damsels, whom he chose 

Himself, w r ell born and well accomplish'd all. 

Then thus his ancient sire weeping replied. 
Stranger ! thou hast in truth attain' d the isle 
Of thy inquiry, but it is possess'd 
By a rude race, and lawless. Vain, alas ! 
Were all thy numerous gifts; yet hadst thou 
Him living here in Ithaca, with gifts [found 

Reciprocated he had sent thee hence, 
Requiting honourably in his turn 
Thy hospitality. But give me quick 
Answer, and true. How many have been the 
Since thy reception of that hapless guest [years 
My son ? for mine, my own dear son was he. 
But him, far distant both from friends and home, 
Either the fishes of the unknown deep 
Have eaten, or wild beasts and fowls of prey, 
Nor I, or she who bare him, was ordain'd 
To bathe his shrouded body with our tears, 
Nor his chaste wife, well-dower' d Penelope 
To close her husband's eyes, and to deplore 
His doom, which is the privilege of the dead. 
But tell me also thou, for I would learn, 
Who art thou ? whence % where born ? and sprung 

from whom ? 
The bark in which thou and thy godlike friends 
Arrived, where is she anchor'd on our coast ? 
Or earnest thou only passenger on board 
Another's bark, who landed thee and went % 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
I will with all simplicity relate 
What thou hast ask'd. Of Alybas am I, 
Where in much state I dwell, son of the rich 
Apheidas, royal Polypemon's son, 
And I am named Eperitus ; by storms 
Driven from Sicily I have arrived, 
And yonder, on the margin of the field 
That skirts your city, I have moor'd my bark. 
Five years have pass'd since thy Ulysses left, 
Unhappy chief ! my country ; yet the birds 
At his departure hover'd on the right, 
And in that sign rejoicing, I dismiss'd 
Him thence rejoicing also, for we hoped 
To mix in social intercourse again, 
And to exchange once more pledges of love. 

He spake ; then sorrow as a sable cloud 
Involved Laertes ; gathering with both hands 
The dust, he pour'd it on his reverend head 


THE ODYSSEY. 


511 


With many a piteous groan. Ulysses' heart 
Commotion felt, and his stretch'd nostrils throbb'd 
With agony close-pent, while fix'd he eyed 
His father ; with a sudden force he sprang 
Toward him, clasp'd, and kiss'd him, and exclaim'd. 

My father ! I am he. Thou seest thy son 
Absent these twenty years at last return'd. 
But bid thy sorrows cease ; suspend henceforth 
All lamentation ; for I tell thee true, 
(And the occasion bids me briefly tell thee) 
I have slain all the suitors at my home, 
And all their taunts and injuries avenged. 

Then answer thus Laertes quick return'd. 
If thou hast come again, and art indeed 
My son Ulysses, give me then the proof 
Indubitable, that I may believe. 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
View, first, the scar which with his ivory tusk 
A wild boar gave me, when at thy command 
And at my mother's, to Autolycus 
Her father, on Parnassus, I repair'd 
Seeking the gifts which, while a guest of yours, 
He promised should be mine. Accept beside 
This proof. 1 will enumerate all the trees 
Which, walking with thee in this cultured spot 
(Boy then) I begg'd, and thou confirm'dst my own. 
We paced between them, and thou madest me 

leaim 
The name of each. Thou gavest me thirteen pears 1 , 
Ten apples 1 , thirty figs 1 , and fifty ranks 
Didst promise me of vines, their alleys all 
Corn-cropp'd between. There oft as sent from 

Jove 
The influences of the year descend, 
Grapes of all hues and flavours clustering hang. 

He said ; Laertes conscious of the proofs 
Indubitable by Ulysses given, 
With faultering knees and faultering heart both 

arms 
Around him threw. The hero toil-inured 
Drew to his bosom close his fainting sire, 
Who, breath recovering, and his scatter'd. powers 
Of intellect, at length thus spake aloud. 

Ye gods ! oh then your residence is still 
On the Olympian heights, if punishment 
At last hath seized on those flagitious men. 
But terror shakes me, lest, incensed, ere long 
All Ithaca flock hither, and. dispatch 
Swift messengers with these dread tidings charged 
To every Cephallenian state around. 

Him answer'd then Ulysses ever wise. 
Courage ! fear nought, but let us to the house 
Beside the garden, whither I have sent 
Telemachus, the herdsman, and the good 
Eumreus to prepare us quick repast. 

So they conferr'd, and to Laertes' house 
Pass'd on together ; there arrived, they found 
Those three preparing now their plenteous feast, 
And mingling sable wine ; then, by the hands 
Of his Sicilian matron, the old king 
Was bathed, anointed, and attired afresh, 
And Pallas, drawing nigh, dilated more 
His limbs, and gave his whole majestic form 
Increase of amplitude. He left the bath. 
His son, amazed as he had seen a god 
Alighted newly from the skies, exclaim'd. 

i The fruit is here used for the tree that bore it, as it is 
in the Greek ; the Latins used the same mode of expres- 
sion, neither is it uncommon in our own language. 


My father ! doubtless some immortal power 
Hath clothed thy form with dignity divine. 

Then thus replied his venerable sire. 
Jove ! Pallas ! Phoebus ! oh that I possess'd 
Such vigour now, as when in arms I took 
Nericus, continental city fair, 
With my brave Cephallenians ! oh that such 
And arm'd as then, I yesterday had stood 
Beside thee in thy palace, combating 
Those suitors proud, then had I strew' d the floor 
With numerous slain, to thy exceeding joy. 

Such was their conference ; and now, the task 
Of preparation ended, and the feast 
Set forth, on couches and on thrones they sat, 
And ranged in order due, took each his share. 
Then ancient Dolius, and with him, his sons 
Arrived toil-worn, by the Sicilian dame 
Summon'd, their cateress, and their father's kind 
Attendant ever in his eve of life. 
They, seeing and recalling soon to mind 
Ulysses, in the middle mansion stood 
Wondering, when thus Ulysses with a voice 
Of some reproof, but gentle, them bespake. 

Old servant, sit and eat, banishing fear 
And mute amazement ; for, although provoked 
By appetite, we have long time abstain'd, 
Expecting every moment thy return. 

He said ; then Dolius with expanded arms 
Sprang right toward Ulysses, seized his hand, 
Kiss'd it, and in wing'd accents thus replied. 

Oh master ever dear ! since thee the gods 
Themselves, in answer to our warm desires, 
Have, unexpectedly, at length restored, 
Hail, and be happy, and heaven make thee such ! 
But say, and truly ; knows the prudent queen 
Already thy return, or shall we send 
Ourselves an herald with the joyful news ? 

To whom Ulysses, ever wise, replied. 
My ancient friend, thou may'st release thy mind 
From that solicitude ; she knows it well. 

So he ; then Dolius to his glossy seat 
Return'd, and all his sons gathering around 
Ulysses, welcomed him and grasp'd his hand, 
Then sat beside their father ; thus beneath 
Laertes' roof they, joyful, took repast. 

But Fame with rapid haste the city roam'd 
In every part, promulging in all ears 
The suitors' horrid fate. No sooner heard 
The multitude that tale, than one and ail 
Groaning they met and murmuring before 
Ulysses' gates. Bringing the bodies forth, 
They buried each his friend, but gave the dead 
Of other cities to be ferried home 
By fishermen on board their rapid barks. 
All hasted then to council ; sorrow wrung 
Their hearts, and, the assembly now convened, 
Arising first Eupithes spake, for grief 
Sat heavy on his soul, grief for the loss 
Of his Antinoiis by Ulysses slain 
Foremost of all, whom mourning, thus he said. 

My friends ! no trivial fruits the Greecians reap 
Of this man's doings. Those he took with him 
On board his barks, a numerous train and bold, 
Then lost his barks, lost all his numerous train, 
And these, our noblest, slew at his return. 
Come therefore — ere he yet escape by flight 
To Pylus or to noble Elis, realm 
Of the Epeans, follow him ; else shame 
Attends us and indelible reproach. 
If we avenge not on these men the blood 


512 


THE ODYSSEY. 


Of our own sons and brothers, farewell then 
All that makes life desirable ; my wish 
Henceforth shall be to mingle with the shades. 
Oh then pursue and seize them ere they fly. 

Thus he with tears, and pity moved in all. 
Then, Medon and the sacred bard whom sleep 
Had lately left, arriving from the house 
Of Laertiades, approach'd ; amid 
The throng they stood ; all wonder'd seeing them, 
And Medon, prudent senior, thus began. 

Hear me, my countrymen ! Ulysses plann'd 
With no disapprobation of the gods 
The deed that ye deplore. I saw, myself, 
A power immortal at the hero's side, 
In semblance just of Mentor ; now the god, 
In front apparent, led him on, and now, 
From side to side of all the palace, urged 
To flight the suitors ; heaps on heaps they fell. 

He said ; then terror wan seized every cheek, 
And Halitherses, hero old, the son 
Of Mastor, who alone among them all 
Knew past and future, prudent, thus began. 

Now, ye men of Ithaca ! my words 
Attentive hear ! by your own fault, my friends, 
This deed hath been perform'd ; for when myself 
And noble Mentor counsel'd you to check 
The sin and folly of your sons, ye would not. 
Great was their wickedness, and flagrant wrong 
They wrought, the wealth devouring, and the wife 
Dishonouring of an illustrious chief 
Whom they deem'd destined never to return. 
But hear my counsel. Go not, lest ye draw 
Disaster down and woe on your own heads. 

He ended ; then with boisterous roar (although 
Part kept their seats) upsprang the multitude, 
For Halitherses pleased them not, they chose 
Eupithes' counsel rather ; all at once 
To arms they flew, and clad in dazzling brass, 
Before the city form'd their dense array. 
Leader infatuate, at their head appear'd 
Eupithes, hoping to avenge his son 
Antinoiis, but was himself ordain'd 
To meet his doom, and to return no more. 
Then thus Minerva to Saturnian Jove. 

Oh father ! son of Saturn ! Jove supreme ! 
Declare the purpose hidden in thy breast. 
Wilt thou that this hostility proceed, 
Or wilt thou grant them amity again ? 

To whom the cloud-assembler god replied. 
Why asks my daughter ? didst thou not design 
Thyself, that brave Ulysses coming home 
Should slay those profligates ? act as thou wilt, 
But thus I counsel. Since the noble chief 
Hath slain the suitors, now let peace ensue 
Oath-bound, and reign Ulysses evermore ! 
The slaughter of their brethren and their sons 
To strike from their remembrance, shall be ours. 
Let mutual amity, as at the first, 
Unite them, and let wealth and peace abound. 

So saying, he animated to her task 
Minerva prompt before, and from the heights 
Olympian down to Ithaca she flew. 
Meantime Ulysses (for their hunger now 
And thirst were sated) thus address'd his hinds. 

Look ye abroad, lest haply they approach. 
He said, and at his word, forth went a son 
Of Dolius ; at the gate he stood, and thence 


Beholding all that multitude at hand, 
In accents wing'd thus to Ulysses spake. 

They come — they are already arrived — arm all! 
Then, all arising, put their armour on, 
Ulysses with his three, and the six sons 
Of Dolius ; Dolius also with the rest 
Arm'd and Laertes, although silver-hair'd, 
Warriors perforce. When all were clad alike 
In radiant armour, throwing wide the gates 
They sallied, and Ulysses led the way. 
Then Jove's own daughter Pallas, in the form 
And with the voice of Mentor, came in view, 
Whom seeing Laertiades rejoiced, 
And thus Telemaehus, his son, bespake. 

Now, oh my son ! thou shalt observe, untold 
By me, where fight the bravest, Oh shame not 
Thine ancestry, who have in all the earth 
Proof given of valour in all ages past. 

To whom Telemaehus, discreet, replied. 
My father ! if thou wish that spectacle, 
Thou shalt behold thy son, as thou hast said, 
In nought dishonouring his noble race. 

Then was Laertes joyful, and exclaim'd, 
What sun hath risen to day l \ oh blessed gods ! 
My son and grandson emulous dispute 
The prize of glory, and my soul exults. 

He ended, and Minerva, drawing nigh 
To the old king, thus counsel'd him. Oh friend 
Whom most I love, son of Arcesias ; prayer 
Preferring to the virgin azure-eyed, 
And to her father Jove, delay not, shake 
Thy lance in air, and give it instant flight. 

So saying the goddess nerved his arm anew. 
He sought in prayer the daughter dread of Jove, 
And brandishing it, hurl'd his lance ; it struck 
Eupithes, pierced his helmet brazen-cheek'd 
That stay'd it not, but forth it sprang beyond, 
And with loud clangor of his arms he fell. 
Then flew Ulysses and his noble son 
With faulchion and with spear of double edge 
To the assault, and of them all had left 
None living, none had to his home return'd, 
But that Jove's virgin daughter with a voice 
Of loud authority thus quell'd them all. 

Peace, ye men of Ithaca ! while yet 
The field remains undeluged with your blood. 

So she, and fear at once paled every cheek. 
All trembled at the voice divine ; their arms 
Escaping from the grasp fell to the earth, 
And covetous of longer life, each fled 
Back to the city. Then Ulysses sent 
His voice abroad, and with an eagle's force 
Sprang on the people ; but Saturnian Jove 
Cast down, incontinent, his smouldering bolt 
At Pallas' feet, and thus the goddess spake. 

Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd ! 
Forbear ; abstain from slaughter ; lest thyself 
Incur the anger of high-thundering Jove. 

So Pallas, whom Ulysses glad obey'd. 
Then faithful covenants of peace between 
Both sides ensued, ratified in the sight 
Of Pallas, progeny of Jove, who seem'd 
In voice and form, the Mentor known to all. 

1 Tts vv fxoi 7]fJ.ept] 7j8e ; — So Cicero, who seems to 
translate it Proh dii immortales ! Quis hie illujcit dies! 
See Clarke in loco. 


BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE, 


Descend all Helicon into my breast ! 

Oh every virgin of the tuneful choir 

Breathe on my song which I have newly traced 

In tables open'd on my knees, a song 

Gf bloodiest note-— terrible deeds of Mars 

Well worthy of the ears of all mankind, 

Whom I desire to teach, how, erst, the mice 

Assail'd the frogs, mimicking in exploit 

The prowess of the giant race earth-born. 

The rumour once was frequent in the mouths 

Of mortal men, and thus the strife began. 

A thirsty mouse (thirsty with fear and flight 
From a cat's claws) sought out the nearest lake, 
Where dipping in the flood his downy chin, 
He drank delighted. Him the frog far-famed 
Limnocharis 1 espied, and thus he spake. [rived 
Who art thou, stranger \ Whence hast thou ar- 
On this our border, and who gave thee birth ? 
Beware thou trespass not against the truth ; 
Lie not! for should I find thy merit such 
As claims my love, I will conduct thee hence 
To my abode, where gifts thou shalt receive 
Liberal and large, with hospitable fare. 
I am the king Physignathus 2 , revered 
By the inhabitants of all this pool, 
Chief of the frogs for ever. Me, long since, 
Peleus 3 begat, embracing on the banks 
Of the Eridanus my mother fair, 
Hydromedusa4. Nor thee less than king 
Or leader bold in fight thy form proclaims, 
Stout as it is, and beautiful. — Dispatch — 
Speak therefore, and declare thy pedigree. 

He ceased, to whom Psycharpaxs thus replied. 
Illustrious sir ! wherefore hast thou enquired 
My derivation, known to all, alike 
To gods and men, and to the fowls of heaven ? 
I am Psych arpax, and the dauntless chief 
Troxartes 6 is my sire, whose beauteous spouse 
Daughter of Pternotroctes7 brought me forth, 
Lichomyle 8 by name. A cave of earth 
My cradle was, and, in my youngling state, 
My mother nourish 'd me with almonds, figs, 
And delicacies of a thousand names. 
But diverse as our natures are, in nought 
Similar, how alas ! can we be friends ? 
The floods are thine abode, while I partake 
With man his sustenance. The basket stored 
With wheaten loaves thrice kneaded, 'scaresnot me, 


1 The beauty of the lake. 2 The pouter. 

3 Of or belonging to mud. 4 Governess of the waters. 

& The crumb-catcher. 6 The bread-eater. 

7 The bacon-eater. 8 The licker of mill-stones. 


Nor wafer broad, enrich' d with balmy sweets, 
Nor ham in slices spread, nor liver wrapt 
In tunic silver-white, nor curds express'd 
From sweetest mirk, nor, sweeter still, the full 
Honeycomb, coveted by kings themselves, 
Nor aught by skilful cook invented yet 
Of sauce or seasoning for delight of man. 
I am brave also, and shrink not at sound 
Of glorious war, but rushing to the van, 
Mix with the foremost combatants. No fear 
Of man himself shakes me, vast as he is, 
But to his bed I steal, and make me sport 
Nibbling his fingers' end, or with sharp tooth 
Fretting his heel so neatly that he sleeps 
Profound the while, unconscious of the bite. 
Two things, of all that are, appal me most, 
The owl and cat. These cause me many a pang. 
As does the hollow gin insidious, fair 
In promises, but in performance foul, 
Engine of death ! yet most of all I dread 
Cats, nimble mousers, who can dart a paw 
After me, enter at what chink I may. 
But to return— your diet, parsley, kail, 
Beet, radish, gourd, (for, as I understand, 
Ye eat no other) are not to my taste. 

Him then with smiles answer'd Physignathus. 
Stranger ! thou vauntest much thy dainty fare, 
But, both on shore and in the lake we boast 
Our dainties also, and such sights as much 
Would move thy wonder ; for by gift from Jove 
We leap as well as swim, can range the land 
For food, or diving, seek it in the deep, [back — 
Would'st thou the proof? 'tis easy — mount my 
There cling as for thy life, and thou shalt share 
With rapture the delights of my abode. 

He said, and gave his back. Upsprang the mouse 
Lightly, and with his arms enfolded fast 
The frog's soft neck. Pleased was he, at the first, 
With view of many a creek and bay, nor less 
With his smooth swimming on whose back he 
rode. [sides, 

But when, at length, the clear wave dash'd his 
Then, fill'd with penitential sorrows vain 
He wept, pluck'd off his hair, and gathering close 
His hinder feet, survey'd with trembling heart 
The novel sight, and wish'd for land again. 
Groans follow'd next, extorted groans, through 
Of shivering fear, and, with extended tail [stress 
Drawn like a long oar after him, he pray'd 
For land again ; but while he prev'd, again 
The clear wave dash'd him. Much he shriek'd, 

and much 
He clamour'd, and, at length thus sorrowing said. 


514 


THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. 


Oh desperate navigation strange ! not thus 
Europa floated to the shores of Crete 
On the broad back of her enamour'd bull. 

And now, dread spectacle to both, behold 
A Hydra ! on the lake with crest erect 
He rode, and right toward them, At that sight 
Down went Physignathus, heedless alas ! 
Through fear, how great a prince he should de- 
Himself, at bottom of the pool escaped [stroy. 
The dreadful death ; but, at his first descent 
Dislodged, Psycharpax fell into the flood. 
There, stretch'd supine, he clench'd his hands, he 

shriek'd, 
Plunged oft, and lashing out his heels afar, 
Oft rose again, but n© deliverance found. 
At length, oppress'd by his drench'd coat, and 
To sink for ever, thus he prophesied. [soon 

Thou hast released thy shoulders at my cost, 
Physignathus ! unfeeling as the rock, 
But not unnoticed by the gods above. 
Ah worst of traitors ! on dry land, I ween, 
Thou hadst not foil'd me, whether in the race 
Or wrestling-match, or at whatever game. 
Thou hast by fraud prevail'd, casting me off 
Into the waters ; but an eye divine 
Sees all. Nor hope thou to escape the host 
Of mice, who shall, ere long, avenge the deed. 
So saying, he sank and died ; whom, while he 
sat 
Reposing on the lake's soft verge, the mouse 
Lichopinax 1 observed; aloud he wail'd 
And flew with those sad tidings to his friends. 
Grief, at the sound, immeasureable seized 
On all, and by command, at dawn of day 
The heralds call'd a council at the house 
Of brave Troxartes, father of the prince 
Now lost, a carcase now, nor nigh to land 
Weltering, but distant in the middle pool. 
The multitude in haste convened, uprose 
Troxartes for his son incensed, and said, 

Ah friends ! although my damage from the frogs 
Sustain'd be greatest, yet is yours not small. 
Three children I have lost, wretch that I am, 
All sons. A merciless and hungry cat 
Finding mine eldest son abroad, surprised 
And slew him. Lured into a wooden snare, 
(New machination of unfeeling man 
For slaughter of our race, and named a trap) 
My second died. And now, as ye have heard, 
My third, his mother's and my darling, him 
Physignathus hath drown'd in yon abyss. 
Haste therefore, and in gallant armour bright 
Attired, march forth, ye mice, now seek the foe. 

So saying, he roused them to the fight, and Mars 
Attendant arm'd them. Splitting first the pods 
Of beans which they had sever'd from the stalk 
With hasty tooth by night, they made them greaves. 
Their corslets were of platted straw, well lined 
With spoils of an excoriated cat. 
The lamp contributed its central tin, 
A shield for each. The glittering needle long 
Arm'd every gripe with a terrific spear, 
And auburn shells of nuts their brows inclosed. 
Thus arm'd the mice advanced, of whose ap- 
proach 
The frogs apprised, emerging from the lake, 
All throng'd to council, and considering sat 
The sudden tumult and its cause. Then came, 


i The dish-licker. 


Sceptre in hand, a herald. Son was he 
Of the renown 1 d Tyroglyphus -, and call'd 
Embasichytrus 3 . Charged he came to announce 
The horrors of approaching war, and said — 

Ye frogs ! the host of mice send you by me 
Menaces and defiance. Arm, they say, 
For furious fight ; for they have seen the prince 
Psycharpax weltering on the waves, and drown'd 
By king Physignathus. Ye then, the chiefs 
And leaders of the host of frogs, put on 
Your armour, and draw forth your bands to battle ! 
He said, and went. Then were the noble frogs 
Trouble;! at that bold message, and while all 
Murmur' d against Physignathus, the king 
Himself arising, thus denied the charge. 

My friends ! I neither drown'd the mouse, nor 
saw 
His drowning. Doubtless, while he strove in sport 
To imitate the swimming of the frogs, 
He sank and died. Thus, blame is none in me, 
And these injurious slanders do me wrong. 
Consult we, therefore, how we may destroy 
The subtle mice, which thus we will perform. 
Arm'd and adorn'd for battle, we will wait 
Their coming where our coast is most abrupt. 
Then, soon as they shall rush to the assault, 
Seizing them by the helmet, as they come, 
We will precipitate them, arms and all, 
Into the lake ; unskilful as they are 
To swim, their suffocation there is sure, 
And we will build a trophy to record 
The great mouse-massacre for evermore. 

So saying, he gave commandment, and all arm'd. 
With leaves of mallows each his legs incased, 
Guarded his bosom with a corslet cut 
From the green beet, with foliage tough of kail 
Fashion'd his ample buckler, with a rush 
Keen-tipt, of length tremendous, fill'd his gripe, 
And on his brows set fast a cockle-shell. 
Then on the summit of the loftiest bank 
Drawn into phalanx firm they stood, all shook 
Their quivering spears, and wrath swell'd every 
breast. 
Jove saw them, and assembling all the gods 
To council in the skies, Behold, he said, 
Yon numerous hosts, magnanimous, robust, 
And rough with spears, how like the giant race 
They move, or like the Centaurs ! smiling, next, 
He ask'd, of all the gods, who favour'd most 
The mice, and who the frogs % but at the last, 
Turning toward Minerva, thus he spake, 

The mice, my daughter, need thee ; go'st thou 
not 
To aid thy friends the mice, inmates of thine, 
Who to thy temple drawn by savoury steams 
Sacrifical, and day by day refresh'd 
With dainties there, dance on thy. sacred floor ? 

So spake the god, and Pallas thus replied. 
My father ! suffer as they may, the mice 
Shall have no aid from me, whom much they 

wrong, 
Marring my wreaths, and plundering of their oil 
My lamps. — But this, of all their impious deeds, 
Offends me most, that they have eaten holes 
In my best mantle, which with curious art 
Divine, I wove, light, easy, delicate ; 
And now, the artificer whom I employ'd 

2 A cheese -rasper. 
3 The explorer of pots and pipkins. 


THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. 


515 


To mend it, clamouring demands a price 
Exorbitant, which moves me much to wrath, 
For I obtain'd on trust those costly threads, 
And have not wherewithal to pay the arrear. — 
Nor love I more the frogs, or purpose more 
To succour even them, since they not less, 
Dolts as they are, and destitute of thought, 
Have incommoded me. For when, of late, 
Returning from a fight, weary and faint 
I needed rest, and would have slept, no sleep 
Found I, those ceaseless croakers of the lake 
Noisy, perverse, forbidding me a wink. 
Sleepless, and with an aching head I lay 
Therefore, until the crowing of the cock. 
By my advice, then, ye gods, move not 
Nor interfere, favouring either side, 
Lest ye be wounded ; for both hosts alike 
Are valiant, nor would scruple to assail 
Even ourselves. Suffice it, therefore, hence 
To view the battle, safe, and at our ease. 

She ceased, and all complied. Meantime, the 
hosts 
Drew nearer, and in front of each was seen 
A herald, gonfalon in hand ; huge gnats 
Through clarions of unwieldy length sang forth 
The dreadful note of onset fierce, and Jove 
Doubled the signal, thundering from above. 

First, with his spear Hypsiboas l assail'd 
Lichenor 2 . Deep into his body rush'd 
The point, and pierced his liver. Prone he fell, 
And all his glossy down with dust defiled. 
Then, Troglodytes 3 hurl'd his massy spear 
At Pelion4, which he planted in his chest. 
Down dropp'd the frog, night whelm'd him, and he 

died. 
Seutlseuss, through his heart piercing him, slew 
Embasichytrus. Polyphonus 6 fell 
Pierced through his belly by the spear of bold 
Artophagus7, and prone in dust expired. 
Incensed at sight of Polyphonus slain, 
Limnocharis at Troglodytes cast 
A mill-stone weight of rock ; full on the neck 
He batter'd him, and darkness veil'd his eyes. 
At him Lichenor hurl'd a glittering lance, 
Nor err'd, but pierced his liver. Trembling fled 
Crambophagus 8 at that dread sight, and plunged 
Over the precipice into the lake ; 
Yet even there found refuge none, for brave 
Lichenor following, smote him even there. 
So fell Crambophagus, and from that fall . 
Never arose, but reddening with his blood 
The wave, and wallowing in the strings and slime 
Of his own vitals, near the bank expired. 
Limnisius 9 on the grassy shore struck down 
Tyroglyphus 10 ; but at the view alone 
Of terrible Pternoglyphus 11 appall'd, 
Fled Calaminthius 1 -, cast away his shield 
Afar, and headlong plunged into the lake. 
Hydrocharis 13 with a vast stone assail'd 
The king Pternophagus l * ; the rugged mass 
Descending on his poll, crush'd it ; the brain 

1 The loud croaker. 2 One addicted to licking. 

3 A creeper into holes and crannies. 

4 Offspring of the mud. & A feeder on beet. 

6 The noisy. ^ The bread-eater. 

8 The cabbage-eater. 9 Of the lake. 

io The cheese-scraper. n The ham-scraper. 

12 So called from the herb ealamint. 

13 One whose delight is in water. 

14 The bacon-eater. 


Oozed through his nostrils drop by drop, and all 
The bank around was spatter'd with his blood. 
Lichopinax with his long spear transpierced 
Borborocoites 15 ; darkness veil'd his eyes. 
Prassopliagus 1G with vengeful notice mark'd 
Cnissodioctes i7 ; seizing with one hand 
His foot, and with the other hand his neck, 
He plunged, and held him plunged, till drown'd he 

died. 
Psycharpax standing boldly in defence 
Of his slain fellow- warriors, urged his spear 
Right through Pelusius 18 ; at his feet he fell, 
And, dying, mingled with the frogs below. 
Resentful of his death, the mighty frog 
Pelobates l9 a handful cast of mud 
Full at Psycharpax ; all his ample front 
He smear'd, and left him scarce a glimpse of day. 
Psycharpax, at the foul dishonour, still 
Exasperate more, upheaving from the ground 
A rock that had incumber'd long the bank, 
Hurl'd it against Pelobates ; below 
The knees he smote him, shiver'd his right leg 
In pieces, and outstretch'd him in the dust. 
But him Craugasides 20 , who stood to guard 
The fallen chief, assail'd ; with his long lance 
He prick'd Psycharpax at the waist ; the whole 
Keen-pointed rush transpierced his belly, and all 
His bowels following the retracted point, 
O'erspread the ensanguined herbage at his side. 
Soon as Sitophagus 21 , a crippled mouse, 
That sight beheld, limping, as best he could, 
He left the field, and, to avoid a fate 
Not less tremendous, dropp'd into a ditch. 
Troxartes grazed the instep of the bold 
Physignathus, who at the sudden pang- 
Startled, at once leap'd down into the lake. 
Prasseus 22 , at the sight of such a chief 
Floating in mortal agonies enraged, 
Sprang through his foremost warriors, and dis- 
missed 
His pointed rush, but reach'd not through his shield 
Troxartes, baffled by the stubborn disk. 

There was a mouse, young, beautiful, and brave 
Past all on earth, son of the valiant chief 
Artepibulus 23 . Like another Mars 
He fought, and Meridarpax 21 was his name, 
A mouse, among all mice without a peer. 
Glorying in his might on the lake's verge 
He stood with other mouse none at his side, 
And swore to extirpate the whole croaking race. 
Nor doubted any but he should perform 
His dreadful oath, such was his force in arms, 
Had not Saturnian Jove with sudden note 
Perceived his purpose ; with compassion touch'd 
Of the devoted frogs the sovereign shook 
His brows, and thus the deities address'd. 

I see a prodigy, ye powers divine ! 
And, with no small amazement smitten, hear 
Prince Meridarpax menacing the frogs 
With general extirpation. Haste — be quick — 
Dispatch we Pallas terrible in fight, 
Not her alone, but also Mars, to quell 
With force combined the sanguinary chief. 

15 The sleeper in the mud. 16 The garlic-eater. 

17 The savoury-steam-hunter. ls The muddy. 

19 The mud-walker. 20 The hoarse-croaker. 

21 The cake-eater. 22 One who deals much in garlic. 

23 One who lies in wait for bread. 

24 The scrap-catcher. 


51 G 


THE BATTLE OF THE FKOGS AND MICE. 


So spake the Thunderer, and thus Mars replied. 
Neither the force of Pallas, nor the force ' 
Of Mars, Jove ! will save the destined frogs 
From swift destruction. Let us all descend 
To aid them, or, lest all suffice not, grasp 
And send abroad thy biggest bolt, thy bolt 
Tempestuous, terrour of the Titan race, 
By which those daring enemies thou slew'st, 
And didst coerce with adamantine chains 
Enceladus, and all that monstrous brood. 

He said, and Jove dismiss'd the smouldering bolt. 
At his first thunder, to its base he shook 
The vast Olympian. Then — whirling about 
His forky fires, he launch'd them to the ground, 
And, as they left the sovereign's hand, the heart 
Of every mouse quaked, and of every frog. 
Yet ceased not, even at that shock, the mice 


From battle, but with double ardour flew 

To the destruction of the frogs, whom Jove 

From the Olympian heights snow-crown'd again 

Viewing, compassionated their distress, 

And sent them aids. Sudden they came. Broad- 

back'd 
They were, and smooth like anvils, sickle-claw'd, 
Sideling in gait, their mouths with pincers arm'd, 
Shell-clad, crook -knee'd, protruding far before 
Long hands and horns, with eye-balls in the breast, 
Legs in quaternion ranged on either side, 
And crabs their name. They, seizing by his leg, 
His arm, his tail a mouse, cropp'd it, and snapp'd 
His polish'd spear. AppalPd at such a foe 
The miserable mice stood not, but fled 
Heartless, discomfited. And now, the sun 
Descending, closed this warfare of a day. 


THE END 


(.ovnov: 

P.RADWIiY AM) EVANS. PRCNTER8, W HrrEFHIARS. 



